The Last Stand

by Mickey Spillane

  “What’s the trouble, Marsh?”

  Marsh said, proud of himself, “This police officer is here to see Mrs. Rogers. I informed him that she is unavailable.”

  “It’s all right, Marsh. They’re bound to come sometime.”

  A new expression came into Marsh’s face, a sort of deference. He stepped aside.

  She moved to the door and I could see her now—every lovely inch of her. She wore a simple blue dress over complicated curves, and didn’t seem to mind my staring, because she only smiled. She held out a hand for me to shake and I did.

  “I’m Ginger Bass, Mrs. Rogers’ sister. She’s asleep now. Maybe I can be of some help. Come in, please.”

  I went in, gave my hat to the butler, to give him something worthwhile to do for a change. I followed the Bass woman into a well-appointed living room off an entryway larger than my apartment.

  She gestured me into an overstuffed chair. She sat down on the couch and still seemed not to mind that my eyes were going over her like they had a search warrant.

  And she was nice to look at. I’d guess she was in her early thirties and her blonde hair wasn’t from a bottle. Her apple-cheeked face had a smoothness that nonetheless showed depth, with plenty of natural expression.

  She tugged down her skirt—like that was going to stop me from appreciating those well-tanned legs—and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re from the Gantsville police?”

  “Captain Dexter, Homicide. We’ve gotten off to a rather slow start on this case. I don’t like to bother Mrs. Rogers at a time like this, but obviously it’s necessary.”

  The sister shook her head. “Doris hasn’t been well since she received the news of her husband’s death. If you want to question her, I’d suggest you come back in a few days—”

  “I haven’t got a few days to wait for answers. I need them now. Might be you could help.”

  She sat up, eager to pitch in.

  I said, “You knew Mayes Rogers well, didn’t you?”

  “Quite well,” she said with a nod. “I visited Mayes and Doris now and then. You see, I live alone, a couple of little towns over, and they were nice company for me. Mayes was always a gentleman, very much a sincere, decent person. I really don’t understand how anyone could have done such a thing.”

  “Do you know if anyone has ever threatened him?”

  “No.”

  “Any problems?”

  She gave that a quick thought. “Business or political ones? No.”

  “That implies other problems.”

  “Well…personal ones, yes.”

  “It’s important you be frank.”

  “…between him and Doris.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  She gave me a glance that said she wasn’t sure she would respond, but then she did: “Mayes had his women. He was much older than Doris, but that didn’t keep him from having his women. He had a certain charm. Doris was extremely upset once, when gossip spread about Mayes and the Banner woman.”

  “What Banner woman?”

  “Jean Banner. Very high society, at one time anyway, and a notorious flirt but.…Doris threatened to leave Mayes over it, and that was the last of Jean Banner in his life. I’d say that was their biggest problem.”

  “How would you rate the marriage otherwise?”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  Then she came out with it, sighing, “When they got married, she worshiped the ground he walked on. After a few years of…wedded bliss? She started taking him for granted. Or maybe it was the other way around. She had wealth and everything that went along with it. Everything except a husband who loved her.” She shook her head. “Frankly, Mayes was more in love with himself than Doris. That was the only thing about him that I disliked. In other respects, I would say he was a very good man.”

  I said bluntly, “I’d like to talk with Mrs. Rogers now.”

  She hesitated a second, lips tightening, then stood.

  Her voice was soft now, as if she might wake her sleeping sister otherwise. “I’ll go see if she’s awake. Really she doesn’t sleep. Just cries. I guess it’s good for her to cry.”

  She left the living room and walked into the adjacent entryway, where I could see her start up the second-floor stairs, each step measured, careful.

  I smoked a cigarette down to the filter and was reaching for another one when I saw them coming down the stairs.

  And Mrs. Rogers was every bit as much the looker as sister Ginger.

  Her hair was raven-black and fell freely to her shoulders, wide shoulders for a woman, but there was nothing masculine about the figure beneath the pale yellow dressing gown. Her head was bent slightly and Ginger was leading her down, saying something softly. When they reached bottom, I stood and went out there to join them.

  “Mrs. Rogers, I’m Captain Dexter from Homicide. I do apologize for this intrusion. If it will not be too much strain, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  She forced a smile and nodded.

  After we all found our seats in the living room, Doris looked at me, her eyes wavering, tears forming. “Who could have done such a terrible thing! Mayes never hurt…” She buried her face in the palms of her hands.

  I sat back while Ginger gave her sister a handkerchief and tried to calm her.

  Finally Doris said, “I’m sorry, Captain…Dexter? Dexter. I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just take your time. Take it easy and if you can’t answer a question, I’ll understand. Did your husband ever have any serious disagreements with anyone?”

  “Yes, he had them. Who doesn’t, in his position? But everyone he dealt with ended up liking him. He was that kind of man. And he himself never carried a grudge.”

  “Did he seem at all disturbed during the last days you spent with him?”

  She swallowed hard. “No. I’d say he was his usual self. Mayes didn’t let things bother him like most…” Then everything she’d been holding back exploded. Ginger made a useless attempt to calm her and I knew our talk was over.

  Ginger guided her sister gently back upstairs and fifteen minutes passed before she returned. She sat back down on the couch and said, “It was too much for her. It’ll be some time before she can really answer questions.”

  A funny expression tightened her face and she stared blankly at the ceiling. “I want to help you, Captain. Help you and Doris.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Captain Dexter, I feel I can talk to you honestly. There’s something about you that I like. Something tells me I can trust you.”

  “Feel free to say what you think is best, Miss Bass—or is it Mrs.?”

  Her turn to smile had come, and she did a nice job of it. “It’s Miss. Does that surprise you?”

  I risked a grin. “I don’t consider it bad news.”

  “You see,” she said, still smiling, “I admit to having doubts about men in general. I almost married one, once upon a time, but he, uh…wasn’t true to me, to sound old-fashioned about it.”

  “I’d say he was a fool, Miss Bass.”

  She blushed just a little, just a nice deep pink of her cheeks. Then her voice took on a touch of hardness as she said, “I suppose what I saw between Mayes and Doris hasn’t encouraged me to seek any…relationship. Their lives have been mostly separate ones. Doris is a very nervous and sensitive girl, and Mayes did things that upset her, as I mentioned.”

  I just listened.

  “I went to a party Mayes held here after the last election,” she said, her eyes staring past me into her memory. “All kinds of people were there and most of them were pretty high. Then women began drifting in, and they weren’t the wives, either. The party turned into…something wild. What you might call… well, it was an outright orgy. Most of it was going on in the bedrooms, but…things were going on.”

  She paused there and gave me time to let it sink in and I nodded for her to continue.

  “That night Do
ris got a good look at what some of the important people in Gantsville really were like. Especially Frank Graham, the District Attorney—he was drunk and he was bragging about having ‘access’ to all the money that anyone in the party would ever need.”

  I knew Graham some. We’d tangled a few times when he was reluctant to prosecute a case I’d made. But I wouldn’t call us enemies.

  She continued, “Frank didn’t know I heard him. I was in the kitchen nearby and I could hear him. He was telling someone about people in the Syndicate who could be ‘friendly,’ in return for just a little cooperation. He said they already owned half of the state house, and only good things would come of it—if we looked the other way on certain matters, the schools and roads and everything a community might want or need would be provided. He mentioned some names. Names I’d seen in the papers. Gangsters, Captain.”

  I took in a deep breath, let it go out slowly, and asked, “How do you know you can trust me, Miss Bass?”

  Her laugh seemed half-hearted. “I guess I have to trust somebody. I don’t believe Mayes was part of any of that, or if he was, he hadn’t anticipated where it was going. These are the kind of things that start out small and get bigger. Many times they end up in murder. This time, maybe…Mayes’ murder.”

  “How long ago was this party?”

  “Less than a year ago. Shortly after the election.”

  “What were some of the names of these…‘gangsters’?”

  She told me. They were names I recognized, all right. So would you.

  “Any others, not so familiar?”

  Her frown held both thought and fright. “Graham kept mentioning ‘Shark.’ I got the impression that Shark is a person. That it was a nickname or code name or something.”

  If she was playing straight with me, this could break apart the local political machine and spill everything I had suspected over the years. What she had overheard revealed one real sweet filthy mess. It was politics as a racket in league with other, bigger racketeers.

  At the door, I thanked Miss Bass.

  “Could you make it ‘Ginger’?”

  “I’d like that,” I admitted. “And my friends call me ‘Rod.’ ”

  “Goodbye, Rod. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “Not likely,” I said.

  CHAPTER 2

  The sun was winking at me through my partly closed shades. I forced myself up and made a big breakfast. After putting on a freshly pressed suit, I was ready.

  Things were going to light up today.

  Frank Graham was somebody I’d always tried to leave alone. As D.A., he held a high position and he had powerful friends and the press in his pocket—a certified big deal. But this time I just couldn’t steer clear of him.

  My insides were a hard tight knot as I walked into City Hall and up the long flight of marble steps. I skipped the regular procedure involving the okay signal with the secretary and walked right into the D.A.’s inner office.

  For a big shot, Graham was a stocky little guy, five bucks worth of man in a hundred-dollar suit, sitting behind a big mahogany desk the good citizens paid for. For all the stacks of papers and file folders in front of him, he didn’t appear to be doing anything but puffing on a cigar that should smell better, considering its likely one-dollar price tag.

  When he saw my face, he made a nervous gesture with one hand, and gave me a broad smile that showed off teeth so white they had to be caps or choppers.

  “Captain Dexter, just the man I hoped to see today! How’s the Rogers case coming? Any developments?”

  I took a chair opposite him. “Getting hotter all the time. Finding things out every day.”

  His smile curdled and he squirmed in his chair, but he managed, “I appreciate you keeping me up to date. I hope I’ll be prosecuting Mayes’ murderer one day soon.”

  “You and Rogers were good friends, I take it?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “You even got together socially, I understand. Went to parties together and such.”

  His smile recovered, but his forehead frowned. “Time to time, sure. What are you driving at, Rod?”

  I settled back in my chair and stared at him for a good long ten seconds, then said, “I’m driving at you being one of those rotten apples we hear so much about, Graham. You know—in the barrel?”

  His fat face reddened and his neck muscles bulged. “What the hell—”

  “Spare me the indignation, Graham. You might be a big man to some, but to me you’re nothing but a fat slob with your hand in the till. You know, I’m torn between throwing you in the can or just messing you up, real pretty.”

  The color drained from his face. He sat there huffing, as though he couldn’t get his breath. “You must be out of your mind to think you can talk to me that way. Retract what you’re saying, and apologize, and I’ll write this off to overwork.”

  “No apology, Graham.” I stood and threw him a lopsided grin and leaned across his desk as he sunk lower in his chair. “You have all the inside information. You can point me to the right people, because you are not the top of the ladder, but you know who’s on the rungs above and below you. You can help me clean up this town into something worth living in. You play ball with me and you can come out a hero.”

  It was a hell of a gamble, but I’d convinced myself it was a good bet.

  But Graham was still red and huffing. “You have no right to burst into my office and make wild accusations this way!”

  I stood straight. “Fine. Then I’ll just continue my investigation of the Rogers murder and go anywhere and everywhere it leads me. And before I’m through with you, you’ll be doing plenty of talking.”

  That was all. I walked to the door and slammed it behind me.

  I’d really shown him, hadn’t I?

  * * *

  Two days later, I was in my apartment, stretched out on my bed, drunk. You think of nice things when you’re drunk. Things seem kind of funny, sometimes. Even when you’re depressed.

  The D.A. was a powerful man. You’d think I’d know that, right? But he was even more influential than I thought. The lousy goddamn bastard.

  I took a long swig from a pint whiskey bottle, and when it hit bottom, I tossed it on the floor and cursed. I tried to get up, but something kept me glued to the bed. So I cursed again.

  The drink had taken effect. Visions danced in front of me and I swore at all of them. I couldn’t make them out and that made me even madder. A sick feeling was eating away at my stomach, and I tried to vomit. But the only thing that came out was more cursing.

  I was dead, a thing of the past. Three days ago I was a cop. Now the cop was gone. What was left? Nothing but a thirst for booze, quenched by a bender, and vengeance, which I’d quench a whole other way. And when you’re playing a game like this, there’s only one way to play it, and that’s a hell of a lot rougher than they do.

  They were going to die. Every last one of them would feel pain and I would receive satisfaction by watching their expressions as I pulled a trigger.

  The morning crept up on the night and overcame it. The taste of last night’s whiskey still in my mouth, I showered, dressed slowly, and skipped breakfast. There’s only so much a stomach can take.

  Now I had no set rules to follow. I could do what I wanted without fear of losing my job or my badge because they were both gone. My gun had been taken away and the right to use it, too. So what! There were other guns in the world.

  Up the steep gravel drive to the big white house, I found the door unlocked. I went in, not rousing the tall butler, and found Ginger Bass watching TV in a room down the hall. I knocked on the jamb, for good manners’ sake.

  She looked up, surprised but not startled. She was in a pink short-sleeved sweater, blue capri pants and her bare feet.

  “Captain Dexter…Rod! Come in.” She seemed to like seeing me there—she even smiled, though I must have looked a mess despite my best efforts. There was a trace of sympathy in her expression as I tried to smile back.
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  I said, “I had to see somebody. You came to mind.”

  Her voice was almost a whisper. “I read what happened in the paper. I don’t really understand.”

  “Oh, they left the really good parts out.”

  She got up, turned off the TV, returned to the couch and patted next to her for me to sit. “Tell me.”

  Something inside made me want to laugh, but all that came out was a grunt. “The honorable Frank Graham put me out of commission. I went to his office, laid things on the line, and he blew his stack. His version got in the papers. Nobody was interested in mine. Anyway, I’m out of a job.”

  “It’s awful, Mr. Dexter,” she said, shaking her head. “Such a miscarriage of justice. And it’s my fault! It was what I told you that—”

  “Miss Bass. Ginger. The fault is mine. I handled it with all the finesse of a guy with ten thumbs, a tiny brain and one big temper. You wouldn’t have a cup of coffee handy, would you?”

  We went into the kitchen and had coffee. I drained two cups before she finished one, and when I reached for a cigarette, she placed her hand over mine, her fingers pressing deep into my flesh.

  “The other night when I said I thought I could trust you,” she said, “I meant it. I’m sorry you lost your job, but I’m glad you’re not involved in this thing anymore. It’s something big and dangerous, really something evil.”

  “It’s not over, Ginger. I’m not a cop anymore, true. At least not legally. But I’m going to find the killer and expose everyone messed up in the racket.”

  Her forehead tightened and she breathed heavily. “Why? Is it really worth it?”

  “Yeah, it is. I didn’t go into police work so guys like Frank Graham could get rich doing business with the Syndicate, while others like Mayes Rogers get killed for not playing along.”

  “But aren’t you risking the same thing happening to you?”

  “Not the same. Mayes wasn’t shooting back.”

  She removed her hand. “You make me wish I hadn’t said anything.”

  “Stop that. I would have found out on my own. How’s Doris this morning?”

  “I checked on her an hour ago. She was still in bed, and not sleeping…as usual.”