One Lonely Night mh-4

by Mickey Spillane

  I didn't hear the rest of it. I sat there fiddling with my fingernails because I was getting ready to bust loose and spoil their plans. If I let any more words go in my ears there was going to be blood on the floor and it wasn't time for that yet. I caught snatches of things that went on, repeated intimations of how the top men were already in the core of the present government eating its vitals out so the upset would be an easy one.

  For a long time I sat there working up more hatred than I had ever had at any time and I wasn't conscious of how tightly Ethel Brighton was squeezing my hand. When I looked at her tears were running down her face. That's the kind of thing the general and his party could do to decent people.

  I took a long look at him, making sure that I wouldn't forget his face, because some day he'd be passing a dark alley or forget to lock his door when he went to bed. That's when he'd catch it. And I didn't want to get tagged for it either. That would be like getting the chair for squashing a spider.

  The meeting ended with handshakes all around. The audience lined up along the walls taking handfuls of booklets and printed sheets to distribute later, then grouped in bunches around the room talking things over in excited murmurs. Henry Gladow and Martin Romberg were up on the rostrum having their own conference. The general said something to Henry and he must have ordered his bodyguard down into the crowd to look for his trench coat or something. Martin Romberg looked hurt. Tough.

  While the seats were folded and stacked I lost track of Ethel. I saw her a few minutes later coming from the washroom and she looked a little better. She had a smile for me this time, a big one. I would have made something of it if a pimply-faced kid about twenty didn't come crawling over and tell me that the general wanted to know if I had time to speak to him.

  Rather than answer I picked a hole in the crowd that had started to head for the door and walked up to the rostrum. The general stood alone, his hands behind his back. He nodded briefly and said something in a guttural tongue.

  I let my eyes slide to the few who remained near by. There wasn't any respect in my tone when I said, "English. You know better than that."

  The general paled a little and his mouth worked. "Yes . . . yes. I didn't expect to find anyone here. Do you have a report for me?"

  I shook a cigarette out of the pack and stuck it in my mouth. "When I have you'll know about it."

  His head bobbed anxiously and I knew I had the bull on him. Even a general had to be leery of the MVD. That made it nice for me. "Of course. But there should be some word to bring back to the committee."

  "Then tell 'em things are looking up. It won't be long."

  The general's hands came out in front where he squeezed them happily. "Then you do have word! The courier . . . he did have the documents? You know where they are?"

  I didn't say a word. All I did was look at him and he got that same look on his face as the others had. He was thinking what I thought he was thinking, that he had taken me for granted and it was his mistake and one word to the right sources and he'd feel the ax.

  He tried his first smile "It is very all right, you know. Comrade Gladow told me."

  I dragged on the cigarette and blew it in his face wishing it was some mustard gas. "You'll know soon enough," I said. I left him standing there and walked back to Ethel. She was slipping into her mink and nobody seemed to care a hoot what she wore.

  "Going home?"

  "Yes . . . are you?"

  "I don't mind."

  One of the men paused to have a word with her before she left. She excused herself to talk to him and I used the time to look around and be sure there weren't any faces there that I'd ever forget. When the time came I wanted to be able to put the finger on them and put it on good.

  Maybe it was the way I stared at the babe from the desk at the door or maybe it was because I looked at her too long. Her lashes made like bird's wings for a second and everything in the room seemed to get interesting all of a sudden. Her eyes jerked around but kept coming back to mine and each time there was a little more of a blush crowding her hairline.

  I kept my grin hidden because she thought I was on the make. It could have been pathetic if it wasn't so damn funny. She wasn't the kind of woman a guy would bother with if there was anything else around. Strictly the last resort type. From the way she wore her clothes you couldn't tell what was underneath and suspected probably nothing. Her face looked like nature had been tired when it made it and whatever she did to her hair certainly didn't improve things any.

  Plain was the word. Stuffy was the type. And here she thought a man saw something interesting in her.

  I guessed that all women were born with some conceit in them so I put on a sort of smile and walked over to her casually. A little flattery could make a woman useful sometimes.

  I held out my deck of butts. "Smoke?"

  It must have been her first cigarette. She choked on it, but came up smiling. "Thank you."

  I said, "You've, er . . . belonged some time, Miss . . ."

  "Linda Holbright." She got real fluttery then. "Oh, yes, for years, you know. And I . . . try to do anything I can for the party."

  "Good, good," I said. "You seem to be . . . very capable. Pretty, too."

  Her first blush had been nothing. This one went right down to her shoes. Her eyes got big and blue and round and gave me the damnedest look you ever saw. Just for the hell of it I gave one back with a punch in it. What she made of it stopped her from breathing for a second.

  I heard Ethel finish her little conversation behind me and I said, "Good night, Linda. I'll see you soon." I gave her that look again. "Real soon."

  Her voice sounded a little bit strained. "I . . . meant to ask you. If there is anything . . . important you should know . . . where can I reach you?"

  I ripped the back off a book of matches and wrote down my address. "Here it is. Apartment 5B."

  Ethel was waiting for me, so I said good night again and started for the door behind the mink coat. It made nice wiggles when she walked. I liked that.

  I let her go out first then followed her. The street was empty enough so you wouldn't think anything unusual about the few couples who were making their way to the subways. Trench Coat was still at the door holding a cigarette in his mouth. His belt was too tight and the gun showed underneath. One day a cop would spot that and there'd be more trouble.

  Yeah, they sure were smart.

  Going back was better than going down. This time Ethel turned into a vivid conversationalist, commenting on everything she saw. I tried to get in a remark about the meeting and she brushed it off with some fast talk. I let her get it out of her system, sitting there with my mouth shut, grinning at the right places and chiming in with a grunt whenever she laughed.

  About a block from my apartment I pointed to the corner and said, "I'll get off under the light, kid."

  She edged into the curb and stopped. "Good night, then," she smiled "I hope you enjoyed the meeting."

  "As a matter of fact, I thought they stunk." Ethel's mouth dropped open. I kissed it and she closed it, fast. "Do you know what I'd do if I were you, Ethel?"

  She shook her head, watching me strangely.

  "I'd go back to being a woman and less of a dabbler in politics."

  This time her eyes and mouth came open together. I kissed her again before she could get it shut. She looked at me as if I were a puzzle that couldn't be solved and let out a short, sharp laugh that had real pleasure in it.

  "Aren't you a bit curious about my name, Ethel?"

  Her face went soft. "Only for my own sake."

  "It's Mike. Mike Hammer and it's a good name to remember."

  "Mike . . ." very softly. "After last night . . . how could I forget?"

  I grinned at her and opened the door. "Will I be seeing you again?"

  "Do you want to?"

  "Very much."

  "Then you'll be seeing me again. You know where I live."

  I couldn't forget her, either. On that bearskin rug
with the fire behind her she was something a man never forgets. I stuck my hands in my pockets and started to whistle my way down the street.

  I got as far as the door next to mine when the sedan across the street came to life. If the guy at the wheel hadn't let the clutch out so fast I wouldn't have looked up and seen the snout of the rifle that hung out the back window. What happened then came in a blur of motion and a mad blasting of sound. The long streak of flame from the rifle, the screaming of the ricocheted slug, the howl of the car engine. I dove flat out. Rolling before I hit the concrete, my hand pulling the gun out, my thumb grabbing for the hammer. The rifle barked again and gouged a hunk out of the sidewalk in front of my face, but by that time the .45 in my hand was bucking out the bullets as fast as my finger could pull the trigger, and in the light of the street lamp overhead I saw the dimples pop into the back of the car and the rear window spiderweb suddenly and smash to the ground. Somebody in the car screamed like a banshee gone mad and there were no more shots. Around me the windows were slamming up before the car had made the turn at the corner.

  I kept saying it over and over to myself. "Those goddamned bastards. They got wise! Those goddamn bastards!"

  A woman shrieked from a window that somebody was dead and when I looked up I saw she was pointing to me. When I climbed back on my feet she shrieked again and fell away from the window.

  It hadn't been a full twenty seconds since that car had started up, and a police car was wheeling around the corner. The driver slammed on the brakes and the two of them came out with Police Specials in their hands, both of them pointed at me. I was trying to shove a fresh load into the clip when the cop snarled, "Drop that gun, damn it!"

  I wasn't doing any arguing with them. I tossed the gun so it landed on my foot then shoved it away gently. The other cop picked it up. Before they told me to, I put my hands on my head and stood there while they flashed the beam of light in my face.

  "There's a ticket for that rod in my wallet along with a Private Operator's license."

  The cop didn't lose any time frisking me for another rod before yanking my wallet out. He had a skeptical look on his face until he saw the ticket. "Okay, put 'em down," he said. I dropped my hands and reached for my .45. "I didn't say to pick that up yet," he added. I let it stay there. The cop who drove the buggy looked the ticket over then looked at me. He said something to his partner and motioned for me to get the gun.

  "All clear?" I blew the dust off old Betsy and stowed it away. A crowd was beginning to collect and one of the cops started to herd them away.

  "What happened?" He wasn't a man of many words.

  "There you got me, feller. I was on my way home when the shooting started. Either it's the old yarn of mistaken identity which isn't too probable or somebody whom I thought was a friend, isn't."

  "Maybe you better come with us."

  "Sure, but in the meantime a black Buick sedan with no back window and a few bullets in its behind is making tracks to the nearest garage. I think I got one of the guys in the car and you can start checking the doctors."

  The cop peered at me under his visor and took my word for it. The call went out on the police wires without any more talk. They were all for dragging me with them until I had a call put in to Pat and his answer relayed back to the squad car. Pat told them I was available at any time and they gave me the green light through the crowd.

  I got a lot of unfriendly looks that night.

  When I stood in front of my door with the key in my hand it hit me just like that. My little love scene with Ethel Brighton had had repercussions. My wallet on the floor. It wasn't in the same place in the morning. When she had gotten up for that blanket she had seen it, and my P.I. card in the holder. Tonight she passed the word.

  I was lucky to get out of there with a whole skin.

  Ethel, I thought, you're a cute little devil. You looked nice in your bare skin with the fire behind you. Maybe I'll see you stripped again. Soon. When I do I'm going to take my belt off and lash your butt like it should have been lashed when you first broke into this game.

  In fact, I looked forward to doing it.

  Chapter Six

  I finished a quart bottle of beer before calling Velda. I got her at home and asked her what she'd found. She said, "There wasn't much to find, Mike. His landlady said he was on the quiet side because he was too stupid to talk. He never complained about a thing and in all the time he was living there he never once had company."

  No, he wouldn't talk too much if he was an MVD agent. And he wouldn't have company for that matter, either. His kind of company was met at night and in the dark recesses of a building somewhere.

  "Did you try the pie factory where he worked?"

  "I did but I didn't get anywhere. The last few months he had been on deliveries and most of the guys who knew him were out selling pies. The manager told me he was a stupid egg who had to write everything down in order to remember it, but he did his job fairly well. The only driver I did see said something nasty when I mentioned Moffit and tried to date me."

  The boy put on a good act. People aren't likely to get too friendly with somebody who's pretty stupid. I said. "When do the drivers leave the plant?"

  "Eight A.M., Mike. Are you going back?"

  "I think I'd better. Supposing you come along with me. I'll meet you on the street in front of the office about seven and that'll give us time to get over there and see some of them."

  "Mike . . . what's so important about Charlie Moffit?"

  "I'll tell you tomorrow."

  Velda grunted her displeasure and said good night. I had hardly hung up when I heard the feet in the hall and my doorbell started to yammer. Just in case, I yanked the .45 out and dropped it in my pocket where I could keep my hand around it.

  The gun wasn't necessary at all. It was the boys from the Papers, four of them. Three were on the police beat and the fourth was Marty Kooperman. He wore a faint, sardonic smile that was ready to disbelieve any lie I told.

  "Well, the Fourth Estate. Come on in and don't stay too long." I threw the door open.

  Bill Cowan of the News grinned and pointed to my pocket. "Nice way to greet old friends, Mike."

  "Isn't it. Come on in."

  They made a straight line for the refrigerator, found it empty, but uncovered a fresh bottle of whisky that I had been saving and helped themselves. All but Marty. He closed the door himself and stood behind me.

  "We hear you got shot at, Mike."

  "You heard right, friend. They missed."

  "I'm thinking that I could say 'too bad' and mean it."

  "What's your bitch, Marty! I've been shot at before. How come you're on the police run?"

  "I'm not. I came along for the ride when I heard what happened." He paused. "Mike . . . for once come clean. Has this got to do with Lee Deamer?"

  The boys in the kitchen were banging their first drinks down. I had that much time at least. I said, "Marty, don't worry about your idol. Let's say that this happened as a result of my poking into something that I thought was connected with Deamer. He doesn't figure into it in any way."

  Marty took in a breath and let it out slowly. He twisted his hat in his hands then flipped it on the coat rack. "Okay, Mike, I'll take your word for it."

  "Suppose it had to do with Lee, what then, chum?"

  His lips tightened over a soft foice. "We'd have to know. They're out to get Lee any way they can and there aren't many of us who can stop them."

  I scowled at him. "Who's us?"

  "Your Fourth Estate, Mike. Your neighbors. Maybe even you if you knew what we knew."

  That was all we had time for. The boys came charging back with fresh drinks and pencils ready. I led them inside to the living room and sat down. "Shoot, laddies. What's on your mind?"

  "The shooting, Mike. Good news item, ya know."

  "Yeah, great news. Tomorrow the public gets my picture and another lurid account of how that Hammer character conducts a private war on a public thorough
fare and I'll get an eviction notice from my landlord and a sudden lack of clients."

  Bill laughed and polished his drink off. "Just the same, it's news. We got some of it from headquarters but we want the story straight from you. Hell, man, look how lucky you are. You get to tell your side of it while the others can't say a word. Come on, give."

  "Sure, I'll give." I lit up a Lucky and took a deep drag on it. "I was walking home and . . ."

  "Where were you?"

  "Movies. So just as I . . ."

  "What movie?"

  I showed him my teeth in a lopsided grin. That was an easy one. "Laurance Theatre. Bum show."

  Marty showed me his teeth back. "What was playing, Mike? He was the only one not ready to take notes.

  I started in on as much of the picture as I had seen and he stopped me with his hand. "That's enough. I saw it myself. Incidentally, have you still got your stub?"

  Marty should have been a cop. He knows damn well that most men have an unconscious habit of dropping the things in their pockets. I pulled out an assortment and handed him one. He took it while the other boys watched, wondering what the hell it was all about. He picked up the phone, called the theatre and gave them the number on the ticket, asking if it had been sold that day. They said it had been and Marty hung up sheepishly. I let go my breath, glad that he hadn't asked what time. He wasn't such a good detective after all.

  "Go on," he said.

  "That's all. I was coming home when the punks in the car started to blast. I didn't get a look at any of 'em."

  Bill said, "You on a case now?"

  "If I was I wouldn't say so anyhow. What else?"

  One of the boys from a tabloid wrinkled his nose at my story. "Come on, Mike, break down. Nobody took a shot at you without a reason."

  "Look, pal, I have more enemies than I have friends. The kind of enemies I make go around loaded. Take a check on most known criminals and you'll find people who don't like me."