CHAPTER EIGHT They sat us down around a table, my gun laying there in the middle and Travers looking pleased with himself. He had given Anita the opportunity to make a phone call and she got Vance Colby. He was on the way over. In the meantime I made small talk, got the point across that IÒd like some representation myself and after Travers thought it over he told the sergeant to plug in the phone. I got WilkensonÒs name out of the book, told him who I was and where I was and asked him to get over fast. He was too excited to talk, but said heÒd be there as quickly as possible. For a ninety-three year old man he did a good job. He made it in five minutes. I hadnÒt seen him in twenty-five years and it looked as if he hadnÒt aged a bit. He was tall, topped with a bushy white head of hair, a manner that was positive and honest and it was easy to see why George P. Wilkenson was the most respected counsellor in the state. We shook hands and his grip was firm. I was ready for a lot of gab, then got fooled there too. He asked Travers if he could speak to me alone for a few minutes and Travers was glad to grant him the courtesy. From his expression I knew what he was thinking ... it would take a lot of talking to get me off the hook and it wasnÒt about to happen. The tiny room we sat in stunk of stale sweat and cigar smoke and the edge of the table was notched with cigarette burns. I had seen too many of these rooms to enjoy being in one again. Wilkenson threw his briefcase on the table, pulled out a sheaf of papers and thrust them toward me, fanning them out so I could see the signature lines he had marked off. ÓCat,Ô he said, Óyour father trusted me, so did your grandfather. Do you?Ô ÓWhy not?Ô ÓVery well then.Ô He held out a pen. ÓSign where indicated.Ô I wrote my name in about twenty places, handed the pen back and stacked the papers together. ÓWhat was that all about?Ô ÓDid you ever know the details of your grandfatherÒs will?Ô I made a noncommittal gesture with my hands. ÓHe split it with my old man and Miles, didnÒt he?Ô ÓUp to a point, yes. There were certain other provisions. After their death the unspent capital would go to their children. If the children die, the remainder would go to the other brother or his children.Ô ÓSo?Ô ÓThe final provision was this. Your grandfather knew your fatherÒs habits. It was his idea that his children might inherit his casual attitude of neglect and fail to claim the money. In that event, if the capital belonging to the deceased brother was not claimed by his children within thirty years, the others took possession. That time period is up . . . this Saturday. Tomorrow.Ô I still didnÒt get it. ÓOkay, so I inherit a hundred percent of nothing. Why all the business. The old man blew his load in a hurry. I hope he had fun.Ô ÓAh, thatÒs the point, son. He didnÒt. He was footloose enough, but his material possessions were very few. The fun he had didnÒt cost much at all. When he died he left quite a few million dollars intact. After taxes you stand to inherit at least two of them.Ô I felt my fingers bite the edge of the table and without realizing it I was on my feet. ÓWhat?Ô Wilkenson nodded slowly. ÓThatÒs why the urgency of having you sign the claim.Ô Now the picture was laid out from all angles. I asked the next question. ÓWhere do Miles and his kids come in.Ô ÓNowhere, IÒm afraid. They have gone through every cent they ever had. You are the only wealthy Bannerman left.Ô ÓDamn!Ô ÓBut thereÒs one clause that may disrupt everything, son. It has me worried. You stand to face a very serious charge.Ô ÓWhat about it?Ô ÓYour grandfather was a peculiarly virtuous old man. He was honest and law abiding to the extreme. He specified in the will that if any of the inheritors should ever be held and booked by the police on a criminal charge, and found guilty, they were to be cut off immediately and the money transferred to the others.Ô No wonder the Bannermans were so fussy about keeping out of trouble. Buy anything or anybody, as long as the cost was less than the eventual one. ÓLieutenant Travers intends to book you. Carrying concealed weapons is a criminal charge.Ô ÓYou let me take care of that,Ô I said. He shook his massive head. ÓIÒm afraid he canÒt be bought.Ô ÓYou let me take care of that,Ô I repeated. Wilkenson studied me a moment regretfully. He had done his duty, fulfilled his commitment, and now there was nothing more to do except make out more papers. I grinned at him, tight and nasty. ÓDonÒt count me out. Not yet. First do me a favor.Ô ÓIf I can.Ô ÓGet hold of Petey Salvo.Ô I gave him a list of places where he could be located. ÓTell him to get Carl Matteau and keep him with Gage until ...Ô I looked at my watch, Ó. . . eleven oÒclock tonight, then bring them to the Bannerman place. WeÒll be waiting.Ô He frowned at me. ÓBut . . .Ô ÓJust do it, okay?Ô ÓVery well.Ô ÓGood. Now beat it. DonÒt let any of the others see you.Ô The sergeant took me back to the other room and there the clan was gathered; Miles, Rudy, Teddy and Vance. Anita had pulled away from him and looked at me anxiously when I came in and I didnÒt let my expression change at all. Except for Anita, they didnÒt seem a bit unhappy at all. Vance said to Travers, ÓNow, sir, if itÒs all right with you, I would like to take Miss Bannerman home. ItÒs been very trying for her.Ô The cop nodded agreement. ÓI know where to find her.Ô ÓWill there be any charges?Ô ÓOh, I donÒt think so,Ô he said pleasantly. ÓSheÒll be a witness, naturally but as an innocent bystander. The one I want is right here.Ô He pointed a long finger at me. I sat down and didnÒt look at them, but I managed a wink of confidence at Anita. She forced a smile, but her eyes were wet. ÓGo on home, honey,Ô I said. ÓItÒs not all that bad.Ô When they had gone Travers sat back, satisfied with himself, and said, ÓNow letÒs get to your statement.Ô I reached in my pocket and pulled out the license number I had gotten from the Jenner guy. ÓIn the interests of harmonious relationships . . . and justice, how about finding out who owns the car that goes with this plate number.Ô He picked the slip from my fingers. ÓWhat kind of a game is this?Ô ÓDo it, then IÒll tell you. You might get a promotion out of it.Ô Travers was a guy who enjoyed games. Besides, he couldnÒt understand my attitude. It had something to do with the way he smiled at me the last time. He called the sergeant in, told him to run it through, then sat there saying nothing, idly tapping a pencil on the desk. I played the game with him for fifteen minutes until the sergeant came back with a card, handed it to Travers who looked at it, not getting what it meant, then handed it to me. I said, ÓTouche. You get your promotion.Ô Then we had a little talk. When it was over I picked up my gun, put it on and told Travers to follow me back to the Bannerman place with his sergeant and went out to the Ford. Ten forty-five. The lights were on downstairs in the library and when I went in I could hear their voices. No longer were they tense . . . there was an air of relief and jocularity there now. Only Anita didnÒt have a drink in her hand and Vance Colby was standing in front of the desk like the old master himself, overshadowing Miles who held down his usual position. Rudy and Teddy were toasting each other and both were half stiff already. They sobered up pretty fast when I came in. Their faces got a flat, sour look and Miles suddenly looked pale. Only Vance regained his composure. ÓWe hardly expected to see you here.Ô ÓI guess you didnÒt.Ô I walked over to Anita and sat on the arm of her chair. Her hand reached for mine, squeezed it and she bit her lip to keep from crying. Then I played the time game on them, just sitting there silently. At eleven on the dot Petey Salvo came through the door holding Gage and Matteau by their necks. Mat-teau had taken a beating somewhere along the line and Popeye Gage was in the first stages of narcotics withdrawal. All he wanted was a fix and would do anything to get it while he had the chance. Later, when the cramps hit him, he wouldnÒt be able to. ÓPretty,Ô I said. ÓNice company the Bannermans keep.Ô Rudy had to sit down. I wouldnÒt let him. ÓOn your feet, slob,Ô I told him. ÓI want you to hear this standing up. IÒm going to make you happy and sad all at once and I want to see what happens when I do.Ô ÓSee here . . .Ô Vance started to say. I waved a finger at him. ÓNot you, boy. You stay very, very quiet while I tell a story.Ô I said, ÓIt started because this was a wide open state with legalized gambling and plenty of money to be made without too much work if the right deal could be swung. One man saw how he could do it. Cousin Rudy here made a sucker play for a ripe nympho named Irish Maloney and even if he didnÒt make out he established
a motive for what was to come. The guy who spotted the move came into the family through a back door, knew what he was going to set up and made a contact with the Chicago Syndicate to borrow enough money to get his project rolling. ÓThe next step was easy. At the right time, when Rudy was drunk and sick, he got him to a toilet where he passed out, went outside and killed Chuck Maloney with a steak knife from the club, put the knife back, then had the Syndicate men put the word through that they had seen Rudy make the hit and that they had the evidence. But all this while there was no evidence. ÓThen came the hitch . . . the money demand was going to fall through and how that must have shook up our killer. The Bannermans didnÒt have any loot left! Ah . . . but in a way, there was. Very shortly they were going to inherit my share of the wealth if I didnÒt claim it and there was little chance I would, so the killer was safe. A few more days and heÒd have it made. ÓImagine how he felt when I showed up? Brother, he liked to Ñve browned out. The point was ... he had spent the Syndicate money on initial expenses and unless he got his hands on the Bannerman money he couldnÒt carry it through and he knew damn well the Syndicate wouldnÒt stand for the loss without getting something in return. Like his life. ÓSo our boy tried to have me roughed up and scared out by Gage and Matteau. They didnÒt want me dead . . . just out of town long enough for the thirty year time period to expire. It didnÒt work. Now he got panicky. He even went as far as taking a shot at me himself. When that didnÒt work there was one other gimmick he had ready. He knew the details of the will and sent in a complaint that I carried a gun, a formidable charge if he could make it stick and one that would put my dough back in the hands of the other Bannermans. And three of them went for it. You know, IÒm beginning to wonder just who the real bastard Bannermans are around here. ÓNow our killer is really in a sweat because he doesnÒt know where I stand or what the next play is. He knows I have it locked but doesnÒt know how and has to hear me out to figure his next move. ÓFunny how I found out about it. Real careless of him. He got the original idea because he liked the same dame Rudy liked and when he saw her under the phoney name of Arthur Sears she bragged about her men and up came the name of Rudy Bannerman . . . and an ex con called Sanders. When they interrogate Sanders heÒll tell them an anonymous call told him about ChuckÒs murder and that heÒs to be the first grabbed and the guy panicked. I bet that night he had even gotten drunk with some unknown guy and was carried home where he couldnÒt prove an alibi. But. . . that will come out later. ÓAnyway, our Arthur Sears made a bad move. He backed into a car and drove off. An indignant dame saw it and grabbed his number. Only the number didnÒt belong to any Arthur Sears. The name that went with it was Vance Colby.Ô The glass dropped from his hands and he took an uncertain step back against the desk and stood there clutching it. Anita had me so tightly I couldnÒt move my arm, but it was my left one and didnÒt matter I could still draw and fire with my right. ÓThe dirty part was that you didnÒt give a damn about Anita, Vance. She wasnÒt your type. When your history gets checked out weÒll find that out. All you wanted was the Bannerman money and when you had it you would have dumped her fast. Nice, dirty thinking.Ô From the doorway Carl Matteau was watching Colby with a face that was a hard mask. I said, ÓYou have several choices, Vance. You probably have that gun on you that you shot at me with today. Move toward it and IÒll kill you right where you stand. IÒll put a .45 between your horns that will rip off the back of your head and spatter the old man there with more brains and blood than he already has. ÓThe second choice, Colby. You go out the back way and run for it. YouÒll have the cops on your back all the way, but it wonÒt be them youÒll be worrying about. ItÒll be the Syndicate boys because when Matteau here passes the word along a contract goes out on you and it will be worse than anything the cops can do to you. ÓThird choice, killer. Outside the front door is a police car. You can get in, go downtown with Lieutenant Travers and hope the courts will give you life rather than the chair. ÓFourth choice is to brazen it out and if you look at Petey SalvoÒs face youÒll see what can happen. Chuck Maloney was his friend and Petey will go all the way for his buddies, dead or alive.Ô Vance Colby was dead white. There was no arrogance left in him now at all. He was a terrified animal with death facing him on all sides and all he could do was take the least of the evils. Very slowly he turned, looked at the open doors of the library to the hall beyond and started walking. He had company. Travers was back there and had heard it all. They went outside together and I heard the car start up and saw the red light on the top start to wink before they cleared the driveway. I stood up and took AnitaÒs hand. At the moment it was past her ability to comprehend, but soon she would see it. All she knew was that somehow she suddenly belonged to me and me to her and the world was ours at last. The two little Bannermans who never meant anything because the others loomed too large and too powerful. They werenÒt that way now. I said, ÓYouÒre broke, cousins. YouÒll have to sweat for it now. You can have the house and the property but itÒll make you even broker so youÒll have to think fast. Personally, I donÒt think youÒll survive long and you can blame it on yourselves. I want nothing you ever had and IÒm taking what was mine and you tried to steal. You have to live with yourselves and it wonÒt be easy, and while you do you can be thinking that the Bastard Bannerman wasnÒt the real bastard ... it was you, the others. YouÒre all bastards. IÒm taking Anita out of here and IÒll provide for Annie. I donÒt think she wants any part of you any more.Ô I pulled Anita toward the door and turned around. Rudy and Teddy had to sit down. It was too much for them. ÓAdios, Cousins and Uncle.Ô I said. ÓWork hard and earn lots of money.Ô The night was clean, the sky peppered with stars and the road a moonlit ribbon heading east. She sat next to me as close as she could get and the radio played softly while I tooled along at an even sixty. Since we got married back there she had hardly spoken and I kept waiting for her to ask me. She finally did. Curiosity, a trait of the Bannermans who bore the Cat label. ÓThat Lieutenant Travers ... he let you go. What happened?Ô ÓNothing. I just told him who I was and where I was going. He checked on it.Ô ÓAre we going there now?Ô ÓUh-huh.Ô ÓCan you tell me?Ô I looked at her and laughed. ÓIt may interfere with our honeymoon, but it might be exciting at that. IÒm picking up an escaped prisoner in New York and driving him back to the coast.Ô Amazement was written all over her. ÓBut I thought you . . . you . . .Ô ÓPolice, doll. I was going east on a vacation and they let me have the assignment to save expenses.Ô ÓOh, Cat . . .Ô ÓNow IÒll be like that millionaire cop on the TV show. Should be fun.Ô I patted her leg and she snuggled up against me, warm and soft. ÓWeÒll have the honeymoon when we get back,Ô I said. END-
Mickey Spillane - The Tough Guys Page 8