Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer 01]

by the Jury I

  “Uh-uh. I should know it, I think. Something vaguely familiar about it.”

  Velda took a pencil from her pocket and swung the pad around. “Suppose you write it this way,” she said. She put the numbers down to read: XX3-6904.

  “Well, I’ll be damned! A phone number.”

  “Roger, pal. Now fill in the first two letters of an exchange for the X’s and you’ll have it.”

  I jumped to my feet and went to the files. Now I remembered where I had seen that number before. It was on the back of a card I had taken from a pimp. The little runt had tried to sell me a deal and I slapped him silly for it. I came back with a folder of note paper, cards, and numbers, scratched on the back of menus.

  I picked one out of the file. “LEARN TO DANCE” it read, “TWENTY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS.” On the back of it was a number. I compared it to the one from Jack’s book. The same. Only this one had an exchange, LO, for Loellen. That was the number, all right, LO3-6904. Velda took it from my hand and read it.

  “What is it, Mike?”

  “It’s the telephone number of a call house. If I’m not mistaken, that’s where I’m going to find the Vickers girl.” I reached for the phone, but Velda put her hand out to stop me.

  “You’re not actually going there, are you?”

  “Why not?”

  “Mike!” Her voice was indignant, hurt.

  “For Pete’s sake, honey, do I look like a dope? I’m not going to buy anything. After all those pictures the army showed me of what happens to good little boys who go out with bad little girls, I’m even afraid to kiss my own mother.”

  “Okay, go ahead, but watch your step, by damn, or you’re going to have to get a new secretary.” I ran my fingers through her hair and dialed the number.

  The voice I got this time had a little life in it. Behind the “hello” I could see a frowsy blonde about fifty in a gaudy dress dangling a butt from her lips.

  “Hello,” I said, “you booked for the night?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Pete Sterling. Got your number from a little guy downtown.”

  “All right. Come up before nine or you won’t make the beginning of the entertainment. Want to stay all night?”

  “Maybe. I’ll know better then. Book me for the night anyway. Guess I can get away from home.” I winked at Velda when I said it, but she didn’t wink back.

  “You’re down. Bring cash. Ring three longs and a short when you come.”

  “I got it.” I cradled the phone.

  There were tears in Velda’s eyes. She was trying to remain grim, but she couldn’t hold them back.

  I put my arms around her and hugged her gently. “Aw, look, honey,” I whispered, “I have to take a realistic approach to this case. Otherwise, how the hell am I going to get anywhere?”

  “You don’t have to go that far,” she sniffled.

  “But I told you I wouldn’t. For crying out loud, I’m not that bad off that I have to patronize those places. There’s lots of dames I could park with if I felt like it.”

  She put her hands against my chest and shoved. “And don’t I know it,” she practically yelled. “I wouldn’t trust you to ... oh, gee, Mike, I’m sorry. I only work here. Forget it.”

  I pinched her nose and smiled. “Work here, hell. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Now behave yourself and stick near your phone either here or at home. I may need you to pick up a few angles for me.”

  Velda gave a little laugh. “Okay, Mike. I’ll watch the angles, you watch out for the curves. Huba buba.”

  She was cleaning off my desk when I left.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My first call was to Pat. He wanted to know how I was making out but I didn’t give him much. Later he could know about the Vickers girl, but first I wanted to get in my two bits. I picked a few numbers from the phone book and included the call-house number among them. I held on while Pat checked the addresses for me and passed on the information. After I thanked him, I checked with the phone book to make sure he had given me straight stuff. They checked. Pat was playing it square enough.

  In case he fished around with the numbers I gave him, it would be some time before he got to the one I was working on.

  This time I left my heap halfway down the block. 501 was the number I wanted, and it turned out to be an old brownstone apartment three stories high. I cased it from a spot across the street, but no one came or went. On the top floor a room was lit up faintly with no signs of life in it. Evidently I was early. The house was flanked on each side by another equally as drab and with as little color to it as the streets of a ghost town.

  This was no regular red-light district. Just a good spot for what went on. An old, quiet neighborhood patrolled several times nightly by a friendly cop, a few struggling businesses in the basement apartments. No kids—the street was too dull for them. No drunks lounging in doorways either. I pulled on my cigarette for the last time, then crushed it under my heel and started across the street.

  I pushed the button three longs and a short. Very faintly I heard the ring, then the door opened. It wasn’t the frowsy blonde I had expected. This woman was about fifty, all right, but her dress was conservative and neat. She had her hair done up in a roll with only the slightest suggestion of make-up. She looked like somebody’s mother.

  “Pete Sterling,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, won’t you come in?” She closed the door behind me while I waited, then motioned toward the sitting room off the hall. I went in. The transformation was startling. Unlike the dull exterior, this room was exciting, alive. The furniture was modem, yet comfortable. The walls were paneled in rich mahogany to blend with the redecorated mantel and the graceful staircase that curved down into the far end of the room. I could see why no light shone through the windows. They were completely blocked off with black velvet curtains.

  “May I take your hat?” I snapped out of it long enough to hand over my lid. Upstairs a radio was playing, but there was no other sound. The woman came back after a moment and sat down, motioning me to be seated opposite her.

  “Nice place you have here,” I remarked.

  “Yes, we’re very secluded here.” I was waiting for her to ask the questions, but she seemed in no hurry. “You told me on the phone that you had met one of our agents and he sent you here. Which one was it?”

  “A little ratty guy. He didn’t make it sound as good as this. I slapped him around some.”

  She gave me a tight smile. “Yes, I remember, Mr. Hammer. He had to take the week off.” If she thought she’d catch me jumping she was crazy.

  “How did you spot me?”

  “Please don’t be so modest. You’ve made too many headlines to be entirely unknown. Now tell me something, why did you choose to come here?”

  “Guess,” I said.

  She smiled again. “I imagine it can even happen to you, too. All right, Mr.... er ... Sterling, would you like to go upstairs?”

  “Yeah. Who’s up there?”

  “An assortment you’ll find interesting. You’ll see. But first, twenty-five dollars, please.” I fished out the dough and handed it over.

  She led me as far as the stairs. There was a push button mounted on the side of the newel post and she pushed it. Upstairs a chime rang and a door opened, flooding the stairs with light. A dark-haired girl wrapped in a transparent robe stood in the doorway.

  “Come on up,” she said.

  I took the stairs two at a time. She wasn’t pretty, I could see that, but the make-up enhanced what she had. A beautiful body, though. I walked in. Another sitting room, but this one was well occupied. The madam had meant what she said when she told me there was an assortment. The girls were sitting there reading or smoking; blondes, brunettes and a pair of redheads. None of them had much on.

  Things like this were supposed to make your heart beat faster, only I didn’t react that way. I thought of Velda and Jack. Something was here that I wanted and I didn’t know how I was going to take it. Eile
en Vickers was the one, but I never saw her. The alias—Mary Wright. It seemed feasible that she would not use her right name working here and not to evade income taxes either.

  Nobody gave me a tumble, so I supposed I was to make the selection. The girl who led me in kept watching me expectantly. “Want someone special?” she asked.

  “Mary Wright,” I told her.

  “She’s in her room. Wait here, I’ll get her.” The girl disappeared through the door and was back a moment later. “Right down the hall, next to last door.”

  I nodded and went through the door and found myself in a long hallway. On either side the wall was peppered with doors, newly built. Each one had a knob, but no key hole. The next to last door was the same as the others. I knocked and a voice called out for me to come in. I turned the knob and pushed.

  Mary Wright was seated in front of a dressing table, combing her hair. All she was wearing was a brassiere and a pair of step-ins. That and house slippers. She eyed me through the mirror.

  She might have been pretty once, but she wasn’t any longer. There were lines under her eyes that weren’t put there by age. She had a faint twitch in her cheek that she tried to conceal, but it came through anyway. I guessed her age somewhat in the late twenties. She looked a lot older, but I accounted for that.

  Here was a girl that had seen plenty of life, all raw. Her body was just a shade too thin, well fed, but emotionally starved. Empty, like a dead snail. Her profession and her past were etched into her eyes. She was a girl you could beat without getting a whimper out of her. Maybe her expression would change, but another beating more or less would mean nothing. Like the others, she wasn’t too made-up. Far from being plain, but not at all gaudy.

  Her hair was a chestnut brown like the irises of her eyes. She must have had some sun lately or spent time under a lamp, for there was a faint tinge of tan covering what I could see of her skin. There was nothing startling about her shape. Average. Not very heavy in the breasts, but her legs were nice. I felt sorry for the girl.

  “Hello.” Her voice was pleasant enough. She sat there as though she was getting ready to go out and I was a husband casually looking for a cuff link. “Early, aren’t you?”

  “Sort of, but I was getting tired of hanging around a bar.” I got in a quick look around the room, then went to an end table and ran through a set of books. My fingers felt under the table edge before I inspected the walls. I was looking for wires. These places have been rigged for sound more than once and I didn’t want to get snared in a trap. The bed was next. I got down on my hands and knees and looked under it. No wires.

  Mary had been watching me curiously. “If it’s a dictaphone you’re searching for, we haven’t any,” she said. “And the walls are soundproofed besides.” She stood up in front of me. “Want a drink first?”

  “No.”

  “Afterwards, then.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t come here for that.”

  “Well, for goodness’ sake, what did you come for, to make small talk?”

  “You hit it, Eileen.” I thought she’d pass out. At first she got deathly white, then her eyes hardened and her lips tightened. I could see that this wasn’t going to be so easy.

  “What’s the gag, mister? Who are you?”

  “The monicker is Mike Hammer, kid. I’m a private eye.”

  She knew who I was all right. She tightened up all over when she heard my name. A traceless fear crept into her body. “So you’re a shamus. What does that have to do with me? If my father sent you ...”

  I cut her short. “Your father didn’t send me. Nobody did. A pal of mine got killed a short time ago. His name was Jack Williams.” Her hand flew to her mouth. For a second I thought she’d scream. But she didn’t. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and a tear trickled down her cheek leaving a streak in the make-up.

  “No. I—I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t you read the papers?” She shook her head. “Among his things I found your name. He’d seen you just before, hadn’t he?”

  “Yes. Please, am I under arrest?”

  “No. I don’t want to arrest anybody. I just want to shoot somebody. The killer.” The tears were coming freely now. She tried to wipe them away but they came too fast.

  It was hard to understand. Here was a dame I had tagged as being as hard as they come, yet she thought enough of Jack to cry when I told her he was dead. And she hated her father, apparently. Well, that was a woman. There was still that much left in her.

  “Not Jack. He was so nice. I—I really tried to keep this from him, but he found out. He even got me a job before, but I couldn’t keep it.” Mary rolled over on her face and buried her head in the pillow. She was sobbing hard now.

  I sat down next to her. “Crying won’t help. What I want are a few answers. Come on, sit up and listen.” I raised her by the shoulders. “Jack wanted to have this place raided tonight, but the message never reached the police. He was killed before he could do anything about it. What’s going on tonight?”

  Mary straightened up. Her tears were gone now and she was thinking. I had to let her take her time. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Jack had no cause to do anything. Places like this flourish in the city and they don’t have to pay off to any one.”

  “Maybe there’s more to it than you think,” I added. “Just who is expected tonight?”

  She continued, “The show. Lots of people come to see it. You know the kind. Usually there’s a convention in town and prospective buyers are brought here for a little fun. I never see any important people. The kind that are in the public eye, I mean. Just fairly prosperous people.”

  I knew the kind. Fat greasy people from out of town. Slick city boys who played the angles and were willing to shell out the dough. Rich jokers of both sexes who liked smut and filth and didn’t care where they got it. A pack of queers who enjoyed exotic, sadistic sex. Nasty people. Clerks who scraped their nickels to go and then bragged on the street corners.

  I tried a different approach. “How did you get in this, Mary?”

  “Nuts. It’s a long story, but I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Listen. I’m not trying to pry into your life. I want you to talk about this, the whole thing. Something you say may have no meaning to you, but may throw some light on the whole affair. I’m convinced that whatever you are connected with has a contributing factor to Jack’s death. I could do it differently. I could slap it out of you. I could wreck this whole setup if I felt like it. But I’m not going to; it would take too long. It’s up to you.”

  “All right. If you think it would help. I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t for him. In all my life he was one of the very few square guys I ever met. He gave me plenty of breaks, trying to help me, but I failed him, every time. Generally I start bawling when I tell this, but too much water has gone under the bridge to make it upset me any more.”

  I sat back and dragged out a cigarette and offered her one. She took it and we lit up. I leaned back on the bed and waited.

  “It started in college. I went to the Midwest to become a teacher. It was a co-ed school, and in due time I met a fellow. His name was John Hanson. Tall and good-looking. We intended to get married. One night we parked after a football game and you know what happened. Three months later I had to leave school. John didn’t want to get married yet, so he took me to a doctor. When the operation was over I was shaky and nervous. We set up an apartment, John and I, and for a while lived as man and wife without benefit of clergy.

  “How my folks got wind of it, I don’t know. Those things happen. I got a letter from my father completely disowning me. That same night John didn’t come home. I waited and waited, then called the school. He had dropped from the curriculum. Disappeared. My month was nearly up in the apartment and I didn’t know what to do.

  “Now the unpleasant part. I started to receive visitors. Male visitors. What they offered was the only way I could make any money.
That kept on for a few weeks before the landlord found out and kicked me out of the place. No, I didn’t walk the streets. A car came and got me and I was driven to a rooming house.

  “It wasn’t like this. It was dirty and dingy. The madam was an old hag with a mean temper and liked to throw things at us. The first thing she did was to tell me that she had a record of my activities that she would hand over to the police if I didn’t cooperate. What could I do?

  “Then one night I had a talk with my roommate. She was a character. Tough as an apple and she knew how to sell herself. I told her all that had happened to me and she laughed like a fiend. The same damned thing had happened to her. But here’s the hitch. I described John. He was the guy that put her in the spot, too. She flew off the handle when she heard that. Both of us looked all over for him, but that was the last time I saw him.

  “I was part of a big outfit. We were shipped around wherever we were needed. I wound up here quite awhile ago and that’s that. Any questions?”

  The same old story. I felt sorry for her even if she didn’t feel sorry for herself. “How long ago were you in college?” I asked.

  “That was twelve years ago.”

  “Umm.” As far as I could see there wasn’t a thing to be gained. I reached in my wallet and pulled out a five spot and a card. “Here’s where you can locate me if you dig up anything else. And here’s a fin for yourself. I have some heavy thinking to do so I’m going to blow.”

  She looked at me amazed. “You mean ... you don’t want anything else?”

  “No. But thanks anyway. Keep your eyes open.”

  “I will.”

  I found a different way out and hit the downstairs hall from a rickety flight of steps that was half hidden behind a flowered set of drapes. The woman in charge was sitting in the waiting room reading. She put down the book long enough to say, “Leaving already? I thought you wanted to spend the night.”

  As I picked up my hat, I said, “I did, but I guess I’m not as young as I used to be.” She didn’t bother to get up to let me out.