“Good night, Mike.”
Anton Lipsek came back and nodded to the both of us. I took Connie’s arm and steered her toward the door. Joseph, Andrew, Martin, Homer and Raymond all yelled for us to join the party then shut up when they saw the look on my face. One of them muttered, “Sour sort of fellow, isn’t he?”
The joker with the bashed-in face wasn’t in his chair where I had left him. Two other guys were holding the fort and I knew what they were doing there. They were waiting for me. The tall skinny one was a goon I knew and who knew me and licked his lips. The other one was brand, spanking new. About twenty-two maybe.
They looked at Connie, wondering how to get her out of there so she wouldn’t be a witness to what came next. The goon I knew licked his lips again and rubbed his hands together. “We been waiting for you, Hammer.”
The kid put on more of an act. He screwed up his pimply face to make a sneer, pushing himself away from the wall trying to make shoulders under his dinner jacket. “So you’re Mike Hammer, are ya? Ya don’t look so tough to me, guy.”
I let my hand fool with the buttons on my coat. The billy in the empty holster pushed against the fabric under my arm and looked real as hell. “There’s always one way you can find out, sonny,” I said.
When the kid licked his lips a little spit ran down his chin. Connie walked ahead of me and opened the door. I walked past the two of them and they never moved. In a little while they’d be out of a job.
Not an empty table showed in this first back room. The show was over and the tiny dance floor was packed to the limit. The late tourist crowd was having itself a fling and making no bones about it. I scanned the sea of heads looking for Clyde. It was a hell of a change from Dinky Williams. But he wasn’t around. We picked up our stuff from the hag at the checkroom and I tossed a dime in the spittoon. She swore and I swore back at her.
The words we used weren’t unusual for the front section of the Bowery Inn, and no heads turned except two at the bar. One was Clyde. I waved my thumb toward the back. “Lousy help you hire, Dink.” His face was livid again.
I didn’t even look at the babe. It was Velda.
CHAPTER 5
I was sitting in the big leather chair in the office when Velda put her key in the lock. She had on a tailored suit that made her look like a million dollars. Her long black page-boy hair threw back the light of the morning sunshine that streamed through the window and it struck me that of all the beauty in the world I had the best of it right under my nose.
She saw me then and said, “I thought you’d be here.” There was frost in her voice. She tossed her handbag on the desk and sat in my old chair. Hell, it was her joint now anyway.
“You move pretty fast, Velda.”
“So do you.”
“Referring to my company of last night, I take it.”
“Exactly. Your legwork. They were very nice, just your type.”
I grinned at her. “I wish I could say something decent about your escort.”
The frost melted and her voice turned soft. “I’m the jealous type, Mike.”
I didn’t have to lean far to reach her. The chair was on casters that moved easily. I wound my fingers in her hair, started to say something and stopped. Instead, I kissed the tip of her nose. Her fingers tightened around my wrist. She had her eyes half closed and didn’t see me push her handbag out of reach. It tipped with the weight of the gun in it and landed on the floor.
This time I kissed her mouth. It was a soft, warm mouth. It was a light kiss, but I’ll never forget it. It left me wanting to wrap my arms around her and squeeze until she couldn’t move. No, I didn’t do that. I slid back into my chair and Velda said, “It was never like that before, Mike. Don’t treat me like the others.”
My hand was shaking when I tried to light another cigarette. “I didn’t expect to find you down the Bowery last night, kid.”
“You told me to get to work, Mike.”
“Finish it. Let’s hear it all.”
Velda leaned back in the chair, her eyes on mine. “You said to concentrate on Wheeler. I did. The papers carried most of the details and there was nothing to be learned here. I hopped the first plane to Columbus, visited with his family and business associates and got the next plane back again.”
She picked her handbag off the floor and extracted a small black loose-leaf pad, flipping the cover back to the first page. “Here is the essence of what I learned. Everyone agreed that Chester Wheeler was an energetic, conscientious husband, father and businessman. There has never been any family trouble. Whenever he was away he wrote or called home frequently. This time they had two picture post cards from him, a letter and one phone call. He phoned as soon as he arrived in New York to tell them he’d had a successful trip. He sent one card to his son, a plain penny post card. The next card was postmarked from the Bowery and he mentioned going to a place called the Bowery Inn. Then he wrote a letter to his wife that was quite commonplace. A postscript to his twenty-two-year-old daughter mentioned the fact that he had met an old high school friend of hers working in the city. That was the last they heard until they were notified of his death.
“When I dug up his business friends I got nowhere. His business was fine, he was making a lot of money, and he had no worries at all.”
I clamped my teeth together. “Like hell you got nowhere,” I said softly. My mind drifted back over that little conversation with Pat. A little talk about how a guy named Emil Perry said Wheeler had been depressed because business was rotten. “You’re sure about his business?”
“Yes. I checked his credit rating.”
“Nice going. Continue.”
“Well ... the only lead I saw was this place called the Bowery Inn. I did some fast quizzing when I got home and found out what it was all about. The man who runs the place you seemed to know. I put on an act and he fell for it. Hard. He didn’t seem to like you much, Mike.”
“I can’t blame him. I shot him once.”
“After you left he couldn’t talk for five minutes. He excused himself and went into the back room. When he returned he seemed satisfied about something. There was blood on his hands.”
That would be Dinky, all right. He liked to use his hands when he had a couple of rods backing him up. “That all?”
“Practically. He wants to see me again.”
I felt the cords in my neck pull tight. “The bastard! I’ll beat the pants off him for that!”
Velda shook her head and laughed. “Don’t you get to be the jealous type too, Mike. You don’t wear it so well. Is it important that I see him again?”
I agreed reluctantly. “It’s important.”
“Is it still murder?”
“More than ever, sugar. I bet it’s a big murder, too. A great big beautiful murder with all the trimmings.”
“Then what do you suggest I do next?”
I gave it a thought first, then looked at her a moment. “Play this Clyde. Keep your eyes open and see what happens. If I were you I’d hide that PI. ticket and leave the gun home. We don’t want him putting two and two together and getting a bee in his bonnet.
“If you follow me on this you’ll see the connection. First we have Wheeler. We have the fact that he might have taken a model out that night and he might have gone to the Inn where he might have run into something that meant murder. If Clyde didn’t enter into this I’d skip the whole premise, but he makes it too interesting to pass up.
“There’s only one hitch. Juno found the girl he left with the night of the party. She didn’t go out with him!”
“But, Mike, then ...”
“Then I’m supposing he might have gone with somebody else some other time. Hell of a lot of mights in this. Too many. At least it’s something to work on, and if you stick around this Clyde character long enough something will turn up one way or another.”
Velda rose, her legs spread apart, throwing out her arms in a stretch that made her jacket and skirt fill up almost to bursting. I had t
o bend my head down into a match to get my eyes off her. Clyde was going to get a hell of a deal for his money. I slapped my hat on and opened the door for her.
When we reached the street I put her in a taxi and watched until she was around the corner. It was just nine-thirty, so I headed for the nearest phone booth, dropped a nickel in the slot and dialed police headquarters. Pat had checked in, but he couldn’t be located at present. I told the switchboard operator to have him meet me in a spaghetti joint around the corner from headquarters in a half-hour and the guy said he’d pass the message on. I found my heap and climbed in. It was going to be a busy day.
Pat was waiting for me over a half-finished cup of coffee. When he saw me come in he signaled for another coffee and some pastry. I threw my leg over the chair and sat down. “Morning, officer. How’s every little thing in the department?”
“Going smoothly, Mike.”
“Oh, too bad.”
He set his coffee cup down again. His face was absolutely blank. “Don’t start anything, Mike.”
I acted indignant. “Who, me? What could I start that’s not already started?”
The waiter brought my coffee and some Danish and I dunked and ate two of them before either of us spoke again. Curiosity got the best of Pat. He said, “Let’s hear it, Mike.”
“Are you going to be stupid about it, Pat?”
His face was still frozen. “Let’s hear it, Mike.”
I didn’t make any bones about trying to keep it out of my eyes or the set of my jaw. My voice came up from my chest with a nasty rumble and I could feel my lip working into a snarl that pulled the corners of my mouth down.
“You’re a smart cop, Pat. Everybody knows it but most of all I know it and you know it yourself. You know something else besides. I’m just as smart. I said Wheeler was murdered and you patted me on the head and told me to behave.
“I’m saying it again, Pat. Wheeler was murdered. You can get in this thing or I can do it alone. I told you I wanted that ticket back and I’m going to get it. If I do a lot of reputations are going to fall by the way-side including yours and I don’t want that to happen.
“You know me and you know I don’t kid around. I’m beginning to get ideas, Pat. They think good. I’ve seen some things that look good. Things that put more taste in the flavor of murder. I’m going to have me another killer before long and a certain D.A. is going to get his nose blown for him.”
I don’t know what I expected Pat to do. Maybe I expected him to blow his top or start writing me off as a has-been in the brain department. I certainly didn’t expect to see his face go cold and hear him say, “I gave you the benefit of the doubt a long time ago, Mike. I think Wheeler was murdered too.”
He grinned a little at my expression and went on, “There’s a catch. Word reached the D.A. and he looked into it and passed his professional opinion in conjunction with the Medical Examiner. Wheeler was, beyond doubt, a suicide. I have been told to concentrate my efforts on more recent developments in the wide field of crime.”
“Our boy doesn’t like you either now, eh?”
“Ha.”
“So?”
“What do you know, Mike?”
“Just a little, pal. I’ll know more before long and I’ll drop it in your lap when there’s enough of it to get your teeth in. I don’t suppose your prestige suffered from the D.A.’s tirade.”
“It went up if anything.”
“Good. Tonight I’ll buzz you with all the details. Meanwhile you can look up the whereabouts of one former torpedo called Rainey”
“I know him.”
“Yeah?”
“We had him on an assault and battery charge a while back. The complainant failed to complain and he was dismissed. He called himself a fight promoter.”
“Street brawls,” I said sourly
“Probably. He was loaded with jack but he had a room in the Bowery.”
“Where, Pat?” My eyes lit up and Pat went grim.
“The Bowery Why?”
“Interesting word. I’ve been hearing a lot about it these days. See if you can get a line on him, will you?”
Pat tapped a cigarette on the table. “This is all on the table, isn’t it?”
“Every bit of it, chum. I won’t hold back. I’m curious about one thing, though. What changed your mind from suicide to murder?”
Pat grinned through his teeth. “You. I didn’t think you’d chase shadows. I said I wouldn’t get excited this time but I couldn’t help myself. By the time I reached the office I was shaking like a punk on his first holdup and I went down to take a look at the body I called in a couple of experts and though there were few marks on the body it was the general opinion that our lad Wheeler had been through some sort of a scuffle prior to taking a bullet in the head.”
“It couldn’t have been much of a fuss. He was pretty damn drunk.”
“It wasn’t,” he said, “Just enough to leave indications. By the way, Mike ... about that slug and shell we found in the hall. Was that your work?”
I let out a short, sour laugh. “I told you that once. No. Somebody had a hole in his pocket.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll check the hotel again. It had to be either a resident or a visitor then. It’s too bad you didn’t lock the door.”
“A lock won’t stop a killer,” I said. “He had all the time in the world and could make as much noise as he wanted. Most of the guests were either half deaf or dead to the world when the gun went off. It’s an old building with thick walls that do a nice job of muffling sound.”
Pat picked up the check and laid a dollar on top of it. “You’ll contact me tonight then?”
“You bet. See you later and tell the D.A. I was asking for him.”
It took fifteen minutes to get to the Chadwick Hotel. It was another side-street affair with an essence of dignity that stopped as soon as you entered the lobby. The desk clerk was the Mom type until she spoke then what came out made you think of other things. I told her I wanted to see a certain Marion Lester and she didn’t bother to question or announce me. She said, “Room 312 and go up the stairs easy. They squeak.”
I went up the stairs easy and they squeaked anyway. I knocked on the door of 312, waited and knocked again. The third time I heard feet shuffling across the floor and the door opened just far enough to show wide blue eyes, hair curlers and a satin negligee clutched tightly at the throat. I jumped the gun before she could ask questions with “Hello, Marion, Juno told me to see you.”
The wide eyes got wider and the door opened the rest of the way. I closed it behind me and made like a gentleman by sweeping off my hat. Marion licked her lips and cleared her throat. “I ... just got up.”
“So I see. Rough night?”
“... No.”
She took me through the miniature hall into a more miniature living room and waved for me to sit down. I sat. She said, “It’s so early ... if you don’t mind, I’ll get dressed.”
I told her I didn’t mind and she shuffled into the bedroom and began pulling drawers out and opening closets. She wasn’t like the other girls I knew. She was back in five minutes. This time she had a suit on and the curlers were out of her hair. A little make-up and her eyes didn’t look so wide either.
She sat down gracefully in a straight-backed chair and reached for a cigarette in a silver box. “Now, what did you want to see me about, Mr....”
“Mike Hammer. Just plain Mike.” I snapped a match on my thumbnail and held it out to her. “Did Juno tell you about me?”
Marion nodded, twin streams of smoke sifting out through her nostrils. Her voice had a tremor in it and she licked her lips again. “Yes. You ... were with Mr. Wheeler when he ... he died.”
“That’s right. It happened under my nose and I was too drunk to know it.”
“I’m afraid there’s little I can ... tell you, Mike.”
“Tell me about that night. That’s enough.”
“Didn’t Juno tell you?”
&
nbsp; “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”
She took a deep drag on the butt and squashed it in a tray. “He took me home. I had a few too many drinks, and ... well, I was feeling a little giddy. I think he rode around in a cab with me for a while. Really, I can’t remember everything exactly...”
“Go on.”
“I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I woke up in my bed fully clothed and with an awful hangover. Later I learned that he had committed suicide, and frankly, I was very much upset.”
“And that’s all?”
The Mike Hammer Collection Volume 1 Page 51
