The Snake mh-8

by Mickey Spillane

  "The last guy that said that is dead." I grinned.

  "We'd better get up there then."

  New York, when the traffic is thick, is a maddening place. From high above the streets the cars look like a winding line of ants, but when you are in the convoy it becomes a raucous noise, a composite of horns and engines and voices cursing at other voices. It's a heavy smell of exhaust fumes and unburned hydrocarbons and in the desire to compress time and space the distance between cars is infinitesimal.

  The running lights designed to keep traffic moving at a steady pace seem to break down then. They all become red. Always, there is a bus or truck ahead, or an out-of-town driver searching for street signs. There are pedestrians who take their time, sometimes deliberately blocking the lights in the never-ceasing battle against the enemy, those who are mounted.

  In the city the average speed of a fire truck breaks down to eighteen miles an hour with all its warning devices going, so imagine what happens to time and distance when the end-of-day rush is on. Add to that the rain that fogged the windshields and made every sudden stop hazardous.

  Ordinarily from Brooklyn the Torrence place would have been an hour away. But not this night. No, this was a special night of delay and frustration, and if Pat hadn't been able to swing around two barriers with his badge held out the window it would have been an hour longer still.

  It was a quarter to eight when we turned in the street Sim Torrence lived on. Behind the wall and the shrubbery I could see lights on in the house and outside that there was no activity at all. From the end of the street, walking toward us, was, the patrolman assigned to the beat on special duty, and when we stopped his pace quickened so that he was there when we got out.

  Pat held his badge out again, but the cop recognized me. Pat said, "Everything all right here?"

  "Yes, sir. Miss King and the girl left some time ago and Torrence arrived, but there has been no trouble. Anything I can help with?"

  "No, just routine. We have to see Torrence."

  "Sure. He left the gate open."

  We left the car on the street and walked in, staying on the grass. I had the .45 in my hand and Pat had his Police Positive out and ready. Sim Torrence's Cadillac was parked in front of the door and when I felt it the hood was still warm.

  Both of us knew what to do. We checked the windows and the back, met again around the front, then I went up to the door while Pat stood by in the shadows.

  I touched the buzzer and heard the chime from inside.

  Nobody answered so I did it again.

  I didn't bother for a third try. I reached out, leaned against the door latch, and it swung in quietly. I went in first, Pat right behind me covering the blind spots. First I motioned him to be quiet, then to follow me since I knew the layout.

  There was a deathly stillness about the house that didn't belong there. With all the lights that were going there should have been some sort of sound. But there was nothing.

  We checked through the downstairs room, opening closets and probing behind the furniture. Pat looked across the room at me, shook his head, and I pointed toward the stairs.

  The master bedroom was the first door on the right. The door was partly open and there was a light on there too. We took that one first.

  And that was where we found Sim Torrence. He wasn't winning any more.

  He lay face down on the floor with a bullet through his head and a puddle of blood running away from him like juice from a stepped-on tomato. We didn't stop there. We went into every room in the house looking for a killer before we finally came back to Sim.

  Pat wrapped the phone in a handkerchief, called the local department, and reported in. When he hung up he said, "You know we're in a sling, don't you?"

  "Why?"

  "We should have called in from Brooklyn and let them cover it from this end."

  "My foot, buddy. Getting in a jam won't help anything. As far as anyone is concerned we came up here on a social call. I was here last night helping out during an emergency and I came back to check, that's all."

  "And what about the women?"

  "We'll get to them before anybody else will."

  "You'd better be right."

  "Quit worrying."

  While we waited we checked the area around the body for anything that might tie in with the murder. There were no spent cartridges so we both assumed the killer used a revolver. I prowled around the house looking for a sign of entry, since Geraldine would have locked the door going out and Sim behind him, coming in. The killer must have already been here and made his own entry the easy way through the front door.

  The sirens were screaming up the street outside when I found out where he got in. The window in Sue's room had been neatly jimmied from the trellis outside and was a perfect, quiet entry into the house. Anybody could have come over the walls without being seen by the lone cop on the beat. From there up that solid trellis was as easy as taking the steps.

  Sue's bed was still rumpled. Geraldine must have literally dragged her out of it because the burned stuffed toy was still there crammed under the covers, almost like a body itself.

  Then I could see that something new had been added. There was a bullet hole and powder burns on the sheet and when I flipped it back I saw the hole drilled into the huge toy.

  Somebody had mistaken that charred ruin for Sue under the covers and tried to put a bullet through her!

  Back to Lolita again. Damn, where would it end?

  What kind of a person were we dealing with?

  I went to put the covers back in their original position before calling Pat in when I saw the stuffed bear up close for the first time. It had been her mother's and the fire had burned it stiff. The straw sticking out was hard and crisp with age, the ends black from the heat. During the night Sue must have lain on it and her weight split open a seam.

  An edge of a letter stuck out of it.

  I tugged it loose, didn't bother to look at it then because they were coming in downstairs now, racing up the stairs. I stuck the letter in my pocket and called for Pat.

  He got the import of it right away but didn't say anything. From all appearances this was a breakin and anybody could have done it. The implications were too big to let the thing out now and he wasn't going to do much explaining until we had time to go over it.

  The reporters had already gathered and were yelling for admittance. Tomorrow this kill would make every headline in the country and the one in Brooklyn would be lucky if it got a squib in any sheet at all. There was going to be some high-level talk before this one broke straight and Pat knew it too.

  It was an hour before we got out of there and back in the car. Some of the bigwigs of the political party had arrived and were being pressed by the reporters, but they had nothing to say. They got in on VIP status and were immediately sent into the den to be quizzed by the officers in charge and as long as there was plenty to do we could ride for a while.

  Pat didn't speak until we were halfway back to the city, then all he said was, "One of your theories went out the window today."

  "Which one?"

  "If Sim planned to kill Sue, how would he excuse it?"

  "I fell into that one with no trouble, Pat," I said. "You know how many times he has been threatened?"

  "I know."

  "So somebody was trying to get even. Revenge motive. They hit the kid."

  "But Sue is still alive."

  "Somebody thought he got her tonight. I'll tell you this... I bet the first shot fired was into that bed. The killer turned on the light to make sure and saw what happened. He didn't dare let it stand like that so he waited around. Then in came Sim. Now it could be passed off as a burglary attempt while the real motive gets lost in the rush."

  I tapped his arm. "There's one other thing too. The night of the first try there were two groups. Levitt and Kid Hand. They weren't working together and they were both after the same thing... the kid."

  "All right, sharpie, what's the answer?"
<
br />   "I think it's going to be three million bucks," I said.

  "You have more than that to sell."

  "Where's Blackie Conley."

  "And you think he's got the money?"

  "Want to bet?"

  "Name it."

  "A night on the town. A foursome. We'll find you a broad. Loser picks up all the tabs."

  Pat nodded. "You got it, but forget finding me a broad. I'll get my own."

  "You'll probably bring a policewoman."

  "With you around it wouldn't be a bad idea," he said.

  He let me out in front of my apartment and I promised to call him as soon as I heard from Velda. He was going to run the Torrence thing through higher channels and let them handle this hotcake.

  I went upstairs, called through the door, and let Geraldine open it. Velda still hadn't gotten back. Sue was inside on the couch, awake, but still drowsy from the sedatives she had taken. I made Geraldine sit down next to her, then broke the news.

  At first Sue didn't react. Finally she said, "He's really dead?"

  "Really, sugar."

  Somehow a few years seemed to drape themselves around her. She looked at the floor, made a wry face, and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Mike. I don't feel anything. Just free. I feel free."

  Geraldine looked like she was about to break, but she came through it. There was a stricken expression in her eyes and her mouth hung slackly. She kept repeating, "Oh, no!" over and over again and that was all. When she finally accepted it she asked, "Who, Mike, who did it?"

  "We don't know."

  "This is terrible. The whole political..."

  "It's more terrible than that, kid. Politicians can always be replaced. I suggest you contact your office when you feel up to it. There's going to be hell to pay and if your outfit gets into power this time it'll be by a miracle... and those days, believe me, are over."

  She started asking me something else, but the phone rang and I jumped to answer it. Velda said, "Mike... I just heard. Is it true?"

  "He's had it. What did you come up with?"

  "About the time you mentioned... nobody could account for Torrence's whereabouts for almost two hours. Nobody really looked for him and they all supposed he was with somebody else, but nobody could clear him for that time."

  "That does it then. Come on back."

  "Twenty minutes."

  "Shake it."

  In a little while I was going to be tied in with this mess and would be getting plenty of visitors and I didn't want either Geraldine or Sue around. Their time would come, but not right now. I called a hotel, made reservations for them both, dialed for a cab, and told them to get ready. Neither wanted to leave until I told them there was no choice. I wanted them completely out of sight and told Geraldine to stay put again, having her meals sent up until I called for her.

  Events had moved too quickly and she couldn't think for herself any longer. She agreed dumbly, the girls got into their coats, and I walked them out to the cab.

  Upstairs I sat at the desk and took the letter out of my pocket. Like the straw, it was crisp with age, but still sealed, and after all these years smelled faintly of some feminine perfume. I slid my finger under the flap and opened it.

  The handwriting was the scrawl of a drunk trying hard for sobriety. The lines were uneven and ran to the edge of the page, but it was legible enough.

  It read:

  Darling Sue:

  My husband Sim is the one we called The Snake. Hate him, darling, because he wants us dead. Be careful of him. Someday he will try to kill us both. Sim Torrence could prove I helped deliver narcotics at one time. He could have sent me to prison. We made a deal that I was to be the go-between for him and Sonny Motley and he was going to arrange the robbery. He could do it because he knew every detail of the money exchange. What he really wanted was for Sonny and the rest to be caught so he could boost his career. That happened, didn't it, darling? He never should have left me out in the cold. After I had you I wanted security for you and knew how to get it. I didn't love Sim Torrence. He hated me like he hates anybody in his way. I made him do it for you, dearest. I will hide this letter where he won't find it but you will someday. He searches everything I have to be sure this can't happen. Be careful my darling. He is The Snake and he will try to kill you if he can. Be careful of accidents. He will have to make it look like one.

  All My Love,

  Mother

  The Snake... the one thing they all feared... and now he was dead. Dedicated old Win with Sim, an engineer of robberies, hirer of murderers, a killer himself... what a candidate for governor. The people would never know how lucky they were.

  The Snake. A good name for him. I was right... it worked the way I figured it. The votes weren't all counted yet, but the deck was stacked against Sim Torrence. In death he was going to take a fall bigger than the one he would have taken in life.

  Torrence never got the three million. He never gave a damn about it in the first place. All breaking up that robbery did was earn him prestige and some political titles. It was his first step into the big-time and he made it himself. He put everybody's life on the block including his own and swung it. I wondered what plans he had made for Sally if she hadn't nipped into him first. In fact, marrying her was even a good deal for him. It gave him a chance to keep her under wraps and lay the groundwork for a murder.

  Hell, if I could check back that far with accuracy I knew what I would find. Sim paid the house upstate a visit, found Annette Lee asleep and Sally in a dead drunk. He simply dragged her out into the winter night and the weather did the rest. He couldn't have done anything with the kid right then without starting an investigation. Sally would have been a tragic accident; the kid too meant trouble.

  So he waited. Like a good father, which added to his political image, he adopted her into his house. When it was not expedient for him to have her around any longer he arranged for her execution through Levitt. He sure was a lousy planner there. Levitt talked too much. Enough to die before he could do the job.

  In one way Sue forced her own near-death with her crazy behavior. Whatever she couldn't get out of her mind were the things her mother told her repeatedly in her drunken moods. It had an effect all right. She made it clear to Sim that he was going to have to kill her if he didn't want her shooting her mouth off.

  Sim would have known who The Snake was. Sally had referred to him by that often enough. No wonder he ducked it at the trial. No wonder it scared him silly when Sue kept insisting her mother left something for her to read. No wonder he searched her things. That last time in Sue's little house was one of desperation. He knew that sooner or later something would come to light and if it happened he was politically dead, which to him was death in toto.

  But somebody made a mistake. There was a bigger snake loose than Torrence ever was. There was a snake with three million bucks buried in its hole and that could be the worst kind of snake of all. Hell, Sim wasn't a snake at all. He was a goddamn worm.

  I folded the letter and put it back in my pocket when the bell rang. When I opened the door Velda folded into my arms like a big cat, kicked it shut with her heel, and buried her face against my neck.

  "You big slob," she said.

  While she made coffee I told her about it, taking her right through from the beginning. She read the letter twice, getting the full implication of it all.

  "Does Pat know all this?"

  "Not yet. He'd better take first things first."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Call Art Rickerby."

  I picked the unlisted number out of memory and got Art on the phone. It took a full thirty minutes to rehash the entire situation, but he listened patiently, letting me get it across. It was the political side of it he was more concerned with at the moment, realizing what propaganda ammunition the other side could use against us.

  One thing about truth... let it shine and you were all right. It was the lies that could hurt you. But there were ways of letting the truth com
e out so as to nullify the awkward side of it and this was what the striped-pants boys were for.

  Art said he'd get into it right away, but only because of my standing as a representative of the agency he was part of.

  I said, "Where do I go from here, Art?"

  "Now who's going to tell you, big man?"

  "It isn't over yet."

  "It's never over, Mike. When this is over there will be something else."

  "There will be some big heat coming my way. I'd hate to lose my pretty little ticket. It's all I have."

  He was silent for a moment, then he said, "I'll let you in on a confidence. There are people here who like you. We can't all operate the same way. Put a football player on the diamond and he'd never get around the bases. A baseball player in the middle of a pileup would never get up. You've never been a total unknown and now that you're back, stay back. When we need you, we'll yell. Meanwhile nobody's going to pick up your ticket as long as you stay clean enough. I didn't say legal... I said clean. One day we'll talk some more about this, but not now. You do what you have to do. Just remember that everybody's watching so make it good."

  "Great, all I have to do is stay alive."

  "Well, if you do get knocked off, let me repeat a favorite old saying of yours, 'Kismet, buddy.'"

  He hung up and left me staring at the phone. I grinned, then put it down and started to laugh. Velda said, "What's so funny?"

  "I don't know," I told her. "It's just funny. Grebb and Charlie Force are going to come at me like tigers when this is over to get my official status changed and if I can make it work they don't have a chance."

  That big, beautiful thing walked over next to me and slid her arms around my waist and said, "They never did have a chance. You're the tiger, man."

  I turned around slowly and ran my hands under her sweater, up the warm flesh of her back. She pulled herself closer to me so that every curve of hers matched my own and her breasts became rigid against my chest.

  There was a tenderness to her mouth that was only at the beginning, then her lips parted with a gentle searching motion and her tongue flicked at mine with the wordless gestures of love. Somehow the couch was behind us and we sank down on it together. There was no restraint at all, simply the knowledge that it was going to happen here and now at our own time and choosing.