The Snake mh-8

by Mickey Spillane

  Then it was too thick. Just as the cab slowed for a light somebody outside let out a scream and I had time to turn my head, see the nose of a truck almost in the window, and threw myself across the seat as the cab took a tremendous jar that crushed in the side and sent glass and metal fragments ripping above my head. There was one awful moment as the cab tipped, rolled onto its side, and lay there in that almost total silence that follows the second after an accident.

  Up front the cabbie moaned softly and I could smell the sharp odor of gasoline. Somebody already had the front door open and arms were reaching in for the driver. I helped lift him, crawled out the opening, and stood there in the crowd brushing myself off. A couple dozen people grouped around the driver, who seemed more shaken than hurt, and for a change a few were telling him they'd be willing to be witnesses. The driver of the truck had cut across and deliberately slammed into the cab like it was intentional or the driver was drunk.

  But there wasn't any driver in the truck at all. Somebody said he had jumped out and gone down into a subway kiosk across the street and acted like he was hurt. He was holding his belly and stumbled as he ran. Then I noticed the truck. It was a blue panel job and almost identical to the one which almost nailed the cab when Velda and I first got in it.

  Nobody noticed me leave at all. I took the number of the cab and would check back later, but right now there wasn't time enough to get caught up in a traffic accident.

  A block down I got another cab and gave him the same address. At the Torrence estate I told the driver to wait, went up, and pushed the bell chime.

  Seeing Geraldine King again was as startling as it was the first time. She was in a sweater and skirt combination that set off the titian highlights in her hair, giving a velvet touch to the bright blue of her eyes. There was nothing businesslike about the way she was dressed. It was there only to enhance a lovely body and delight the viewer. I had seen too many strap marks not to know she was skin naked beneath the sweater.

  She caught my eyes, let me look a moment longer, and smiled gently. "Stickler for convention?"

  "Not me, honey."

  "Women should be like pictures... nice to look at."

  "Not if you haven't got the price to afford to take them home."

  "Sometimes you don't have to buy. There are always free gifts."

  "Thanks," I grunted. Then I laughed at her. "You sure must be one hell of a political advantage to have around."

  "It helps." She held the door open. "Come on in. Mr. Torrence is in the study."

  When I went in Sim pushed some papers aside, stood up, and shook hands. "Glad to see you again, Mike. What can I do for you?"

  "Some gal you got there."

  "What?" He frowned behind his glasses. "Oh... oh, yes, indeed. Now..."

  "I've been checking out your enemies, Mr. Torrence. Those who wanted to kill you."

  "Oh?"

  "You said you knew of a dozen persons who threatened to kill you. Would Arnold Goodwin be one?"

  "The sex offender?"

  "Among other things."

  "Yes... he made threats. Since he was so young I paid no attention to them. Why?"

  "Because he's out and is in violation of his parole. He hasn't reported in for some time."

  "He was quite an emotionally disturbed young man. Do you think... ?"

  I shrugged. "Those guys can do anything. They'd hurt anybody to get to the primary object of their hate. I haven't followed through on him, but I will."

  "Well, the police should be informed immediately..."

  "They will be. His parole officer has him listed already. The thing is, he can cut a wide path before they nail him. Meantime, any protection for Sue or yourself should be direct and personal. I'd suggest an armed guard."

  "Mr. Hammer... we're... coming into an election year. If this kind of thing gets out do you know what it means?"

  "So take your chances then."

  "I'll have to. Nevertheless, it may be sensible to keep somebody here in the house with me. I think Geraldine can arrange for someone."

  "You want me to?"

  "No, we'll take care of it."

  "Okay then. Incidentally, I saw Sonny Motley."

  "Sonny Motley?" He tugged at his glasses and pulled them off. "He was given a life sentence."

  "Life ends at thirty years in the pen. He's out. You remember him then?"

  "I certainly do! It was that case that made me a public figure. You don't think..."

  "He's an old guy who runs a shoe shop uptown now. No, he's safe enough. You don't play tough when you're over seventy. Those brick walls took too much out of him. It was a pretty interesting case. Neither Blackie Conley or the loot ever showed up, did it?"

  "Mike, we covered every avenue possible looking for that money. We alerted every state, every foreign government... but whatever happened to Conley or the money has never come to light."

  "What do you think happened?" I asked him. Torrence made a vague gesture with his hands. "If he could have gotten out of the country, effected a successful new identity, and didn't try to make too much of a splash so as to attract attention he could have made it. Others have done it on a smaller scale. So might he. That job was well engineered. Whether or not Conley actually planned a double cross or took off when he saw how the fighting was going, we'll never know, but he got away."

  "There was the cab."

  "He could have killed the driver and dumped the cab somewhere. He was a ruthless man."

  "Sonny seemed to think somebody else got to him."

  Torrence shook his head, thinking. "I doubt it. There was still the cab and driver, still the money whose serial numbers were recorded. No, I think Conley made a successful escape. If he did, he's probably dead by now. He was eight years older than Sonny, if I remember right. That would put him in his eighties at the end of this time." He looked at me steadily. "Funny you should bring that up."

  "Something's come out of, the past, buddy. There's trouble. I'm in the middle of it."

  "Yes," he nodded, "you are. Now, how can I be of further help?"

  "Look back. No matter how slight it might seem, see who wants you badly enough to try to hurt Sue or yourself."

  "I will, Mr. Hammer."

  "One more thing."

  "What's that?"

  "Your former wife."

  "Yes?"

  "How much did you know about her?" I asked him.

  Torrence flinched visibly, dropped his eyes to his hands, then brought them back to my face again. "I assume you went to the trouble of looking into her background."

  "I heard a few things."

  "Then let me say this... I was well aware of Sally's history before marrying her. In way of explanation I'll tell you that I loved her. In way of an excuse you might understand, say there's no accounting for taste. We met when she was in trouble. A business relationship developed into friendship that became love. Unfortunately, she maintained her alcoholism and died because of it. Why do you ask?"

  "I was thinking of blackmail possibilities."

  "Discard them. Everything is a matter of public record. I wouldn't tolerate blackmail."

  "Maybe it hasn't been tried yet."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I don't know," I said. "There are just some interesting possibilities that have developed. You try to stay ahead of them." I got up and put on my hat. "Okay, if I need anything else I'll stop by."

  "I'm always available, Mr. Hammer." With a gesture of dismissal he went back to his papers, so I eased out the door and looked for Geraldine King.

  She was in a smaller room toward the front, one that had been converted into a small, but efficiently equipped office. Behind a typewriter, with black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, she looked like a calendar artist's idea of what a secretary should be. Through the knee well in the desk I could see her skirt hiked halfway up her thighs for comfort and the first thing she did when she saw me in the doorway was reach for the hem and tug it down.

  I
let out a half-silent wolf whistle and grinned. "Man," I said.

  She pulled her glasses off and dropped them in front of her. "Distracting, aren't I?"

  "Tell me, honey, how the hell does Torrence work with you around?"

  Geraldine chuckled and shrugged. "With ease, that's how. I am a fixture, a political associate and nothing more. I can prance around this house in the buff and he'd never notice."

  "Want to bet?"

  "No, I mean it. Mr. Torrence is dedicated. His political life is all he knows and all he wants. He's been in public service so long that he thinks of nothing else. Any time he is seen with a woman having supper or at some social function is for a political advantage."

  "The female votes?"

  "Certainly. Women don't mind widowers who seem to still have a family instinct but they do seem to resent confirmed bachelors."

  "That's what the men get for giving them the vote. Look, kid, Sim tells me you've been through a few of his political campaigns."

  "That's right."

  "He ever have any trouble before?"

  "Like what?"

  "Something from his past coming out to shake him. Any blackmail attempts or threats against his personal life. He says no, but sometimes these things go through the party rather than the individual."

  She sat back, frowning, then shook ,her head. "I think I'd know of anything like that. The organization is well-knit and knows the implications of these things and I would have been told, but as far as I know nothing can interfere with his career. He's exceptionally clean. That's why we were so concerned about Sue's running off. Even a thing like that can affect voting. A man who can't run his own house can hardly be expected to run a state."

  "You know he's in a position to be hurt now."

  "I realize that." She got up, pushed her chair back, and walked toward me with a swaying stride, not conscious at all of the subtle undulations beneath the tight-fitting sweater and skirt. "Do you think Sue will be all right?"

  "She's a big girl. She may not look it, but don't be fooled."

  "This business... about Mr. Torrence killing her mother."

  "That's an idea she'll have to get out of her mind."

  Geraldine said, "She dreams it. Dreams can be pretty real sometimes. Her very early childhood couldn't have been very nice. I don't think she ever knew who her father was. If she makes open accusations it can damage Mr. Torrence."

  "I'll speak to her. She around?"

  "There's a summer house on the south side where she practices. She practically lives there."

  She was standing in front of me now, concern deep inside those wild blue eyes. I said, "I'll see what I can do."

  Geraldine smiled, reached up slowly, and put her arms around my neck. With the same deliberate slowness she pulled herself on her toes, wet her lips with her tongue, and brought my mouth down to hers. It was a soft teasing, tasting kiss, as if she were sampling the juice from a plum before buying the lot. Her mouth was a warm cavern filled with life and promise, then just as slowly she drew away, smiling.

  "Thank you," she said.

  I grinned at her. "Thank you."

  "I could hate, you easier than I could like you."

  "Which is worse?"

  "That you'll have to find out for yourself."

  "Maybe I will, baby."

  At first I didn't think she was there, then I heard the sounds of a cabinet opening and I knocked on the door. Her smile was like the sun breaking open a cloud and she reached for my hand. "Hello, Mike. Gee I'm glad to see you." She looked past me. "Isn't Velda with you?"

  "Not this time. Can I come in?"

  She made a face at me and stepped aside, then closed the door.

  It was a funny little place, apparently done over to her specifications. One wall was all mirror with a dancer's practice bar against it. Opposite was a record player with a shelf of LP's, a shoe rack with all the implements of the trade, a standup microphone attached to a record player, a spinet piano covered with lead sheets of popular music and Broadway hits, with a few stuffed animals keeping them in place.

  The rest of the room was a girl-style den with a studio couch, dresser, cabinets, and a small conference table. Cardboard boxes, books, and a few old-fashioned paper files covered the table and it was these she was going through when I found her.

  "What're-you up to, Sue?"

  "Going through my mother's things."

  "She's a long time dead. Face it."

  "I know. Would you like to see what she looked like?"

  "Sure."

  There were a few clippings from the trade papers of the time and some framed nightclub shots taken by the usual club photographers and they all showed a well-built blonde with a slightly vacuous expression. Whether it was intended or built in I couldn't tell, but she almost typified the beautiful but dumb showgirl. There were four photos, all taken in night spots long since gone. In two of them she was with a party of six. In the other two there were four people, and in those she was with the same man, a lanky dark-haired guy with deep-set eyes who almost seemed like a hell-fire preacher touring the sin spots for material for a sermon.

  "She was pretty," I said.

  "She was beautiful," Sue said softly. "I can still remember her face."

  "These were taken before you were born." I pointed to the dates on the back of the photos.

  "I know. But I can remember her. I remember her talking to me. I remember her talking about him."

  "Come on, kid."

  "Her hair swirled as she made a small negative gesture. "I mean it. She hated him."

  "Sue... they were married."

  "I don't care."

  I looked at her sharply. "Want me to be blunt?"

  She shrugged and bit into her lip.

  "Your mother was an alcoholic. Sim tried everything to dry her out. Alcoholics hate that. If she hated him it was because he wanted to help. Get it out of your mind that he killed her."

  "She told me the snake killed her."

  "Drunks see snakes and elephants and everything else. Don't go getting wrapped up in an obsession."

  "She told me to look for a letter. Someday I'll find it."

  "You were three years old. How could you remember those things?"

  "I just do."

  "Okay, you look for it then. Meanwhile, I want you to do something for me."

  "What?"

  "Don't cause trouble. You stay out of his hair until we clear this thing up. Promise me?"

  "Maybe." She was smiling at me.

  "What do you want?"

  "Kiss me."

  I grunted. "I just got done kissing Geraldine King."

  "You're nasty, but I don't care." She sidled around the desk and stood there with her hands behind her back. "I'll take seconds," she said.

  So I kissed her.

  "Not like that."

  "How?" The damn game was getting out of hand. The big broads I could handle, but how do you get the kids off your back?

  Then she showed me how in a moment of sudden violence that was all soft and tender yet filled with some latent fury I couldn't understand. The contact was brief, but it shook me and left her trembling, her eyes darkly languid and her face flushed.

  "I hope you like seconds best."

  "By far, kid, only don't do it again." I faked a laugh and held her away. "Stay cool, okay?"

  "Okay, Mike."

  Then I got out of there and back into the taxi where I gave the driver Pat's address.

  Chapter Six

  The new Inspector was a transfer from another division, a hard apple I had seen around years ago. His name was Spencer Grebb and one of his passionate hatreds was personnel from other fields poking around in his domain, with first cut going to private investigators and police reporters. From the look he gave me, I seemed to have a special place in his book and was target one on his big S list.

  Charles Force was a D.A. out for Charlie Force. He was young, talented, on the way up, and nothing was going to deter his
ambition. He was a nice-looking guy, but you couldn't tell what was going on behind his face. He had made it the hard way, in the courtrooms, and was a pro at the game right down the line.

  Now they both sat at one side of the room with Pat in the middle, looking at me like I was game they were going to let out of the box long enough to get a running start so that hunting me down would be a pleasure.

  After the introductions I said, "You check those slugs out, Pat?"

  "Both from the same gun that killed Basil Levitt. You mentioned Marv Kania. Could you identify the guy, the guy who pulled the trigger?"

  "If he's Kania I could."

  "Try this." Pat flipped a four-by-five photo across the desk and I picked it up.

  I looked at it and tossed it back. "That's the one."

  "Positive?"

  "Positive. He's made two passes at me, once in the office building and today with a truck. It rammed a taxi I was in."

  Inspector Grebb had a hard, low voice. "This you reported right away."

  "Now I'm doing it. At the moment it could have been a simple traffic accident. I ducked out because I had something to do. Now I'm tying it all in."

  His smile was a twisted thing. "You know, it wouldn't be too hard to find a charge to press there, would it, Mr. Force?"

  Charlie Force smiled too, but pleasantly. A courtroom smile. "I don't think so, Inspector."

  As insolently as I could make it, I perched on the edge of Pat's desk and faced them. "Let's get something straight. I know what you guys would like to see, but I'm not going to fall easily. The agency I represent is Federal. It's obscure, but pulls a lot of weight, and if you want to see just how much weight is there, push me a little. I'm operating in an official capacity whether you like it or not, which gives me certain latitudes. I've been around long enough to know the score on both ends so play it straight, friends. I'm cooperating with all departments as Captain Chambers will tell you. Just don't push. You'd be surprised what kind of a stink I can raise if I want to."

  I looked at Charlie Force deliberately. "Especially in the publicity circuit, buddy."

  His eyebrows pulled together. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Hammer?"