My Gun Is Quick

by Mickey Spillane

  I was uptown without knowing it. I had crossed over and was following a path I had taken once before, and when I slowed down outside the parking lot I knew what I was after.

  I made a U-turn and parked at the curb across the street, then walked to the corner, waited for the light to change and strolled to the other side. I couldn’t be sure if the attendant was the same one who was on the other night; at least this one was awake.

  He opened the window when I rapped on it and I said, “Anybody lose anything in here recently, bud?”

  The guy shook his head. “Just a guy what lost his car keys. Why, find something?”

  “Yes, but there’s no money involved. A little trinket a dame might like to have back. Just thought I’d ask.”

  “Check the ads in the papers. If she wants it bad enough maybe she’ll advertise. Got it with you?”

  “Naw. Left it home.”

  He said, “Oh,” shut the window and went back to his chair. I started to walk away, but before I reached the building that bordered the lot a car turned in and its lights cut a swath down the rows. I saw a pair of legs jump back from the glare and duck in among the cars.

  I stopped flat.

  The legs had gone up the same row I had run into last night. My heart started doing a little dance and the other part of me was saying go to it, that’s why you came here in the first place. Maybe you got your hands on something, only don’t botch it up this time. Take it easy and keep your eyes open and a gun in your fist.

  The car turned its lights out and a door slammed. Feet started walking back toward the gate and a fat guy in a Homburg said something to the man in the booth, laughed and angled across the street. I waited a second, then put my hands on the fence and hopped over.

  This time I didn’t take any chances. I stayed between the cars and the wall, keeping my head down and my footsteps soft. Twice the gravel crunched under my shoes and I stopped dead, listening. Two rows up I heard a soft shuffling sound and a shot kick metal.

  I reached inside my coat and loosened the gun in the holster.

  The guy was too busy to hear me. He was down on one knee sifting the gravel through his fingers, his back toward me. I stood up from the crouch I was in and waited as he inched his way back.

  Another car turned into the lot and he froze, holding his position until it had parked and the driver had left the lot, then he went back to his sifting. I could have reached out and touched him then.

  I said, “Lose something?”

  He tried to get up so fast he fell flat on his face. He made it on the second try and came up swinging, only this time I was ready. I smashed one into his mouth and the guy slammed against the car, but that didn’t stop him. I saw his left looping out and got under it and came into him with a sharp one-two that doubled him over. I didn’t try to play it clean. I brought my knee up and smashed his nose to a pulp and when he screamed he choked on his own blood.

  I bent over and yanked him up and held him against the car, then used my fist on his face until his hands fell away and he was out with his eyes wide open.

  When I let go he folded up and sat in the gravel staring into the dark.

  I lit a match and cupped it near his face, or what was left of it. Then I swore under my breath. I had never seen the guy in my life before. He was young, and he might have been handsome, and the clothes he wore weren’t the ready-made type. I swore again, patted his sides to see if he had a rod and he didn’t. Then I lifted his wallet. It was hand-tooled morocco stuffed with dough, a few cards and a driver’s license issued to one Walter Welburg. Out of curiosity I tapped his pockets and there weren’t any keys in them. Maybe the guy was looking for that.

  Damn. I blew the match out, went down past the cars and hopped over the fence feeling like a dummy.

  I left the car where it was and headed across town on the same walk that had taken me into the trap, only this time I wasn’t tailing anybody. The street was getting lousy with taxis and the evening crowd was just beginning to show its face. Already the dives had their doors open like gaping mouths swallowing the suckers, and the noise of a dozen bands reached the sidewalk. Ahead of me the Zero Zero Club was a winking eye of invitation, and the flunky was opening taxi doors, picking himself up a hatful of quarters. He didn’t see me duck in, so he lost a two-bit tip.

  The hat-check girl gave me a bored smile and a ticket, then when she saw the marks on the side of my face she grinned, “What’s the matter ... she say no and you didn’t believe her?”

  I grinned right back. “I was fighting her off, kid.”

  She leaned over on the counter and propped her chin in her hands, giving me a full view of what went on down the neckline of her blouse. It was plenty. “I don’t blame her for fighting for it, feller,” she said. “I’d fight, too.”

  “You wouldn’t have to.”

  I blew her a kiss and she made like she caught it and stuffed it down her neckline. Her eyes got dark and sensuous and she said, “You have to come back for your hat. Maybe I’ll trade you ... even.”

  A couple in evening clothes came in and she turned to them while I went inside. Most of the tables around the dance floor were filled and baby spot played over a torch singer who was making more music with her hips than her throat. Neither Murray nor his boys were anywhere around so I found a table in the back and ordered a highball and watched the show.

  The waiter brought the drink and before I sipped it halfway through a hand went through my hair and I looked up to see my blonde hostess smiling at me. I started to rise but she pushed me back and pulled the other chair out and sat down.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she said.

  She reached over and took a cigarette from my pack and tapped it on the table. When I lit her she blew a stream of smoke into the air. “You spoke of five hundred bucks the last time...”

  “Go on.”

  “Maybe I can deliver.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But not for five hundred bucks.”

  “Holding me up?”

  “Could be.”

  “What have you got? Five hundred can get me a lot of things.”

  The torch singer was coming to the end of the number and the blonde took another drag on the butt, then rubbed it out in the ash tray. “Look, get out of here before the lights go on. I’ll be through here at one o’clock and you can pick me up on the comer. We can go up to my place and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “And you better bring more than five hundred.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I told her.

  She smiled at me and laid her hand over mine. “You know, you seem like a pretty nice joe, mister. See you at one.”

  I didn’t wait for the lights to go on. I threw the rest of the drink down, waved the waiter over and paid him, then went out to the foyer. The kid at the hat window gave me a mock scowl. “You’re too eager. I don’t get off for hours yet.”

  I threw a half in the cup while she retrieved my hat and when she handed it to me she took that stance that showed me where she put the kiss I threw her. And she didn’t mind my looking.

  I took out a bill, folded it lengthwise and poked it down there out of sight. “If the boss doesn’t find it you can keep it.”

  “He’d never think of looking there,” she grinned devilishly. She stood up and there was no trace of the green at all. “But you can have it back if you want to chase it.”

  This time I pushed my hat on my head and started for the door. Hell, I was no Indian giver. But maybe the Indians had something if they played games like that.

  My watch said I had a long while to wait, so I cut over two blocks and found a bar that had a few empty stools. I ordered a beer and a sandwich twice, then started in to enjoy a mild evening, but I kept drifting back to the blonde. Something was going to cost me and I hoped it was worth it. Five hundred bucks, just half my fee. It took me two hours to make up my mind, then I went to the phone booth in the back, dropped a nickel an
d asked for long-distance.

  The operator came on and I gave her my client’s number. The gnome squeaked out a hello, told me Mr. Berin had retired for the night, but when I insisted I wanted to speak to him, put the phone down and shuffled off muttering to himself. I had just finished putting in another handful of dimes when Mr. Berin gave me a sleepy “Good evening.”

  “This is Mike, Mr. Berin. Sorry I had to disturb you, but something important has come up.”

  “It did? Is it something I should know?”

  “Well, yes. It is something you should know.”

  He chuckled the tiredness out of his voice. “Then I’m glad to be of use to you, Mike. What is it?”

  “I may have a line on the redhead. For a dodge I offered a dame five bills....”

  “What was that?”

  “Five hundred bucks ... if she did some successful snooping. Apparently she did. But now she wants more. Shall I go for it or do I try to get it out of her some other way?”

  “But ... what is it? Did she ... ?”

  “She wouldn’t talk. Wants me to meet her later.”

  “I see.” He thought a moment. Then, “What do you think, Mike?”

  “It’s your show, Mr. Berin, but I’d say look it over and if it’s worth anything, buy it.”

  “Then you think it’s worth something?”

  “I’d take that chance. The dame’s a hostess in the Zero Zero and she knew Nancy. At least she knew her quite a while ago and it looks as if that’s where the bones lie buried.”

  “Then do it, Mike. The sum is trivial enough ... at least to me. You, er, look it over, and do what you think is best.”

  “Okay, but she wants the dough right away.”

  “Very well. You write her a check, then call me, and I’ll wire that amount to your bank so it will be there in the morning to cover it.”

  “Right. I’ll buzz you later. Take it easy.”

  I stuck the phone back in its cradle and went back to the bar. At twelve-thirty I gathered up my change, whistled at a cab outside and had him drive me over to where I left my heap.

  It was five minutes past one when I cruised past the corner and saw the blonde coming toward the curb. I rolled the window down and yelled for her to hop in. She recognized me, opened the door and slid onto the seat.

  “Nice timing. Where to?” I pulled away from the curb and got into the line of traffic going uptown.

  “Straight ahead. I have a place on Eighty-ninth.”

  She had a beat-up overnight bag between her feet and I indicated it with a nod. “That the stuff?”

  “Uh-huh.” The blonde opened her purse and pulled out a lipstick. There wasn’t much light, but she seemed to be getting it on straight. When I stopped for a red I took a good look at her. Not a bad number at all. The curves looked real and in some spots too good to be true.

  She turned her head and looked straight into my eyes, then let a little grin play with the comers of her mouth. “Curious?”

  “About the bag?”

  “About me.”

  “I’m always curious about blondes.”

  She waited to see what I was going to do then, but the light turned green and I rolled with the traffic. At Eighty-ninth I turned over until she told me to stop, then pulled into the curb and killed the engine. When I opened the door for her I picked up the bag and let her step out.

  “You wouldn’t think of running off with that, would you?” She hooked her arm in mine.

  “I thought of it, then I got curious.”

  “About the bag?”

  “About you.” Her hand squeezed mine and we walked to the apartment. At the door she fished out a key, opened it, then led me upstairs two flights to a front apartment and flicked on the light.

  It was an old high-ceilinged affair done over in a welter of curves and angles the designers call modem. Each wall was a different color of pastel with tasteful but inexpensive pictures in odd groupings. The furniture looked awkward, but it was comfortable enough.

  When I threw my hat over a lamp the blonde said, “Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves? I’m Ann Minor.” She shrugged out of her coat, looking at me peculiarly.

  “Mike Hammer, Ann. I’m not an insurance investigator, I’m a private cop.”

  “I know. I was wondering if you were going to tell me.” Her laugh was one of relief.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Me. I knew damn well I had seen you or your picture somewhere before. It didn’t come to me until tonight, though.”

  “Oh?” “It was your picture.”

  “Was that why you shooed me out of the joint so fast?” “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Murray isn’t fond of cops, not even private ones.”

  “What has a legitimate businessman got to be afraid of?”

  “Say that again and leave out one word.”

  I didn’t. I sat there on the arm of a chair and watched her. She hung her coat in a closet, took my hat from the lamp and put it on the shelf and closed the door. Then she turned around fast and walked over to me.

  “I’m no kid,” she said. “I don’t think I ever was a kid. You weren’t in the club looking for a good time and I knew it. When you mentioned Nancy I had a pretty good idea what you were after, and I get the wim-wams when I think about getting mixed up in anything. Tell me something, how good are you?”

  I had the .45 out and pointed at her stomach almost before she finished the sentence. When she had a good look at it I slid it back in the leather and waited. Her eyes were wider than before.

  “I hate Murray. There are other guys I hate too, but he’s the only one I can point to and say I’m sure I hate. Him and his butt boys.”

  “What have you got against him?”

  “Don’t play coy, Mike. He’s a rat. I don’t like what he does to people. You know what he is or you wouldn’t be here now.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “He didn’t do anything to me. But I saw what he did to other kids. He pays my salary and that’s all, but I have to stand by and watch what happens in that place. He’s a smooth talker, but he always gets what he wants.”

  My fingers were itching to get to the bag on the floor and she knew it. Ann smiled again, reading my mind, then she tapped the wallet in my inside pocket. “Bring the money?”

  “As much as I could get.”

  “How much?”

  “That depends on what’s in it. What are you going to do with the stake?”

  “Take a long trip, maybe. Anything to get away from this town. I’m sick of it.”

  I walked over and picked up the bag. It wasn’t very heavy. There were paint splotches across the top and long scuffed streaks down the side. Maybe here was the answer. Maybe this was the reason the redhead was killed. I ran my hand across the top, tried the catch, but it was locked. “Yours?” I asked her.

  “Nancy’s, Mike. I came across it this morning. We have a small prop room behind the bandstand that’s full of junk. I was hunting for some stuff for the dressing room when I came across it. There was a bus tag on the handle with Nancy’s name on it and I knew it was hers.”

  “How did it get in there?”

  “A long time ago Murray remodeled the place. Probably Nancy was off at the time and when they cleaned out they tossed all the odds and ends in the prop room. I imagine she figured she lost it.”

  Ann went outside and came back with a bottle and two glasses. We both had a drink in silence, then she filled the glasses again and settled into the corner of a sofa and watched me. The way she sat there reminded me of a cat, completely at ease, yet hiding the tension of a coiled spring. Her dress was loose at the shoulders, tapering into a slim waist that was a mass of invitation. She sipped her drink, then drew her legs up under her, letting me see that not even the sheerest nylon could enhance the firm roundness of her thighs. When she breathed her breasts fought the folds of her dress and I waited to see the battle won.

  “Aren’t you goin
g to open it?” Her voice was taunting.

  “I need an ice pick ... a chisel. Something.” It wasn’t easy to speak.

  She put her drink on the end table and uncoiled from the couch. She passed too close and I reached out and stopped her, but I didn’t have to make the effort because she was in my arms, her mouth burning on mine, pulling herself so close that I could feel every part of her rubbing against me deliciously. I tangled my fingers in her hair and pulled her head back to kiss her neck and shoulders, and she moaned softly, her body a live, passionate thing that quivered under my hands.

  When I let her go her eyes were smoldering embers ready to flame, then she gave me that quick smile that showed her teeth white and even, and she drew her tongue deliberately over full, ripe lips that wanted to be kissed some more, until they glistened wetly and made me want to reach out and stop her again.

  Before I could she went out through an archway and I heard her rummage around in a drawer, pawing through cutlery until she found what she wanted. The drawer closed, but she didn’t come right back. When she did the dress was gone and she had on a clinging satin robe and nothing else, and she passed in front of the lamp to be sure I knew it.

  “Like it?” she asked me.

  “On you, yes.”

  “And on someone else?”

  “I’d still like it.”

  She handed me one of those patented gadgets that was supposed to solve every household mechanical difficulty, even to a stuck window. I took it while she fished in my pocket for a cigarette and fired it from a table lighter. She blew the smoke in my face and said, “Can’t that wait?”

  I kissed the tip of her nose. “No, honey, it can’t.”

  When I turned around and stuck the edge of the gadget under the clasp of the lock she walked away from me. I pried at the metal until the tool bent in my hand, then reversed it and used the other end. This time I was in luck. The hasp made a sharp snapping sound and flew open. The outside snaps were corroded where the plating hadn’t peeled off, but they opened easily enough, but before I could open the bag the light snapped off and there was only the dim glow from the table lamp at the other end of the room.