Survival...Zero

by Mickey Spillane

  This time Woody put on an act for everybody’s benefit. I got a big smile, an introduction to the girls whose names all sounded alike, the pair named Carl and Sammy, but when he came to Larry Beers I said, “We’ve met,” His handshake was very wary. “Been a long time Larry.”

  “Let’s make it longer the next time.”

  “Why not?”

  Ballinger gave me a big smile that was all snake with the fangs out, his heavy-lidded eyes asking for trouble. “Join us, Hammer?”

  “Not tonight, Woody. I got better things to do.”

  “Ah, come one, I’ll get you a broad and ...”

  “I’m a leg man, myself,” I said.

  The blonde on his left stuck her tongue out at me. “I have those too, you know.”

  “I hope so. It’s just that I enjoy a certain style and design.”

  She laughed and put both her hands on the table. Woody seemed annoyed at the sudden attention I was getting and let his smile fade. “You want something?”

  I reached in my pocket, took out his wallet and tossed it on the table. “Just saving some embarrassment by having you go down and get it. Seems funny, an old pro like you letting a dip grab his poke. You do what I asked you?”

  He was too happy to know I was leaving not to answer me. He stuck the wallet back in his pocket without looking at it and said, “Not yet, but soon.”

  “Real soon, okay?”

  I looked at them all briefly, remembering their faces, nodded and went back to the street. I could feel Woody Ballinger’s eyes boring into my back all the way.

  On the way to the East Side I stopped in a gin mill on Sixth Avenue and put in a call to Velda at her apartment. I let the phone ring a dozen times, but there was no answer. I tried the office too in case she decided to work late. Same thing. The answering service for my apartment number told me there had been no calls for me at all. I wasn’t about to worry about her. She had a P.I. ticket and a nasty little .32 hammerless automatic to go with it and when the chips were down she could take care of herself. Right now she probably was following orders, purse swinging with the come-on look in Lippy’s neighborhood, seeing how the other half lived.

  Near-midnight callers on actress tenants mustn’t have seemed unusual to the doorman. He was the same one who had admitted me earlier and when I asked him if he ever slept he chuckled and said, “Changed shifts with Barney. He’s courting and the night work was ruining his love life. You want to see Miss Anders, go right up. She got in a little while ago and for her it’s like the middle of the afternoon.” He gave me a knowing look and added, “You want I should call her?”

  “Give her a buzz. Hammer’s the name.”

  “Yes, sir.” He plugged in the jack, flipped the toggle twice and waited. Then: “Miss Anders, I have a Mr. Hammer...”

  Her voice, ringing with that odd quality that could carry right through a phone, came right over his, but this time with a hurried urgency that seemed to have a catch in it. “Yes, please, send him right up.”

  The doorman hung up and made a wry face at me. “Funny broad, that.”

  “How come?”

  “Any guy she can get, but always picks the wrong ones who give her a hard time. Like tonight she comes home, eyes all red, sniffling and jumpy. You’d think she’d blow this coop and start over somewheres.”

  “The mortality rate is pretty high in show business. Those dames can attract some oddballs.”

  “Yeah, but no reason to. They’re just people same as anybody else. They got a face and a body and you’d think they’d make out okay, but this one is always miserable. It’s a wonder she’ll even speak to a guy any more. A big star, plenty of money and always down in the dumps. Me, I’m plain glad to be what I am.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said.

  This time I didn’t have to touch the bell. The door was cracked and she was waiting for me, a pert thing with crazy ash-blonde hair, belted into a sheer black housecoat that clung so magically to all the curves and hollows that it seemed like she didn’t have anything on at all.

  But she wasn’t quite as pretty as the last time. Her eyes were too red and feverish looking. The nervousness was more acute and the smile she gave me was strained to its limit. She swallowed with a tiny, jerky motion of her head and reached for my sleeve. “Come in, Mike. Please come in. I guess you must think I’m awfully strange to be having guests so late, but it’s really nothing for me. Nothing at all.” She tried a laugh on as she shut the door and took my hat. It had a hollow, flat sound. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not at my best. It’s just that... well, I imagine everyone has personal problems and ...”

  “Don’t let it bother you, honey.”

  Heidi Anders’ fingers squeezed hard on my arm and she nibbled gently on her lower lip. Something like a shudder ran through her, then she tugged and let me feel the warmth of her body beside me as she took me into that nutty love nest of hers. Maybe it was the maid’s day off, but the place wasn’t like it had been. Too many things were out of place; cushions strewn around, a lamp on the floor, ashtrays filled with lipstick-smeared butts. They weren’t party signs or trouble signs... just diffident neglect as if nobody gave a damn about the place.

  She pushed me onto the couch, forcing gaiety into her tone. “Can I make you a drink, Mike?”

  “A short one maybe. I can only stay a minute.”

  “Oh?” I couldn’t tell whether it was fright or disappointment in her expression.

  “I only came to bring your compact back.” I reached in my pocket, took out the diamond-studded case and her insurance papers and laid them on the coffee table.

  For all she seemed to care it could have been a piece of junk. She turned quickly, called back, “Thank you. It was very kind,” over her shoulder, and went to the small mahogany bar in the corner and made me a drink. She came back and handed it to me. The ice in the glass clinked against the sides and she put it down quickly so I wouldn’t notice her hand tremble.

  I said, “None for you?”

  “No ... not now.” She pulled a tissue from one slash pocket and touched her nose and eyes with it, the corners of her mouth crinkling in a smile. “I guess I shouldn’t be so sentimental over small things,” she said. “You’ll have to excuse me.” She reached for the compact and the insurance policy. “Maybe I’d better put these where they won’t get lost again. Be right back.”

  I nodded and tasted my drink. She had made it too strong, but it was still good. She disappeared into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. I took another sip of my drink and got up and walked around the room, studying the decorations. There were framed photos of Heidi in her lavish stage costumes, others deliberately posed, provocative bikini scenes taken against white sand and palm tree backgrounds. Some were ornaments that could have been taken for the ruins of Pompeii. The oil paintings were original and unique, all with a carefully guarded sexual motif. The pieces that were obviously foreign were rare and expensive, half of them reflecting the phallic theme, but the other half a little out of place since they were the result of good and expensive taste. Too bad there weren’t more of them. I finished my drink and put the glass back on the bar.

  I started back to the couch when Heidi said, “Sorry I took so long. I had to freshen up.”

  When I turned around I felt my mouth go dry and the muscles tightened across my shoulders. It was Heidi, all right, but the curtain had gone up and it was another Heidi altogether. The fever in her eyes had turned into a deep sultry azure. The smile was real, tantalizing, and when she walked toward me the sway was there, the slow, female gesticulations with the hips and thighs that could make them all so damn sure of themselves because they knew what it could do to a man. She had rearranged the housecoat so that the lapels were thrown open to the shoulders, the translucent fabric passing over breasts only half covered, to the belt at her waist. Her eyes held mine, letting me take her all in, then she stopped in a deliberate pose and the rest of the housecoat parted so that I could s
ee all of her at once. Luscious, firm, silken, with the lightest of tans that offset hair that was tousled and ash-blonde, and not tousled and not ash-blonde.

  The tableau was only momentary before she came to me and took my hand. This time hers wasn’t shaking at all. I turned her around, put my fingers under the chin and tilted her head up to me. Very slowly, her tongue licked her lips, making them glisten softly, her eyes intense and sleepy looking. But I didn’t kiss her. I let my fingertips run under her sleeves, caressing her skin gently, then I led her to the couch and eased her down. She quivered gently and smiled, squirming into the soft cushions, her eyes still sleepy and hungry.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said and she nodded dreamily.

  I went into the bedroom and it only took me two minutes to find the compact and another one to locate the catch that let the back of it drop open. It was made to hold another type of powdered cosmetic, and what was there was a powder, all right, but it wasn’t cosmetic. The syringe was in a velvet case in her large jewel box. I took them both back to the living room and walked to the couch.

  Heidi was lying there waiting. She had opened the belt and thrown the housecoat wide open. One hand half cupped a breast and her thighs were parted in invitation. Her eyes were closed but the one in the center of her belly was watching me avidly.

  I said, “Heidi,” her eyes came open and she smiled. “You’re a junkie.”

  Then her eyes went wide and the smile stopped.

  “No wonder you needed that compact so badly, kid. Who cut off your supply?”

  No vibrancy in her voice now at all. Nothing but sheer childish fear, weak and hesitant. “Mike ...”

  “You’re a great actress, kid. You faked it nicely, but then, you didn’t have much of a choice. A real loud beef about the loss might have brought in a smart insurance investigator who would have found your stash, or a trip to the police lost-and-found meant taking a chance talking to a wised-up cop who spotted your symptoms and got the picture right away.”

  “Please, Mike ...”

  “You’re lucky, doll.” I tossed the compact down on the table. “It’s your problem, not mine, and I’m not making it mine. I could dump this stuff but you’d only find another supplier. I could turn you in but some sweet judge would only turn you out again, especially if it were your first rap. The resulting publicity could kill you altogether or could make you bigger than ever. That’s happened too. All I want to tell you is that you’re a jerk. The complete clown. A raggedy-ass damn fool idiot and right now you’re able to know what I’m talking about. You’re probably not on too bad, but you’re hooked and you’re scared to bust it. All you can do is go downhill and lose everything you ever worked for and pretty soon you’ll be working even harder peddling your behind ten times a day for enough to buy a jolt. You look great lying there right now and if you were for real I’d join the fun and games and come away with a great memory, but you’re not for real any more and I wouldn’t waste my time at it. So give it a big thought, baby, if you’re capable of it. Think about it every day and do what you please. You can come back to the land of the living or start getting all your papers and photos in order so that when they find your lovely little corpse in the river or on the floor with a deliberate overdose because it all got too much for you, the news-hounds will be able to give you a nice, lurid send-off in the obit columns.”

  She had never stopped watching me. Those azure eyes were wide open, unconsciously wet. One hand pulled the front of the housecoat across the slow heave of her stomach and her breasts moved with a quick intake of breath.

  I got my hat from the table beside the door and got the hell out of there. I walked eight blocks toward my apartment before I bothered to flag down a cab. When I got home I showered, had another drink and flopped down on the bed, looking at nothing on the ceiling.

  Stupid, idiotic broad. But I was just as sore at myself. Something about the whole deal should have told me something and I was too aggravated to put it in its right place.

  CHAPTER 5

  By noontime I had reduced Lippy’s haul to two undelivered wallets. The owner of the rather shabby job lived and worked in Queens and made an appointment to meet me at my office on Saturday to pick it up. The other belonged to William Dorn who was about to donate to the P.A.L. like the others. A maid gave me his office number and when I called him he was appreciative and invited me to lunch at The Chimes, a sedate and expensive restaurant on East Fifty-seventh Street. My taste didn’t run to exotic French cuisine, but the change could be different and I made a one o’clock date to see him there. I tried another call to the office and Velda’s apartment but she was at neither place so I rang Eddie Dandy and he was glad to take a beer break with me for a half hour.

  I had to laugh when I saw him. It wasn’t the hell he had caught from the network for making waves or the embarrassment of sweating out the snide remarks from the rest of the staff. It was the agony of having to sit on a story he knew was hot and not being able to release it.

  He downed a tall schooner of lager without stopping, belched once and called for another. “Only one thing got me, buddy. Suppose somebody else pieces it together the same way I did.”

  “Quit worrying. By now they have it all nicely organized with everybody briefed properly and they’ll be able to con the best cynic into taking their word for it. Right now it’s a dead issue.”

  “Not to a couple of guys I know. They couldn’t picture me doing an about-face like that. You catch my retraction?”

  “Missed it.”

  “That’s the trouble with color TV. They could see the egg all over my face in bright yellow against screaming red. It wasn’t easy, pal. I hope when I make the next announcement I’m not a pasty white. If they don’t get that stuff this whole country could be wiped out. You know anything about the germ warfare developments?”

  “Just what I read in the papers.”

  “Well, it isn’t pretty and you’re not going to be reading much about it at all. That stuff is as top secret as it can get. Right now they’re flooding us with news stories from every direction you can think of just to keep the public’s mind off my big squeal. It may work and it may not. We’ve had the switchboard lit up like a star burst since I broke it and have operators working overtime with nice pat explanations. They’re even sending form letters out to those who want them. It’s rough, boy, rough. What are you up to?”

  “Some simple legwork on a simple matter,” I said.

  “You still on that Sullivan deal?”

  I nodded.

  “A lost cause, Mike. They pull the cops in to track down Schneider’s killers, they schedule a special political parade to cover the vacation wipe-out, the Crime Commission is laying it on heavy and you couldn’t bust a cop loose for special detail work for anything. Nope, you won’t get any leg up from the cops until this is over.”

  “I’m not asking for any.”

  “Okay, you know the story. You’re making a federal case out of a simple murder and robbery. Why?”

  “Beats me” I told him. “Maybe because I believed something nobody else believed.”

  “Hell, people will believe anything. Look what happened with me.”

  “So waste time. So feel lousy. What’s left to do?”

  I told him about the wallets and my date with Dorn. I didn’t mention Heidi Anders at all.

  “William Dorn?” he asked.

  “Know him?”

  “Park Avenue offices?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Sure, he’s chairman of the board of Anco Electronics, his March Chemical Company engineered that new oil refining process the industry has turned to and now he’s gone heavy in mining. You’re traveling in fancy company, kiddo. I never thought I’d see the day. Ole Mike Hammer, denizen of the side streets, partying with café society. Better not let it get to be a habit.”

  I looked at my watch. “Well, if it does, it starts now.” I finished my beer, flipped Eddie for the drinks, won the to
ss and told him so long. At one o’clock on the nose I walked into The Chimes, got a disapproving stare from the maître d’ until I asked for Mr. Dorn’s table, then his professional subservient attitude returned with a fawning nod and he bowed me to a table in a hand-carved, oak-paneled booth on the dais-like section of the main room that was obviously reserved for only the most select clientele.

  Most actors would like to age into a man like William Dorn. A few have, but only a few. He was tall and lean with a tanned, rugged face and intelligent eyes under a thick shock of wavy hair streaked with gray. When I took his hand he had a strong, sure grip and I knew he wasn’t as lean as he looked. Suddenly I felt like a slob. He was one of those guys who could look good in anything and I knew why the amused woman, with the hair so raven black it was darker than the shadows she sat in, could be so much at ease with him.

  “Mr. Hammer,” he said in a pleasantly deep voice, “William Dorn, and may I present Miss Renée Talmage.”

  She had held out her hand and I took it gently. “A pleasure,” I said.

  “Very nice to see you, Mr. Hammer.” Her smile broke around a set of even gleaming white teeth and she added, “Please sit down.”

  “Miss Talmage is head of accounting at Anco. Have you heard of us?”

  “Just this afternoon.”

  “Don’t let it bother you, Mr. Hammer. Our business is not one that goes in heavily for publicity and promotion. Care for a drink before lunch?”

  “Rye and ginger’ll do,” I said.

  The waiter hovering behind me took the order and disappeared. I pulled Dorn’s wallet from my pocket and handed it to him. He took it, flipped it open and scanned his credit cards and held it up to show Renée Talmage. “Now that is efficient police work. Imagine.”

  “Strictly accidental, Mr. Dorn.” I pushed a receipt and my pen across to him. “Mind signing for it?”

  “Not at all.” He scrawled a signature in the proper place and I folded the receipt back into my pocket.