Kiss Me, Deadly mh-6

by Mickey Spillane

  The girl at the magazine counter changed a buck into dimes for me and I took the end booth on the row.

  Thirty cents got me my party. His voice was deep and fat and it never sounded right coming out of the skinny little neck. He'd need a shave and his suit pressed but he didn't give a damn for either. He was strictly a nobody up until the squash was put on bookie operations then all of a sudden he was a somebody. He had a mind like a recording machine and was making hay in the new deal of black-market betting operations.

  I said, "Dave?"

  "Right here."

  "Mike Hammer."

  The voice got closer to the phone and almost too casual. I could see him with his hand cupped around the mouthpiece and his eyes watching everybody in the place. "Sure, boy, what'cha doin?"

  "They're saying things along the row, Dave?" "Piling up, big boy. Everybody got it."

  "How do you feel about it?"

  "Come on, mister, you know better'n that." The meaning sifted out of his words and I grinned. There was no humor in the grin.

  I said, "I got what they want, kid. You tell it in the right places."

  "You're killing me. Try again."

  "So you saw me. I was in the bag and let it slip."

  His voice dropped an octave. "Look, I'll do a lot of things, but you don't mess with them monkeys. They make a guy talk. Me, I got a big mouth when I get hurt up."

  "It'll set, Dave. This is a big one. If it was a little one I'd ask somebody else. They got Velda. Understand that?"

  He said three sharp, nasty curses at the same time. "You're trading."

  "I'm willing. If it don't come off I'll blow the thing apart." "Okay, Mike. I'll spin it. Don't bother calling me again, okay?" "Okay," I said and hung up.

  I walked over to the desk and the clerk smiled. "Room, sir?" "Not now, thanks. I'd like to see the manager."

  "I'm afraid you can't. He's gone for the evening. You see..." "He live here?"

  "Why, er... why, yes, but... "

  I let a bill do the talking. The guy was well-dressed but underpaid and the ten looked big. "No trouble. I have to speak to him. He won't know."

  The bill left my fingers magically. "Suite 101." He pointed a long forefinger across the room. "Take the stairs past the mezzanine. It's quicker."

  There was a buzzer beside the door. I leaned on it until I heard the knob turn and a middle-aged, sensitive Latin face was peering out at me. The professional smile creased his lower jaw, pulling the thin mustache tighter and he cocked his head in an attentive attitude ready to hear my complaint. His eyes were telling me that he trusted it would be a good one because Mr. Carmen Trivago was preparing to leave in a moment for a very important engagement.

  I gave him a shove that wiped the smile clean off his face and he stumbled back inside while I closed the door. There was an instantaneous flash of mingled terror and hatred in his expression that dissolved into indignation as he drew himself up stiffly and said, "What is the meaning of this?"

  "Get back inside."

  "I...„

  My hand cracked him across the mouth so hard he hit the wall, flattened against it, making unintelligible noises in his throat. He wasn't so stiff when I gave him a shove into the living room. He was all loose and jelly-like as if his bolts were ready to come apart.

  I said, "Turn around and look at me." He did. "I'm going to ask you things and you answer them right. If you think you'd do better by lying look at my face and you won't lie. Let me catch you in one and I'll mangle you so damn bad you won't even crawl out of this dump for a month. Just for the hell of it I ought to do something to you now so you know I'm not kidding about it."

  Carmen Trivago couldn't stand up any more. His knees went as watery as his eyes and he slumped crookedly on the edge of a chair.

  "No... don't... "

  "His right name was Nicholas Raymondo. With an `O.' You were the only one who knew that. I thought it was your accent, but you knew his name, didn't you?"

  His mouth opened to speak but the words wouldn't come out. He nodded dumbly.

  "Where'd he get his dough?"

  The spread of his hands said he didn't know and before he could shake his head to go with it I rocked him with another open-handed slap that left the prints of my fingers across his jaw.

  He couldn't take anything at all and tried to burrow into the chair while he moaned, "Please. No... I tell you... anything. Please."

  "When, then?"

  "He had... the business. From abroad he . . "

  "I know about that. Business didn't give him the kind of money he spent."

  "Yes, yes. It is true. But he never said. He spoke of big things but he never said . "

  "He liked dames."

  Carmen's eyes told me he didn't get what I was driving at.

  I said slowly, "So do you. Two of a kind, you guys. Lady killers. You knew his right name. Those things only come when you know a person. You know that much and you know a lot more. Think about it. I'll give you a minute. Just one."

  His neck seemed to stretch out of shape as he held his head up. The longer he looked at me the more he curled up inside and his mouth started to move. "It is true... he had the money. It was enough. He was... satisfied to spend it all on much foolishness. There would be more soon, he told me, much more. At first... I thought he was making a boast. But no. He was serious. Never would he tell me more than that."

  I took a slow step a little closer to him.

  His hands went up to hold me off. "It is true, I swear it! This other money... several times when he was feeling, how you say it, high? he would ask me how I would like to have two million dollars. It was always the same. Two million dollars. I would ask how to get it and would smile. Raymondo... he had it, I know he had it. I tell you, this money was no good. I knew it would happen someday. I knew . . "

  "How?"

  This time his eyes made passes around me, looking for something that wasn't there yet. "Before he... died... there were men. I knew of these men."

  "Say the word."

  It almost stuck in his throat, but he managed it. "Mafia," he said hoarsely.

  "Did Raymondo know he was being followed?" "I do not think so."

  "You didn't tell him?"

  He looked at me as if I was crazy.

  "You never thought he was killed accidentally either, did you?" The fear showed in his face so plain it was a voice by itself. "You knew the score right along," I said.

  "Please..."

  "You're a crummy little bastard, Trivago. There's a lot of dead people lying around because you made them that way."

  "No I..."

  "Shut up. You could have sounded off."

  "No!" He stood up, his hands claws that dangled at his sides. "I know them! From Europe I know them and who am I to speak against them. You do not understand what they do to people. You..."

  My knuckles cracked across his jaw so hard he went back over the arm of the chair and spilled in a heap on the floor. He lay there with his eyes wide open and the spit dribbling out of his open mouth started to turn pink. He was the bug caught in the web trying to hide from the spider and he backed into the hornet's next.

  Carmen Trivago would never be the same again.

  I used the phone in the lobby again. I buzzed my apartment and the super's wife answered it. I hadn't told her not to do so, she was doing me a favor. I told her it was me, asked if everything was okay and she said it was. Lily was asleep with the door locked but she could hear her breathing and talking in there. Her husband was making doubly sure things stayed quiet by pretending to do some work in the hall outside.

  There were three other phone calls. A Captain Chambers had called and wanted to see me right away. I thanked her and hung up.

  I turned up the collar of my trench coat and stepped out into the rain. The wind was lashing it up the street in waves now, pounding it against the buildings, and as the cars went by you had a quick look at the drivers as the wipers ripped it aside before the faces muddled into
a liquid haze.

  The cab didn't wait to be called. He pulled into the curb and I hopped in, gave him the address and stuck a smoke in my mouth.

  Someplace Velda was looking at the rain. It wouldn't be a pleasant sound, not this time. She'd be crazy with fear, scared so hard she wouldn't be able to think. They weren't the kind you could stall. She could only wait. And hope.

  And someplace the people who had her were thinking too. They were thinking of a long string of kills and two fresh ones propped up against a dead-end sign. They were thinking of the word that went out and before they'd do anything at all they'd think harder still and it wouldn't be until I was dead that they'd feel right to do what they wanted to her.

  I wasn't the cops and I wasn't the feds. I was one guy by himself but I was one who could add to the score without giving a damn at all. I was the one guy they were afraid of because the trail of dead men hadn't stopped yet. It was a trail that had to be walked and they were afraid of stepping on it.

  Pat was in his office. You had to look twice to make sure he wasn't asleep, then you saw the light glinting off his almost-closed eyes and saw the movement of his mouth as he sucked on the dry pipe.

  I threw my hat on the desk and sat down. He didn't say anything. I got out my next-to-last Lucky, held a light to it and let the smoke go. He still didn't say anything. I didn't have the time to trade thoughts. "Okay, chum, what is it?"

  The pipe came out of his mouth slowly. "You conned me, Mike."

  I started to get warm all over, an angry flush that burned into my chest. "Great. Just like that I gave you the business! You don't say anything... you sit there like a dummy then pull the cork. Say what's eating you or I'll get the hell out of here."

  What distrust was in his face turned uncertain. "Mike, this thing is a bombshell. The biggest staff that ever operated on one case is out there working. They're going night and day looking for the answer, then you come up with it ready to trade off for something."

  I sat back in the chair. I took a deep, relieved pull on the smoke and grinned. "Thanks for the compliment. I didn't know it would get back so fast. Where'd you pick it up?"

  "Every stoolie we know has his ears open. What are you trading for?"

  My grin pulled tight at the edges, flattened across my teeth and stayed that way. "Velda. The bastards have Velda. She suckered Al Affia into a trap that didn't work and got caught in one herself. She played it too smart and now they have her."

  It was quiet in the room. The clock on the wall hummed over the drone of the rain outside, but that was all.

  "You don't look too worked up about it," Pat said. Then he saw my eyes and took it back without saying so out loud.

  "They'll want to be sure. They'll want to know if I have it or

  not before they cut loose on her. They'll have to be sure. Right in the beginning they thought Berga Torn passed it on to me, went through my apartment. If, it was anybody else they could have taken it easy, but not with me. They knew what was going to happen."

  "Let's have it, Mike."

  "The answer?" I said. I shook my head. "I don't have it. Not where I can reach out and touch it yet. I need more details."

  "So do we. I thought we were sharing this thing."

  "I didn't forget. What have you got?"

  Pat stared at me a long time, reached out and fanned a few papers across his desk. "Berga didn't escape from the sanitarium. She had it planned for her. She had a guest early that evening, a woman. The name and address were phony and we got no description except that she had brown hair. An attendant stated that she was pretty nervous after the guest left."

  I cut in with, "How come you're just finding this stuff out?"

  "It's a private sanitarium and they were afraid of ruining their reputation. They held off until we scared them. Anyway, we checked everybody in the place that night and came up with a spot from a couple of female visitors in the next room.

  "When the closing bell rang they stood outside in the hall a few minutes talking. They were close to Berga's door and overheard a voice saying... " He glanced down at the sheet and read from it ". . . `they're after you. They were at the house today.' " The rest of it we had to put together and when we had it the dame was telling her something about the main gate, to be as casual as possible, and there would be a car waiting for her at the northwest corner."

  Pat stopped and tapped the sheet. He tapped the stem of the pipe against his teeth and said, "On that corner was an F.B.I. wagon so whoever was waiting had to take up another spot. She got scared out of the deal and started hitchhiking when she didn't see the person she was expecting."

  I said, "She saw the person, all right. He was in another car. She knew damn well she was being followed."

  "There's something wrong," Pat said.

  "Yeah. Like murders on the books as accidents."

  Pat's jaw worked. "Proof?"

  "No, but that's the way it happened." I couldn't see his face, but I knew what he was thinking. In his own way he had covered every detail I had. "The first one was Nicholas Raymond. That's where the answer is, Pat."

  His eyes peered out at me. "Nicholas Raymond was a Mafia agent. He ran an import business as an excuse to make frequent overseas trips."

  I didn't answer so he said, ". . . he was the guy who ran the stuff into this country that was turned into cash for Mafia operations."

  He was watching me so closely that you couldn't see anything but the black pupils of his eyes. His face was all screwed up with the intensity of watching me and it was all I could do to hold still in the chair. I covered by dragging in another lungful of smoke and letting it go toward the ceiling so I could do something with my mouth except feel it try to stretch out of shape.

  The picture was perfect now. It was the most beautiful piece of art work I had ever seen. The only trouble was I couldn't make out what it was all about nor who drew it.

  I said, "How much would two million in narcotics before the war be worth now, Pat?"

  "About double."

  I got up and put on my hat. "That's what you're looking for, friend. A couple of shoe boxes that big. If I find them I'll tell you about it."

  "Do you know where it is?"

  "No. I have a great big fat idea, but if it's stayed buried this long it won't hurt anybody staying buried a while longer. All I want is the person who is after it because that person has Velda. If I have to I'll dig it up and trade for her."

  "Where are going now?"

  "I think I'm going out and kill somebody, Pat," I said.

  Chapter Eleven

  The cop at the switchboard told me to go ahead and use the phone. He plugged in an outside line and I dialed the number that got me Michael Friday. I said, "Your line clear? This is Mike."

  "Mike! Yes... There's no one here."

  "Good. Now listen. There's a place called the Texan Bar on

  Fifty-sixth Street. Get down there as fast as you can. I'll be waiting. You got that?"

  "Yes, but... "

  I hung up on her. It was the best thing you could do with a woman when you wanted her to move fast. She'd be a good hour getting there which was just what I needed.

  They were changing shifts outside the building and the flow of cops was getting thicker. I stepped outside, flagged down a cab and gave him the address of Al Affia's place. The rain had thinned traffic down to a minimum and he didn't take long getting there.

  Nothing had changed. The blood was still there on the floor, dried into a crusty maroon. Close to the door the air was a little foul and inside it was worse. I shoved the door open, snapped on the light and there was Al grinning at me from the corner of the room, but it was a horrible kind of grin because somebody had broken him into pieces with the whiskey bottle. He wasn't killed plain. He was killed fancy as a person could be killed. He was killed so that he couldn't make any sound as he died and whoever did it must have had a great time laughing because Al died slow.

  What I came for was gone. There were still two of t
he blueprints on the table but they showed the layout of the docks. The rest were missing. I picked the phone up, dialed the operator and said very quietly, "Operator... get me the local office of the F.B.I."

  Somebody said briskly, "Federal Bureau of Investigation, Moffat speaking."

  "You better get down here, Moffat," I said. I laid the phone down gently alongside the base and walked out.

  They'd know. They were lads you never noticed in the crowd, but they were all eyes and ears and brains. They worked quietly and you never read about them in the papers, but they got things done and they'd know. Maybe they knew a lot more than I thought they'd know.

  She was waiting for me at the bar. She was a lusty, beautiful woman with a mouth that made you hungry when she smiled at you as you came in. There was humor in her eyes, but the wonder and curiosity showed below in the little lines that radiated from the corners of her lips.

  There was nothing in mine. I could feel them flat and dull in their sockets. I nudged my chin to the booths in the back and she followed me. We sat down and she waited for me to say something and all I could think of was the last time I had sat here it was with Velda and now time was getting short.

  I took the cigarette she held out from the case, lit it and leaned on the table. "How much do you love your brother, kid?" "Mike... "

  "I'm asking the questions."

  "He's my brother."

  "Partially."

  "That's doesn't matter."

  "He's mixed up in one of the dirtiest rackets you'll ever find. He has a part in it someplace and is paid off in the blood and terror you'll find wherever you find the Mafia operating. He's part of a chain of killers and thieves, yet you like what his money can buy. Your love doesn't stop anyplace, does it?"

  She sat away from me as if I held a snake out at her.

  "Stop, Mike, please stop!"

  "You can stay on his side or mine, kid. The choice is up to you."

  The hysteria was caught in her chest. Her mouth wasn't pretty any more. One little sob got loose and that was all. "Al Affia is dead. So far he's the latest. He isn't the last. Where do you stand?