My Gun Is Quick

by Mickey Spillane

  “You were always nice, Lola. I haven’t known you long, but I bet you were always nice.”

  She squeezed my hand and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Hammer. You can make it awfully easy for me. That’s why I love you so much.” Her finger went to my mouth so I couldn’t answer. “But it still works my way. I still have a long way to go. I want to be worth a love that’s returned.”

  I aimed a kiss at her nose, but it was too quick and I winced. Lola didn’t need an explanation. Worry lines grew in the corner of her eyes and she pointed to a chair.

  After I had let myself into it she said, “Again, Mike?”

  “Again.”

  “Bad?”

  “It could have been. A slug that was aimed at my chest ruined my gun. I’ll never leave Betsy home after that. The same party must’ve clubbed me across the neck with a sledge hammer. Like to ripped my damn head off.”

  “Who ... who did it?”

  “Beats me. It was dark. I was in a hurry, and I never had a chance to be introduced.”

  She loosened my tie and shirt, sat on the arm of the chair and rubbed my neck and head. Her fingers were long and cool, probing into the hurt and wiping it away. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, liking the touch of her hand, loving the nearness of her. She hummed a song in a rich, throaty voice, softly, until I was completely relaxed.

  I said, “They got Nancy’s ring, Lola.”

  “They did.” It wasn’t a question; more a statement that meant she was ready to listen when I was ready to talk.

  “I found Murray’s place and went in there. His two boys were going through his wall library looking for something. He must have told them where it was, but didn’t have time to give them full details.”

  “Did they find it?”

  “No. I found it.”

  Her hands were rubbing my shoulders, kneading the muscles. “What was it?”

  “A book. A book that was inside another book.” Without opening my eyes I reached around and slipped it out of my pocket. She took it from me with one hand and I heard her flip the cover back.

  She stared at it a while, then ruffled through the pages. “It’s gibberish.”

  “That’s what I expected.” I took her hand away from my neck and kissed it and she handed me the book, her face a puzzled frown.

  It was no bigger than a small note pad, bound in black leather, a size that fitted nicely in an inside jacket pocket, easy to conceal almost anywhere. The writing was small and precise, in a bookkeeper’s hand, flowing straight across the page as if underruled by invisible lines.

  Letters, numbers. Meaningless symbols. Capital letters, small letters. Some letters backward, deliberately so. Yet there was an order about it all that couldn’t be mistaken. I went through the pages rapidly, coming to the end about three quarters of the way. The rest of the pages were blank.

  Lola had been watching over my shoulder. “What is it, Mike?”

  “Code.”

  “Can you read it?”

  “No, but there are people who can. Maybe you can. See if there’s anything familiar to you in here.” I held the book out and began at the beginning again.

  She scanned the pages with me, holding her lower lip between her teeth, carefully following my finger as I paced the lines with her. She shook her head at the end of each page and I turned to the next.

  But it was always the same. She knew no more about it than I did. I would have closed it right there, except that I felt her hand tighten on my arm and saw her teeth dig into her lip. She started to say something, then stopped.

  “What is it?” I prompted.

  “No, it can’t be.” She was frowning again.

  “Tell me, kid.”

  Her finger was shaking as she pointed to a symbol that looked like a complex word in a steno’s notebook. “A ... long time ago ... I was in Murray’s office when a man phoned him. Murray talked a while, then put down something on a pad. I think ... I think it was that He saw me watching and covered it up. Later he told me I had an appointment.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Do ... I have to?” She was pleading with me not to make her remember.

  “Just this once, baby.”

  “I don’t remember his name.” She said it fast. “He was from out of town. He was fat and slimy and I hated him, Mike. Oh, please ... no more, no more.”

  “Okay, it’s enough.” I closed the book and laid it on the end table. The ball had started to roll. The heads would follow. I reached for the phone.

  Pat was in bed, but he wasn’t sleeping. His voice was wide awake, tense. “I knew you’d get around to calling about this time,” he told me. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. Maybe you’d like to tell me.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell you. After all, you’re the one who started this mess, and brother, I mean mess.”

  “Trouble, Pat?”

  “Plenty. We picked up Murray for questioning. Naturally, he didn’t know a thing. According to his story Ann Minor was moody, brooding constantly and a general pain in the neck. He considered firing her a while ago and thinks she got wind of it and got worse than ever. He took it calmly when we told him she was a suicide.”

  “He would.”

  “That’s not all. He knew there was more to it than that, but he had a good lawyer. We couldn’t hold him at all. About thirty minutes after we let him go hell started popping. Something’s happening and I’m on the receiving end. Until tonight I didn’t think the politics in this town were as dirty as they are. You started something, kid.”

  “I’m going to finish it, too. What about the apartment ... Ann’s. Any prints?”

  “None that mattered. The tub was clean as a whistle. On the far side were a few smudges that turned out to be hers, but the rest had been wiped off. We took samples of the water and tested them. It worked. Some traces of the same soap.”

  “Did you ask around about that suicide note?”

  “Hell, I haven’t had time. Two of the men on the case started to question some of the employees in the Zero Zero Club, but before they got very far they were called to a phone. A voice told them to lay off if they knew what was good for them.”

  “What did they do?”

  Pat’s voice had a snarl in it. “They didn’t scare. They tried to have the call traced only to find it came from a subway phone booth. A pay station. They called me for instructions and I gave them to them. I told them to knock some heads together if they have to.”

  I chuckled at that. “Getting smart, huh?”

  “I’m getting mad, damn it. The people pay for protection. What the hell do they take the police for, a bunch of private servants?”

  “Some do,” I remarked sourly. “Look, Pat, I have something for you. I know it’s late and all that, but it’s important. Get over here as fast as you can, will you?”

  He didn’t ask questions. I heard him slide out of bed and snap a light on. I gave him Lola’s address and he said okay, then hung up.

  Lola rose and went into the kitchen, coming back with a tray and some beer. She opened the bottle and poured it out, giving me the big one. When she settled herself in a chair opposite me she said, “What happens now?”

  “We’re going to scare the blazes out of some people, I think.”

  “Murray?”

  “He’s one.”

  We sipped the beer, finished it, had another. This time Lola curled up on the end of the couch, her legs crossed, one arm stretched out across the back. “Will you come over here, or do I go over there?” she grinned impishly.

  “I’ll go over there,” I said.

  She made room for me on the same cushion, putting a head on the beer, “That’s to keep one hand out of trouble.”

  “What about the other hand?”

  “Let it get in trouble.”

  I laughed at her and hugged her to me so she could nuzzle against my shoulder. “Mike ... I think the college kids have something. It’s nice to neck.”r />
  I couldn’t disagree with that. When the beer was gone she brought in another bottle and came back into my arm again. I should have been thinking of Nancy or doing something else maybe, but it was nice just sitting there with her, laughing at foolish things. She was the kind of a girl who could give you back something you thought you had lost to the years.

  Pat came in too soon. He rang from downstairs and Lola pushed the buzzer to let him in. He must have run up the stairs because he was knocking on the door a few seconds later.

  Lola let him in with a smile and I called out, “Lola, meet Pat Chambers, the finest of the finest.”

  Pat said, “Hello, Lola,” then came over to me and threw his hat on the back of the couch. He didn’t waste any time.

  “Gimme. What did you get?”

  Lola brought the book over from the end table and I handed it to him. “Part of Murray’s collection, Pat. Code. Think you can break it?”

  I scanned his face and saw his lips set in a line. He talked to himself. “Memory code. Damn it to hell!”

  “What?”

  “It’s memory code, I’ll bet a fin. He’s got a symbol or a structure for everything and he’s the only one who knows it.”

  I set the glass down and inched forward on the couch. “The Washington boys broke the Jap imperial code, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah, but that was different.” He shook his head helplessly. “Let me give you an example. Suppose you say a word to me, or several of them for that matter. You know what they mean, but I don’t. How could I break that? If you strung out sentences long enough there would be repetition, but if you allowed nothing to repeat itself, using a different symbol or letter grouping that you committed to memory, there would be nothing to start with.”

  “That takes a good memory, doesn’t it?” I cut in.

  “For some things. But there isn’t too much to remember in this.” He tapped the book. “Probably anyone could do it if he put his mind to it.”

  I reached for the glass and filled it, emptying the bottle. “Lola recognized one of the symbols, she thinks. Murray used it to identify one of his ‘customers.’ That little gadget is Murray’s account book with a listing of his clients and his fleshly assets.”

  Pat jumped to his feet, a light blazing in his eyes. “Son of a bitch, if it is we can rip him apart! We can split this racket right down the middle!”

  His language was getting contaminated from hanging around private detectives. “Only temporarily,” I reminded him.

  “It’s better than not at all. It’ll pay for people getting killed. Where did you get it, Mike?”

  “Your boy Candid has himself a party den in the Village. While you were popping the questions he sent his lads up to get that book, taking no chances. I surprised them at it. The damn thing was worth their trying to knock me off. I just missed having my head handed to me.”

  “You can identify them, then?”

  “Nope. I didn’t see their faces. But one will have a cut on his hand and a beauty across his forehead. The other guy is his pal. Ask around the club. I think they were Murray’s personal bodyguards. We put the squeeze play on so fast Murray didn’t have time to pull that book himself. He probably figured nobody would question Ann’s death except for routine questioning at his joint.”

  “You might be right. I’ll get this thing photostated and hand it around to the experts. I’ll let you know what comes of it.”

  “Good.”

  “Where will I get in touch with you?”

  “You won’t. I’ll get in touch with you.”

  “I don’t get it, Mike. Won’t you be ...?”

  He stopped when he saw the expression on my face. “I’m supposed to be dead.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “There were three guys at Murray’s place. One wasn’t in on it. All he wanted was the redhead’s ring. He gave it to me square in the chest. So he’s gonna drop his load when he sees me again.”

  Pat caught the implications at once. “He tailed you. The same guy killed the blonde, tailed you home, searched your place and stayed right behind you until he had a clear shot at you.”

  “Uh-huh. In a dark hallway.”

  “And he just wanted the ring?”

  “That’s right. I had that book on me and he never looked for it.”

  “That makes two parties. Both after you for a different reason.”

  “Could be the same reason, but they don’t know it.”

  A grin spread over his face. “They’ll be waiting for your body to show. They’ll have their ears to the ground and their eyes open. They’ll want to know what happened to your body.”

  I nodded. “Let ’em wonder,” I said slowly. “They’ll think the cops are keeping it quiet purposely. They’ll think you have more than you’re giving out. Let’s see what happens, Pat.”

  “Ummm.” That was all he said. He went to the door, looking satisfied, his mind pounding out the angles. He turned around once, grinned, waved good-bye and was gone.

  Lola picked up the empty bottle and looked at me sideways. “If you’re really dead it’s going to be a wonderful wake.”

  I faked a kick at her and she ducked out for a refill. When she came back she was serious and I knew it. Her eyes questioned me before she asked, “Could you tell me ... about your place being searched, I mean? If I have to worry about you I want to know what I’m worrying about.”

  I told her then, skipping some details, just a general outline of what had occurred. She let me bring it up to date, absorbing every word, trying to follow with her mind. When I was through I let her mull it over.

  Finally she said, “The baby clothes, Mike ... it fits.”

  “How?”

  “Nancy had stretch marks on her abdomen. Purplish streaks that come with pregnancy. I never questioned her about it.”

  “We discovered that. It was a stillbirth.”

  “The father... ?”

  “No trace.”

  She was thinking of something else and chewed on her fingernail. “Those pictures that were stolen....”

  “Only snapshots of her when she was younger.”

  “That isn’t it.”

  “What then?”

  “This person who was so careless ... you said he just took the ring... didn’t look for the book you had. . . .”

  “He didn’t know I had it.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. Maybe he just took the pictures. He didn’t look at them, he just took them. He would have taken any pictures.”

  I was beginning to get the point, but I wanted to make sure. “What are you getting at, Lola?”

  “Nancy had a camera, I told you that. Maybe it was pictures she took that were wanted. Maybe the others were taken by mistake.”

  It made sense. I gave her neck a little squeeze and grinned through my teeth. “Now you’re the smart one,” I told her. “You said Nancy wouldn’t go in for blackmail.”

  “I said I thought she wouldn’t. I still don’t think she would, but who can tell?”

  “You know, we’re throwing this right in Feeney Last’s lap. If he’s the bastard behind this he’s going to get it right!”

  Lola laid her hand over mine, reaching for my fingers. “Mike ... don’t get excited too fast. You have to think about it first. If he’s not the type....”

  “Hell, he’s the type, all right. Could be that I didn’t give him credit for being that smart. You can’t tell what goes on behind their heads, Lola. Their faces might be blank as an empty coconut, but up here there’s a lot of brain power. Damn! Just follow Feeney with me ... he approached Red in the hash house

  ... he had her scared and a lot of other people scared. He was tough and dirty and decent people are usually scared of that kind. He could carry a gun to push a scare through, even if that wasn’t the purpose of the gun. What a nice setup he had!

  “So Nancy had his blackmail stuff ... he said it was pictures of somebody in a hotel room with a babe. Who was the somebody and who was
the babe? Maybe it was Nancy herself. If she had a good camera she could take shots automatically with a time arrangement on the camera. Maybe Feeney knew she had it and wanted it ... maybe it was the other way around and he had it and she got it. Hell, maybe they were in it together.

  “One thing we know, Feeney searched her room. He’s a snotty little bastard who’d take a chance on anything. There’s only one trouble. Feeney has an alibi. He was with Berin-Grotin when Nancy was killed, and unless he was able to sneak off without the old boy knowing it he had to have somebody else do the job.”

  She reviewed it with an expression that reminded me of Pat, making me eat my own words. “But you said Mr. Berin was positive in his statement ... and the police were just as positive that the boy ran down Nancy accidentally. How can you get around that?”

  My chest started hurting again and I slumped back. “Ah, I don’t know. Nothing makes sense. If Nancy was an accident, who took her ring off and why... and why the trouble to get it back? The ring’s the thing. If I could find what it meant I’d have it.”

  I pulled out the cigarettes, stuck two in my mouth and lit them. Lola took hers from between my lips and dragged on it deeply. When I closed my eyes she said, “That’s not the point I’m trying to make, Mike. Nancy had pictures of some sort that were important. Her place was searched for them ... must have been because then they already had the ring. You say they didn’t find them. Then they searched your place and took pictures that apparently had no meaning. All right, suppose they didn’t have any meaning ... where are the ones that have?”

  Good Lord, how could I be so incredibly stupid! I took the cigarette and squashed it out in my hand and never felt it burn me. The pictures, the pictures. Nancy must have used herself to work up the prettiest blackmail scheme that ever was. She had pictures of everything and everybody and was getting ready to use them when Feeney Last in his visits to her room saw the damn things and wanted them himself.

  Of course, how could it be any other way? A cheap gunman with big ideas who saw a way to cash in. But before he could do the job himself Nancy stepped out in front of a car and got herself killed. Maybe Feeney even had a guy tailing her to keep track of things, a guy who knew enough to take the ring off and stall identification. And why? Because when she was identified somebody else might get to the stuff first. The ring was an accident.