My Gun Is Quick

by Mickey Spillane

  She looked at me sleepily and said, “Hello, you.”

  “Hi, kid.”

  “Where is Lola this time?”

  “At the beach.”

  “And who with?”

  “A guy called Mike... that’s me. I found you back in the city under a rock. Remember?”

  “No, but I’m glad you’re here with me.” She twisted on her hip and slouched back, looking at me. No remorse, no bewilderment. Just curiosity.

  “What time is it?”

  I said, “After midnight. Want to go home?”

  “No.”

  “Want to take a walk then?”

  “Yes. Can I take off my shoes and walk in the sand?”

  “Take off everything if you want to.”

  “Maybe I will when we get down on the beach, Mike.”

  “Don’t do anything of the kind. I’m too damn susceptible.”

  It was pretty good strolling down that narrow lane, jumping the cracks in the sidewalk and making faces at the moon. Lola slipped her hand into mine and it was warm and soft, but holding tight as though I was something worth holding on to. I was remembering what Red said, about guys like me never having to pay and I wondered how true it was.

  She took off her shoes like she wanted to and walked in the sand, kicking at mounds with her toes. When we reached the bulkhead we jumped down and walked to the water, and I took off my shoes too. It was cold, but it was nice, too nice to spoil by talking yet, and we waded up the beach, stepping up the wooden jetties and jumping to the other side, until there was nothing left but straight sandy beach, and even the houses were in the background.

  “I like it here, Mike,” she said. She let go my hand and picked up a clamshell, looking at it as if it were a rare specimen. I put my arm around her and we stepped out of the water that licked at our feet and walked to the rolling hillocks of the dunes. After we sat down I handed her a cigarette, and in the light of the flame I saw that her face had changed and was at peace with itself.

  “Cold?” I asked.

  “A little chilly. I haven’t much on under the dress.”

  I didn’t question it; I just gave her my coat, then leaned back on my elbows while she hugged her knees, staring out at the ocean.

  When she took a long last drag on the cigarette she turned around and said, “Why did you bring me out here, Mike?”

  “To talk. I need somebody to talk to.”

  She leaned back on the sand. “My mind’s unfogging, Mike,” she said. “Was it about Nancy?”

  I nodded.

  “She’s dead, Mike. I liked her, too.”

  “Who killed her?”

  There was a long moment of silence while Lola searched my face. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

  “A private dick. And I’m not hired by anybody, either.”

  “And you think she was murdered instead of being killed by a hit-run driver.”

  “Lola, I don’t know what to think. Everything’s going around in circles right now. Let’s say I didn’t like the way she died.”

  “Mike ... what if I said I thought she was murdered, too?”

  I jumped at that. “What makes you think so?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Lots of things, maybe. If she wasn’t murdered, she was killed accidentally before she could be murdered. Let’s say that, Mike.”

  I turned on my side and my hand covered hers. The moonlight on the white V of the plunging neckline made it hard to concentrate. Her skin was white and smooth, in sharp contrast to the black satin. The only thing I could think of was the kind of a bra she could be wearing under a dress like that. It would have to be an engineering marvel.

  “How did you get to know her, Lola?”

  Her answer was simple enough. “We worked together.”

  “You?” It didn’t seem right.

  “Don’t I look the type?”

  “Maybe ... if a guy had dough and a convertible and was looking for an interesting side line in life. But not down in that section. What were you doing there?”

  “I worked in a house up the street.”

  “I thought all the girls were killed in the fire.”

  “They were, but I wasn’t there at the time. I was ... in a hospital. I had been there quite a while. I left today.”

  She looked at the sand and traced two letters in it. V. D.

  “That’s why I was in the hospital. That’s why I was working down there instead of playing for guys with dough and convertibles. I had that once and I lost it. I’m not very smart, am I, Mike?”

  “No,” I told her, “you’re not. Anybody can do what you’re doing and make a living at it. You never had to go in for that, neither did Nancy. There’s no excuse for it. No matter what happens, there’s only one way you wind up. No, Lola, there’s no excuse for it.”

  “Sometimes there is.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair, then dropped her hand to cover mine. “Maybe that’s why Nancy and I were so close ... because there was some excuse for it. I was in love, Mike... terribly in love with a guy who was no damn good. I could have had anybody I wanted, but no, I had to fall for a guy who was no damn good at all. We were going to get married when he ran away with a two-bit bum who hung around all the saloons in town. I was pretty disgusted, I guess. If that was all men wanted I figured on playing the game. I played it pretty good, too. After that I had everything, but I never fell for anybody.

  “At first I was bitter about it, but living became too easy. I had something men wanted, and they were willing to supply the overhead charges. It got so good that it wasn’t worth while playing one sucker at a time. Then one day I met a smart girl who introduced me to the right people, and after that the dates were supplied and I made plenty of money, and I had a lot of time to spend it in, too.

  “I had a name and a phone number, and if they had the dough all they had to do was call. That’s why they called us call girls. The suckers paid plenty, but they got what they wanted and were safe. Then one day I got drunk and slipped up. After that I wasn’t safe to be with any more and the suckers complained, and they took away my name and my phone number, so all I had left was to go on the town.

  “There’s always people looking for leftovers like me. One got me set with an outfit that had a house and a vacancy and I worked there, then they set me down a couple of notches until I wound up in the place where I met Nancy. Most of the girls in the racket just drifted into it, that’s why Nancy and I became friends. She had a reason for being there, too. It wasn’t the same reason, but it was a reason and it put us above the others.

  “One day I got smart. I pulled out of it and went to the hospital. When I was there Nancy was killed, and when I got back to the house it was burned. I came back to get Nancy, but she was gone, and she was the only friend I had left, so I went down to Barney’s and got drunk.”

  “Where you made a very professional pass at me.”

  “I didn’t mean to, Mike. I was drunk and I couldn’t get out of the habit, I guess. Forgive me?”

  When she turned the neckline fell away and I was ready to forgive her for anything. But first there was more I had to find out.

  “Nancy ... what about Nancy... did she follow the same route you did? About working her way down the ladder, I mean.”

  “It happens to the best of them sooner or later, Mike. Yes, Nancy was a call girl too, only she had made the grade before me.”

  “And did she have to go to the hospital, too?”

  A puzzled frown tugged at her forehead. “No, that was the strange part about it. She was very careful. First she was in the big money, then suddenly she quit it all and dropped out of sight. She was forever running into people that hadn’t seen her for a long time, and it frightened her. She stayed in the business as though it were a place to hide.”

  “Hiding from what?”

  “I never found out. Those were things you didn’t ask about.”

  “Did she have anything worth hiding?”

  “If sh
e did I didn’t see it, though she was mighty secretive about her personal belongings. The only expensive thing she had was a camera, an imported affair that she used when she had a job once. You know, taking pictures of couples on the street and handing them a card. They would send the card in with a quarter and get their picture.”

  “When was that... recently?”

  “Oh, no, quite some time ago. I happened to see some of the cards she had left over and asked about them. I think the name was ‘QUICK PICK’... or something like that.”

  I put a cigarette in my mouth and lit it, then gave her a drag from it. “What’s your whole name, Lola?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Bergan, Lola Bergan, and I come from a little town called Byeville down in Mississippi. It isn’t a big town, but it’s a nice town, and I still have a family there. My mother and father think I’m a famous New York model and I have a little sister that wants to grow up and be just like me, and if she does I’ll beat her brains out.”

  There wasn’t any answer to that. I said, “Lola, there’s just one thing more. Answer me yes or no fast and if you lie to me I’ll know it. Does the name Feeney Last mean anything to you?”

  “No, Mike. Should it?”

  “No, perhaps not. It meant something to Red and some other people, but it shouldn’t involve you. Maybe I’m on the wrong trolley?”

  “Mike ... did you love Nancy?”

  “Naw, she was a friend. I saw her once and spoke to her a few minutes and we got to be buddies. It was one of those things. Then some son of a bitch killed her.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike. I wish you could like me like that. Do you think you could?”

  She turned again, and this time she was closer. Her head nestled against my shoulder and she moved my hand up her body until I knew that there was no marvel of engineering connected to the bra because there was no bra. And the studded belt she wore was the keystone to the whole ensemble, and when it was unsnapped the whole affair came apart in a whisper of black satin that folded back against the sand until all of her reflected the moonlight from above until I eclipsed the pale brilliance, and there was no sound except that of the waves and our breathing. Then soon even the waves were gone, and there was only the warmth of white skin and little muscles that played under my hand and the fragrance that was her mouth.

  The redhead had been right.

  At one-fifteen I awoke with the phone shrilling in my ears. I kicked the cover off the bed and shuffled over to the stand, wiping the sleep from my eyes. Then I barked a sharp hello into the phone.

  Velda said, “Where the devil have you been? I’ve been trying to get you all morning.”

  “I was here. Sleeping.”

  “What were you doing last night?”

  “Working. What did ya want?”

  “A gentleman came in this morning, a very wealthy gentleman. His name was Arthur Berin-Grotin and he wants to see you. I made an appointment for two-thirty here in the office and I suggest you keep it. In case you didn’t know, the bank balance can stand relining.”

  “Okay, kid, I’ll be there. Was his stooge with him?”

  “He came alone. Maybe he had someone waiting, but they didn’t come up.”

  “Good. Stick around until I show up. Won’t be long. ’Bye, honey.”

  For ten minutes I splashed around in the shower, then made a bite to eat without drying off. A full pot of coffee put me back in shape and I started to get dressed. My suit was a mess, wrinkled from top to bottom, with the pockets and cuffs filled with sand. There were lipstick smears on the collar and shoulders, so it went back into the closet behind the others until I could get it to the tailor’s. That left me with the custom-built tweed that was made to be worn over a rod, so I slapped on the shoulder holster and filled it with the .45, then slipped on the jacket. I looked in the mirror and grunted. A character straight out of a B movie. Downstairs I got a shave and a haircut, which left me just enough time to get to the office in a few minutes before the old gent.

  Mr. Berin-Grotin came in at exactly two-thirty. My switch box buzzed and Velda called in from the waiting room, “A gentleman here to see you, Mike.”

  I told her to send him in and sat back in my swivel chair, waiting. When he opened the door I got up and walked over with my mitt out. “Glad to see you again, Mr. Berin. Come over and park.”

  “Ah, thank you.” He took an overstuffed leather chair by the desk and leaned forward on his cane. In the light from the window I could see a troubled look about his eyes.

  “Young man,” he said, “since you left me I have given more and more thought to the plight of the girl you were so interested in. The one that was found dead.”

  “The redhead. Her name was Nancy Sanford.”

  His eyebrows went up. “You discovered that already?”

  “Hell no, the cops got that angle. All I ever found out was some junk that makes no sense.” I leaned back and fired up a smoke, wondering what he wanted. He told me soon enough.

  “Did they find her parents ... anyone who would take care of ... the body?”

  “Nah. There’s not much they can do, anyhow. The city is filled with a thousand girls like her. Ten to one she’s from out of the state and has been away from home so long nobody gives a damn any more. The only one who’s trying to give her back her past is me. Maybe I’ll be sorry for it.”

  “That is exactly what I come to see you about, Mr. Hammer.”

  “Mike ... I hate formalities.”

  “Oh yes ... Mike. At any rate, when you left I thought and thought about the girl. I made a few judicious calls to friends I have with the newspapers, but they couldn’t help in the least. They said the girl was just a ... a drifter. It seems a shame that things like that must happen. I believe that we’re all to blame somehow.

  “Your deep concern has transferred itself to me, and I think I may be of some help to you. I am continually giving to charities of some sort ... but that’s a rather abstract sort of giving, don’t you think? Here is a chance for me to help someone, albeit a trifle, and I feel I must.”

  “I told you once I’ll take care of the funeral arrangements myself,” I said.

  “I realize you intend to ... but that’s not what I mean. What I wish to do is employ you. If you carry on an investigation you must be financed, and since I am as anxious as you to have her remains properly cared for, I would be deeply grateful if you would let me give you the means of locating her relatives. Will you do it?”

  It was a break I hadn’t expected. I took my feet off the desk and swung the chair around. “It’s all right with me,” I told him. “I would have poked around anyway, but this makes it a lot easier.”

  He reached in his jacket pocket for his wallet and thumbed it open. “And what are your rates, Mike?”

  “A flat fifty a day. No expense account. The fifty takes care of it all.”

  “Have you any idea how long it may take?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Who can tell. Sometimes chasing a name is easy, sometimes not.”

  “In that case, let me do this....” He laid a sheaf of crisp, new bills on my desk. The top one was a beautiful fifty. “Here is one thousand dollars. Not a retainer ... but payment in full. Please stay with it until you think it has been spent. If you find out about the girl quickly, good. If you don’t locate her history in twenty days, then it is probably a hopeless task and not worth your time. Is that a satisfactory arrangement?”

  “I’m stealing your money, Mr. Berin.”

  His face brightened into an easy smile and the trouble lines were gone. “I don’t think so, Mr. Hammer. I have become familiar with your record and know how far you are capable of going. With an added incentive of having an interest in the girl yourself, you should make excellent progress. I hope so.

  “It isn’t a pleasant thing to see someone go like that ... no one to know or care....”

  “I care.”

  “Yes, I know you do, Mike,
and I care too, because yours is a genuine, unselfish interest to restore some touch of decency to her. She couldn’t have been all bad. Do whatever you think is necessary, and in the interim, if there is a need for more money, you will call on me, won’t you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “The whole affair makes me feel so very small. Here I am preparing for a grand exit from this life, spending thousands that will be a memorial to my name and this girl dies as if she had never existed. You see, I know what aloneness is; I know the feeling of having no one to call your own, not even an entombed memory to worship. My wife, as you may know, was an ardent sportswoman. She loved the sea, but she loved it too much. During one of her cruises aboard a yacht that should never have been out of still waters she was washed overboard. My only son was killed in the first World War. His daughter was the dearest thing to my heart, and when she died I knew what it was like to be utterly, completely alone in this world. Like my wife, she loved the sea too dearly too. It finally took her during a storm off the Bahamas. Perhaps you understand now why I have erected a memorial to myself ... for there is not even so much as a headstone for the others, except perhaps a cross over my son’s grave in France. And too, that is why I want no one else to share my burden of having nothing left, nothing at all. I am thankful that there are people like you, Mike. My faith in the kindnesses of man was extremely low. I thought that all people cared about was money, now I know I was quite wrong.”

  I nodded, blowing a streamer of smoke at the ceiling. “Money is great, Mr. Berin, but sometimes a guy gets pretty damn sore and money doesn’t matter any more. A guy can get just plain curious, too... and money doesn’t matter then either.”

  My new client stood up, giving me an old-fashioned bow. “That takes care of the matter then?”

  “Almost. Where do you want me to send my report?”

  “I never gave it a thought. It really doesn’t matter, but if you come across anything you might feel is interesting, call or write to me at my home. It’s entirely up to you. I’m more interested in results than the procedure.”