Killer Mine

by Mickey Spillane

  “You could have gotten out. You did change the nature of the business.”

  “There was one thing that didn’t change. I saw what happened to too many girls. I saw where they went and how they ended up. By keeping my hand in I was able to direct more of them out of it in time. Oh, hell, Regan… I know what you’re thinking. I was still involved, but I got to know the right people and had enough going for me so that I could kill any heat that landed on the kids who got to know too much. There are those who say prostitution is better controlled. Funny enough, I’m not one. I’d like it abolished, but as long as the damn public demands it the authorities accept it and the bastards behind the scene control it, I’ll stay in where I can do some good when the time comes. That’s my story, buy it or not.”

  “I’ll buy it Mad,” I told her. “It might not be my way, but I’ll buy it.”

  She reached over and put her hand on mine. “Thanks, Patrick. I was hoping you would.” Her hand was warm, the pressure gentle and it was like the time she had thanked me silently in school when I came in chopped up after the fight, when she had done the same thing when I was at my desk and nothing more. It had been enough for me then. “Now… will you do me a favor?”

  “Sure…what?”

  “Let me clean up this fleabag.”

  I grinned at her. “Be my guest.”

  Downstairs I picked up two six packs of beer and brought them up and was content to sit there and watch the incredible efficiency of a woman used to service and attention doing the dirty work I could hardly face up to myself. She seemed to enjoy it, too, humming snatches of songs from the war years, laughing at the little things I said, content to let me sit and think while she let the years of luxury wash off her so that she was a kid again.

  When she turned around her face was flushed, shiny with beads of sweat and her eyes were bright with living. The place was clean, too. She brushed away a wisp of hair that had fallen across her face, looking more lovely and younger than I had ever seen her.

  “Better?”

  “Perfect, doll, perfect. Do I pay you day wages?”

  “A shower will do. I feel like a mess.”

  “You look good to me.”

  She grinned. “You’re just saying that because it’s true. Put some more coffee on.”

  While I filled the percolator I heard the shower running. I had a crazy warm feeling I never had before, like being part of something nice, something I never knew I wanted before.

  The pot stopped bubbling as the light blinked red and I was pouring two cups when she came out of the bathroom. Someplace she had dug out my big old beach towel and had it draped around her like a sarong, another wound around her head turban fashion. She smelled of soap, and warmth radiated from her. One lithe leg jutted from the slit where the towel was knotted at her hip, the flesh firm and silky smooth, still showing a summer tan, the graceful curves swelling from a full calf into a thigh that blossomed with muscular maturity. The top of the towel was reluctant to conceal her breasts, trying to hold fast while each breath made it slip from its position until she almost swelled out of it.

  We stood like that for what seemed a long time, looking at each other, seeing all without ever breaking that single, intense stare. Years ago it had happened too. We were young then, unaware of what was happening, knowing something had changed without being able to name it.

  The first step we took together, touched with mutual desire, then her mouth was a rich, ripe furnace that melted into mine with a low moan of something too long suppressed and she pressed against me, her body feeling for every inch of me. The thrust of her body burst the tie of the knot in the towel and it dropped unnoticed at our feet, then I had all the womanly texture of her in my arms, under my hands, taking everything she was offering.

  I picked her up, deliberately stopped at the threshold of the bedroom door where she smiled up at me with the dreamy eyes of a bride, then crossed to the bed and laid her down gently.

  Outside the noise of traffic dimmed and a slow rain began to beat against the window. Thunder rumbled across the roof of the city and the soft yellow of heat lightning brightened the room momentarily every once in a while. It was only when the wind shifted and the rain slanted in the half open window and sprinkled across the bed did we notice it. Unconsciously, I looked at my watch. Three hours had gone by.

  “Time, Regan?”

  “Plenty of time, kitten.”

  “It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?”

  “Years and years.”

  “Will it ever happen again?” There was an expectant catch in her voice, a hushed quality as though she said more than she had wanted to. The hesitant fear was there in her face, but she had to wait for my answer now that it was asked.

  I said, “We’re funny people, you and I. Maybe we found something.”

  “Can we be sure?”

  I touched the wild swell of her breasts and felt her quiver beneath my fingers. “Are you asking me… or yourself? Something would have to change. I can’t.”

  “No… you shouldn’t. I’m sorry, Regan. I never should have said it. The words… just spilled out. I’m not something to be proud of.”

  “Why not?” My words were sharp, said from between teeth held too tightly together. “I’ve seen people die, kid. I’ve helped them fall. I’ve pulled the trigger. I’ve been there and back so who the hell am I to look back and pass judgment. It’s now and later that counts. Not the before part.”

  Madaline came to me with the fierce possessiveness of a tiger, saying things I knew she had never said to anyone else before and heard them repeated back to her. Her nails bit into my skin with frenzied delight, her body engulfing me with new, supreme love.

  The phone ringing wakened us with its insistence until I rolled out and picked it up. “Regan?”

  “Yeah?” It was George Lucas’ voice.

  “Where the hell have you been. I left a note and…”

  “I just got in.” I lied to save making excuses.

  “Well, buddy, I want to see you. Important”

  “Now? It’s two a.m.”

  “It’s your money, Regan. I said it was important.”

  “Okay, name a spot.”

  George named a bar on Sixth Avenue, and I told him I’d be there in thirty minutes. Madaline murmured when I shook her and opened her eyes. “Get up, Mad. Something’s come up. I don’t want you here alone.”

  “Oh, Pat…”

  “Somebody tried to kill me here the other night. Let’s not make it easy for him if there’s another try.”

  Her eyes came wide open and I told her about it. She didn’t take more than a few minutes to get dressed. I shrugged into my coat, slipped the .45 into my belt and held the door open for her. She started to step out into the hallway when I realized the mistake I almost made and slammed her back with a sweep of my forearm. She hit the wall, fell as I jammed the door shut and dropped beside her.

  No noise. Just two tiny holes showed in the panel at waist level and something chunked into the wall at the other side of the room. Madaline’s mouth was open with surprise as I said, “Somebody turned the light out in the hall.” Then she saw the holes in the door and nodded abruptly.

  I reached up and flipped the switch off, blanketing the room in darkness. “Stay there,” I said. I felt the knob, turned it and eased the door open. Whoever was out there saw the motion and there was another almost silent plop, but I caught the wink of a muffled muzzle blast and triggered off a single shot at the pinpoint of light. The tremendous roar of the .45 split the night apart and feet pounded the stairs below with the heavy tread of someone in headlong flight. The door downstairs opened and slammed shut, but I didn’t follow, knowing it could be a cute trap. He could have eased back behind the stairwell and be there waiting. I went inside, got my flashlight, poked the beam through the banister to search out the area, and when I was certain it was empty, went down and turned on the hall light.

  Madaline joined me at the door, s
till shaking with fright “What happened?”

  “Another try. This time with a silenced gun. One of us is a target.”

  “One of…”

  So she wouldn’t be any more frightened than she was I said, “Me, most likely. Nobody knew you were here. They tried for me before. They’re running scared now.”

  “Pat…”

  “Let’s go, Mad. He won’t stay around now.” I waited for someone to show, listening for a siren in case one of the neighbors had heard the shot and called it in, but either the walls were too thick or nobody cared. I flagged down a cab, gave him the address of the bar and climbed in. Madaline squeezed my hand, forced a smile and didn’t say anything. I could still feel her trembling.

  George had a corner of the bar to himself and the frown he wore turned into a grin when he saw Madaline and he held out his hands to her. “I’ll be damned. Like a class reunion. How the heck are you, Madaline?”

  “Scared. Good to see you again, George.”

  He looked at me and I roughed him in on what had happened. When I finished his eyes were narrow and hard. “The pressure is on, Regan. It can hit from any direction now. You’re too much of a threat. What the hell is it you know?”

  “A lot of things. Not much of anything.”

  “Well, I have something. Your money brought in some talk.” He glanced at Madaline.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “She’s part of it with us. All on the same side.”

  “Before he died, Leo Marcus set up the Syndicate’s new system. You had the old setup torn apart and the Syndicate got on his back for it. They held him responsible and dropped it in his lap. He had to get clear. Some way, he heisted the proof you had which put him back in the catbird seat with the Syndicate. Now here’s the kicker. The top dogs in the organization took a jolt when they had their lawyers check on the reorganization plans. Leo Marcus had taken their money and built himself a separate little world with it. Most likely he planned to get the dough back in the pot before the loss was discovered, but he didn’t act fast enough. They found it out and put out a contract for his kill that was accepted by a pair of hoods from Chicago.”

  “When was this?”

  “The closest I could figure it was three days before Marcus died. That gave them time to reach New York and pull the job.”

  I shook my head. “They don’t work like that and you know it. They generally take a couple of weeks to lay out the kill.”

  “Unless…” George started to say.

  “Unless what?”

  “They played it scientifically. They’re pros and they saw a way to move fast. They tried to take the heat off themselves and the mob by setting you up. Hell, you were on suspension and burning up to get to Marcus and they couldn’t ask for a better sucker. You were handy and they hung it on you in a hurry. The Syndicate would have liked it that way.”

  “There’s a hole in the story.”

  “Where?”

  “The big boys wanted their money back too.”

  It was George’s turn to shake his head no. “Not in this case. They could afford to let it go. They’d get it back in other ways, but they wouldn’t care about it that much. A guy with a million doesn’t miss a dollar. It’s the principle of the thing. They don’t want to establish any precedents by letting somebody in the organization get off with company funds.”

  “Damn,” I said.

  “There may be a contract out on you too, Regan,” George said quietly. “Where do we go from here?”

  I tossed down the beer the bartender brought and said, “The love of money is the root of all evil.”

  “What?” George frowned.

  Madaline gave me a quick glance.

  “I’ll call you at the office, George. Stand by in case there’s trouble.”

  “The departmental trial is tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there,” I told him. I threw a bill on the bar and took Madaline by the arm and steered her outside. George had just grunted and called for another drink.

  From the outside phone booth at the corner of Broadway I called Jerry Nolan and told him to meet me down at the diner near the precinct house. He swore and grumbled, but said he’d be there in fifteen minutes. When he got out of his car he was wrinkled and half dressed, a leather jacket thrown over his pajama tops. “You’re a bird, Regan. I don’t know why the hell I’m doing this.” He looked at Madaline, recognition in his eyes. “What’s she doing here?”

  “I asked her, Jerry.” I reached for her hand and he saw it.

  His shrug said a lot of things. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Where’s Argenio?”

  “Home in bed if he’s smart. He was on the Scipio thing all day.”

  “Things ought to be quiet inside. Nobody should ask you any questions. I want you to check the M.P. reports.”

  “Who’s missing?” he asked me.

  “That’s what I want to find out.” I explained it to him quickly and he scowled.

  “You got any idea how long that will take?”

  “Maybe you’ll be lucky.”

  “Damn it, Regan, I could be at that two-three days. Supposing it isn’t on the reports?”

  “Then check the skid row bunch. They’re all permanent fixtures and somebody should know.”

  “Suppose it isn’t this city?”

  “Get cooperation from the other departments. We’ve done it before.”

  He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “You think it’s possible?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Could be,” he nodded. “So it’ll cost me some sleep and plenty of hell at home. The wife’s complaining about the hours now and I’m not even bucking for promotion.” He nodded good night to us and walked inside.

  Madaline looked at me and said, “Can I ask what that was all about?”

  “Better you don’t know, sugar. Not now, anyway.”

  “Flatfoot,” she grimaced pleasantly.

  I saw a cab cruising and waved to it, got inside and gave the driver my address. Madaline raised her eyebrows at me. “Short night.”

  I nudged her with my elbow. “It’s polite to wait until you’re asked.”

  When I paid off the driver I waited until he was out of sight, made sure we were clear and went into the vestibule. I was finished taking chances. The light was on, the way was cleared and I had the .45 in my hand. Madaline’s feet followed mine to the landing and I held her to one side while I opened the door.

  My apartment was empty.

  I closed and locked the door while Madaline shucked out of her jacket, then got a knife and icepick from the kitchen, found the three holes where the slugs had imbedded themselves in the wall and worked for twenty minutes prying them out without doing too much damage.

  Madaline looked at the squashed lead pellets in the palm of my hand and touched their flattened surfaces with a forefinger. Not much was left of them. “Will a comparison test prove anything?”

  “Ballistics expert?”

  “I read a lot.”

  “I’m not interested in the gun, Mad. They’re easy to get. It’s the silencer and certain new chemical tests that will add things up.”

  “All right, my inscrutable friend, play games, excite my curiosity. I have ways of getting even, you know.”

  I dropped the slugs on the table and held my arms out. She came to me easily, her mouth tilted up, and her eyes were brand new, brand new. “Don’t ever do that,” I said.

  “No… I never will, Regan.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE morning shrouded the city in a pall of mist that dripped down the windows and laid a slick on the streets. A fog smelling of factory refuse and polluted river water crept in from the west, touching everything with its clammy fingers.

  It was a death day out there. You could see it and feel it and taste it. It was the old man with the scythe taking his seat in the coliseum to watch the bloody action he knew would be there.

  People hurrying to work had their heads down
against the damp, eyeing each other suspiciously, dodging the sharp points of umbrella ribs and snarling over their shoulders when they were almost impaled. The tires of the cars hissed against the pavement and the taxis moved impatiently searching for riders. It wasn’t bad enough for anyone to fight for their services yet and the drivers jockeyed toward the corners hoping to catch one of the undecided by stopping in front of them.

  I grabbed one and packed Madaline in it and told the driver her office address, telling her I’d call later. She didn’t want to leave, but realized she couldn’t stay and kissed me goodbye gently, her fingertips caressing my face as she did. “Is it for real, Regan? Am I fooling myself?”

  “It’s for real, baby.”

  “Then there will be some changes made, darling,” she told me. “I’ll see you later.”

  The next cab past stopped for me and I told him where to go in Brooklyn.

  Nobody was at the Lazy Daisy club except a porter who was carrying out the cartons of empty bottles and accumulated night’s trash to the garbage cans beside the building. At night the place would be a garishly lit hangout for the wild money and the slum crowd from across the bridge looking for excitement, but by early daylight it was a drab, peeling slop-chute with all the earmarks of a sucker trap for the tourist trade.

  The porter made me with one look and tried to get out of the way, but I yanked him back and said, “Don’t duck, pops. I don’t want you and there’s no squeal.”

  “So what’cha want? I ain’t…”

  “Helen the Melons. She works here. Where does she live?”

  The old guy shrugged. It was none of his business and she wasn’t important enough to clam up for. “She got a pad at Annie Schwartz’s house. Two blocks over.” He gave the street and told me to look for the sign, then went back to his work after almost spitting on my shoes. He didn’t like cops either.

  Annie Schwartz was a beer-bloated woman with too-yellow hair and bad teeth who took one casual glance at me and spat out, “Cop.”

  “Right, Annie.”

  “Don’t try rousting me, mister. This place is clean.”