The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 1

by Mickey Spillane

  “Jack didn’t want to embarrass me. But that’s only part of the reason why I’m going to get his murderer. He was my friend even before that.”

  “I hope you get him,” she said sincerely. “I truly hope you do.”

  “I will,” I said.

  We stood there a moment just looking at each other, then I caught myself. “I have to leave now. I’ll see you soon.”

  Her breath seemed to catch in her throat a moment before she said softly, “Very soon, I trust.” I was hoping that light in her eyes meant what I thought it did when she said it.

  I parked a few feet away from the blue canopy of the apartment house. The doorman, for once conservatively dressed, opened the door of my car without wrinkling his mouth in disgust. I gave him a nod and went into the outer foyer.

  The name over the bell was stamped in aluminum. “Manning Charlotte,” it read, without a series of degrees following it like the doctor’s below. That guy must have had a letter complex. I rang the bell and walked in when the buzzer sounded.

  She lived on the fourth floor, in a suite facing the street. A coal-black maid in a white uniform answered the door. “Mistah Hammah?” she asked me.

  “Yeah, how didja know?”

  “De police gennimuns in de front room was ’specting you. Come in, please.” Sure enough, there was Pat sprawled in a chair by the window.

  “Hi, Mike,” he called. I threw my hat on an end table and sat down on a hassock beside him.

  “What did you find, Pat?”

  “Her story checks. A neighbor saw her come in at the proper time; her maid confirmed it.” For once I was relieved. “I knew you’d be along, so I just parked the carcass until you showed up. By the way, I wish you’d be a little easier on the men I detail to keep track of you.”

  “Easier, hell. Keep ’em off my neck. Either that or get an expert.”

  “Just for your own protection, Mike.”

  “Nuts. You know me better than that. I can take care of myself.” Pat let his head fall back and closed his eyes. I looked around the room. Like her office, Charlotte Manning’s apartment was furnished in excellent taste. It had a casual air that made it look lived in, yet everything was in order. It wasn’t large; then too it had no reason to be. Living alone with one maid, a few rooms was all that was necessary. Several good paintings adorned the walls, hanging above shelves that were well stocked with books of all kinds. I noticed one bookcase that held nothing but volumes on psychology. At one end of the room a framed diploma was the only ornament. A wide hallway opened off the living room and led to a bedroom and the kitchen, with a bathroom opposite. Beside the foyer was the maid’s room. Here the color scheme was not conducive to mental peace, but designed to add color and gaiety to its already beautiful occupant. Directly opposite the hassock I was parked on was a sofa, a full six feet long. It gave me ideas, which I quickly ignored. It was no time to play wolf. Yet.

  I nudged Pat with my foot. “Don’t let’s be going to sleep, chum. You’re on taxpayers’ time.”

  He came out of his reverie with a start. “Only giving you time to size things up, junior. Let’s roll.”

  Kathy, the maid, came scurrying in when she heard us making sounds of leaving. She opened the door for us and I heard the sound of the chimes Charlotte had spoken of. “Does the gong go off when the bell rings too?” I asked her.

  “Yassuh, or when de do’ opens, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, suh, when I‘se not to home, Miss Charlotte has to answer de do’. Sometimes when she’s busy in de blackroom de bell rings and she just opens de lock. Den when de visitors come up she knows when dey comes in. She can’t leave in de middle of her work in de blackroom to answer both de bell and de do’”

  I looked at Pat and he looked at me. “What’s the blackroom?” I practically demanded.

  Kathy jumped like she was shot. “Why, where she makes pitchers from de fillums,” she answered. Pat and I left feeling a little foolish. So Charlotte made a hobby of photography. I reminded myself to brush up on details so we’d have something to speak about the next time we met. Besides that, I mean.

  CHAPTER 5

  Downstairs, Pat and I went across the street to a tiny delicatessen and sat in a booth with two bottles of beer. He asked me if I had gotten anywhere yet and I had to give him a negative answer.

  “What about motive?” I put to him. “I’m up the creek on that angle, mainly because I haven’t looked into it. When I get all the case histories down I’ll begin on the motive. But did you dig up anything yet?”

  “Not yet,” Pat answered. “Ballistics checked on the slug and it came from an unidentified .45. According to the experts, the barrel was nearly new. We followed that up by inquiring into the sale of all guns, but got nowhere. Only two had been sold, both to store owners who were recently robbed. We took some samples of the slugs, but they didn’t match.”

  “For that matter it might have been a gun sold some time ago, but unfired until recently,” I said.

  “We thought of that, too. Records still don’t account for it. None of those at the party have ever owned a gun to our knowledge.”

  “Officially,” I added.

  “Yes, that’s a possibility. It isn’t hard to come in possession of a gun.”

  “What about the silencer? The killer was no novice about firearms. A silencer plus a dumdum. He wanted to make sure Jack died—not too fast. Just definitely died.”

  “No trace of that, either. Where it may have come from is a rifle. There are a few makes of rifle silencers that can be adjusted to a .45.”

  We sipped the beer slowly, each of us thinking hard. It was a full two minutes before Pat remembered something and said, “Oh, yeah, almost forgot. Kalecki and the Kines kid moved into an apartment in town this morning.”

  That was news. “What for?”

  “Someone took a shot at him through his window late last night. Missed by a hair. It was a .45 slug, too. We checked it with the one that killed Jack. It was the same gun.”

  I almost choked on my beer. “You almost forgot,” I said with a smirk.

  “Oh, and one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “He thinks you did it.”

  I banged my glass down on the table so hard Pat jumped. “Why, that dirty snivelling louse! That does it. This time I’ll smash his face all over the place!”

  “There you go, racing your motor again, Mike. Sit down and pipe down. As he said, he wasn’t without a little influence at city hall, and they made us look into you. But don’t forget, you’ve knocked off a few undesirable citizens before and the slugs from your gun were photographed. We keep all the prints and tried in the worst way to match ’em, but they don’t match. Besides, we knew where you were last night. They raided the joint ten minutes after you left.”

  I got kind of red in the face and sat down. “You got one hell of a way of breaking things to me, Pat. Now let’s quit the joking and tell me where Kalecki and company moved to.”

  Pat grinned. “They live right around the corner in the same apartment hotel the Bellemy twins occupy, but on the second floor. The Midworth Arms.”

  “Have you been there yet?”

  “Not to see the twins. I saw George and Hal, though. Had quite a time telling him that it would do no good to place a charge against you for assault and battery after the other night. Didn’t take much talking, either. Evidently he’s heard a lot about the way you operate, but just likes to keep his own courage up with a lot of talk.”

  Both of us poured down the remainder of the beer and got up to leave. I outfumbled Pat and got stuck for the check. Next time he’d buy. Cop or no cop. We parted outside the door, and as soon as he took off I started around the corner for the Midworth Arms. I wanted to get the lowdown when anyone accused me of murder—attempted or successful. The real reason why Pat was sure it wasn’t me was because the killer missed. I wouldn’t have.

  I knew Kalecki probably had tipped the doorman an
d the super off not to admit me, so I didn’t bother messing with them. Instead I walked in like a regular resident and took the elevator to the second floor. The operator was a skinny runt in his late twenties who wore a built-in leer. I was the only one in the car, and when we stopped I pulled a bill from my pocket and showed him the color of it.

  “Kalecki. George Kalecki. He’s new in this dump. What apartment and the green is yours,” I said.

  He gave me a careful going over, that one. Finally put his tongue in his cheek and said, “You must be that Hammer mug. He gimme a ten not to spot him for you.”

  I opened my coat and pulled my .45 from its holster. The kid’s eyes popped when he saw it. “I am that Hammer mug, junior,” I told him, “and if you don’t spot him for me I’m giving you this.” I motioned toward his teeth with the gun barrel.

  “Front 206,” he said hastily. My bill was a five. I rolled it up in a ball and poked it in his wide-opened mouth, then shoved the rod back.

  “The next time remember me. And in the meantime, act like a clam or I’ll open you up like one.”

  “Y-yes, sir.” He practically leaped back in the car and slammed the door shut.

  206 was down the hall, the apartment facing on the street. I knocked, but there was no answer. Hardly breathing, I put my ear against the wood paneling of the door and kept it there. That way the wood acts as a sounding board, and any noise made inside is magnified a hundred times. That is, except this time. Nobody was home. Just to be sure, I slid a note under the door, then walked away and took the stairs down to the first landing. There I took off my shoes and tiptoed back up. The note was still sticking out exactly as I had placed it.

  Instead of fooling around I brought out a set of skeleton keys. The third one did it. I snapped the deadlock on the door behind me—just in case.

  The apartment was furnished. None of Kalecki’s personal stuff was in the front room except a picture of himself on the mantel when he was younger. I walked into the bedroom. It was a spacious place, with two chests of drawers and a table. But there was only one bed. So they did sleep together. I had to laugh even if I did mention it to get a rise out of them before.

  A suitcase was under the bed. I opened that first. On top of six white shirts a .45 was lying with two spare clips beside it. Man, oh man, that caliber gun is strictly for professionals, and they were turning up all over the place. I sniffed the barrel, but it was clean. As far as I could tell, it hadn’t been fired for a month. I wiped my prints off and put the gun back.

  There wasn’t much in the chest of drawers, either. Hal Kines had a photo album that showed him engaging in nearly every college sport there is. A lot of the shots were of women, and some of them weren’t half bad, that is if you like them tall and on the thin side. Me, I like ’em husky. Toward the end of the book were several showing Kalecki and Hal together. In one they were fishing. Another was taken alongside a car in camping clothes. It was the third one that interested me.

  Both Hal and Kalecki were standing outside a store. In this one Hal wasn’t dressed like a college kid at all. In fact, he looked quite the businessman. But that wasn’t the point—yet. In the window behind him was one of those news releases they plant in stores facing the street that are made up of a big photo with a caption below it. There were two. One was indiscernible, but the other was the burning of the Morro Castle. And the Morro Castle went up in flames eight years ago. Yet here was Hal Kines looking older than he looked now.

  I didn’t get any more time to look around. I heard the elevator doors slam and I walked into the front room. When I got there someone was fiddling at the lock. There was a steady stream of curses before I clicked up the deadlock and opened the door. “Come in, George,” I said.

  He looked more scared than amazed. Apparently he really believed that it was me who took the shot at him. Hal was behind him ready to run as soon as I made one move. George recovered first.

  “Where do you get off breaking into my apartment. This time ...”

  “Oh, shut up and come in. It’s just as monotonous for me. If you’d stay home awhile, you’d be better off.” The two of them stamped into the bedroom. When he came out he was red as a beet. I didn’t give him a chance to accuse me of anything.

  “Why all the artillery?” I asked him.

  “For guys like you,” he snarled, “for guys that try potting me through a window. Besides, I have a permit to carry it.”

  “Okay, you got a permit. Just be sure you know who you use that rod on.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a warning first. Now, if you don’t mind, will you tell me what you are doing here?”

  “Sure, sonny. I want the low-down on the bang, bang. Since I was the one accused of it, I’d like to know just what I was supposed to have done.”

  George slid a cigar from its wrapper and inserted it in a holder. He took his time lighting it up before he spoke.

  “You seem to have police connections,” he said finally. “Why don’t you ask them?”

  “Because I don’t like second-hand information. And if you’re smart you’ll talk. That gun was the killer’s gun, and I want the killer. You know that. But that isn’t all. The killer made one try and missed, so you can bet your boots there’ll be another.”

  Kalecki took the cigar out of his mouth. Little lines of fear were racing around his eyes. The guy was scared. He tried to hide it, but he didn’t do very well. A nervous tic tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “I still see nothing I can tell you that would help. I was sitting in the big chair by the window. The first thing I knew the glass shattered beside me and the bullet hit the back of the chair. I dropped to the floor and crawled to the wall to be out of sight of whoever fired the shot.”

  “Why?” I said slowly.

  “Why? To save myself, of course. You don’t think I was just going to sit there and get shot at, do you?” Kalecki gave me a look of contempt but I ignored it.

  “You don’t get the point, George,” I told him. “Why were you shot at to begin with?”

  Little beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead. He wiped his brow nervously. “How should I know? I’ve made enemies in my time.”

  “This was a very particular enemy, George. This one killed Jack, too, and he’s coming back after you. He may not miss the next time. Why are you on his list?”

  He was really jumpy now. “I—I don’t know. Honest I don’t.” He was almost apologetic the way he spoke now. “I tried to think it out but I don’t get anywhere. That’s why I moved to the city. Where I was, anyone could get to me. At least here there are other people around.”

  I leaned forward. “You didn’t think enough. You and Jack had something in common. What was it? What did you know that Jack did? What did you have on somebody that Jack might have tumbled to? When you answer that question you’ll have your killer. Now do I bang your head on the floor to help you remember or do you do it yourself?”

  He stood up straight and paced across the room. The thought of being on a kill list had him half bugs. He just wasn’t as young as he used to be. This sort of thing got him down.

  “I can’t say. If there’s anything, it’s a mistake. I didn’t know Jack long. Hal knew him. He met him through Miss Manning. If you can figure out a tie-up in there I’ll be glad to tell you what I know. Do you think I want to get knocked off?”

  That was an angle I had forgotten about. Hal Kines was still sitting in the armchair beside the mantelpiece dragging heavily on a cigarette. For an athlete he wasn’t holding to training rules at all. I still couldn’t get the picture of Hal out of my mind. The one taken eight years ago. He was only a young punk, but that shot made him look like an old man. I don’t know. Maybe it was an abandoned store that had the picture in it for years.

  “Okay, Hal, let’s hear what you know.” The kid turned his head toward me, giving me an excellent view of his Greek-god profile.

  “George mentioned everything.”

  “How do you know
Miss Manning?” I asked him. “When did you meet her? After all, a babe like that plays ball in a bigger league than you can pay admission to see.”

  “Oh, she came to school last year and gave a lecture on practical psychology. That’s what I’m majoring in. She had several students visit her clinic in New York to see her methods. I was one of them. She became interested in me and assisted me no end. That’s all.”

  It wasn’t hard to see why she’d become interested in him. It made me mad to think of it, but he could have been right. Maybe it was purely professional interest. After all, a woman like that could have just about any male she wanted, including me.

  I went on. “And what about Jack? When did you meet him?”

  “Shortly afterwards. Miss Manning took me to his apartment for supper with him and Myrna. I got involved in a drunken brawl right after a football game. It was the last one of the season and all training rules were off. I guess we all went a bit too far, but we wrecked a joint. Jack knew the proprietor and instead of turning us in, made us pay for the place. The following week I was studying the case history of a homicidal maniac in the city wards when I met him again. He was glad to see me and we had dinner together. We became rather good friends in a short time. I was glad to know him, because he helped me immensely. The type of work I was doing involved visits to places where I ordinarily would not have access to, but with his help I managed to get to them all.”

  For the life of me I couldn’t make anything out of it. Jack never spoke too much about anyone. Our association had started by having an interest in police work and our friendship had developed over firing ranges, ballistics tables and fingerprint indexes. Even in the army we had thought about it. Life on the side was only incidental. He had mentioned his friends. That’s about all. Myrna I knew very well. Kalecki from his underworld contacts. The Bellemy twins from the newspapers mostly, and the short time I had seen them before.