The Mike Hammer Collection Volume 1

by Spillane, Mickey; Collins, Max Allan

  “On Dinky it wouldn’t show if he just killed a guy. Not on Dinky. He’s got too many of ’em under his belt.”

  I picked my hat from the chair where I had tossed it and straightened out the wrinkles in the crown. “If the police call again stall ’em off. Don’t mention Pat. If the D.A. is there call him a dirty name for me. I’ll be back later.”

  When I stepped out the door I knew I wasn’t going to be anywhere later. A big burly character in high-top shoes got up off the top step where he was sitting and said, “Lucky the boys left a couple of us here after all. They’re gonna be mad when they get back from Brooklyn.” Another character just as big came from the other end of the hall and joined in on the other side.

  I said, “Let’s see your warrant.”

  They showed it to me. The first guy said, “Let’s go, Hammer, and no tricks unless you want a fist in your face.” I shrugged and marched over to the elevator with them.

  The operator caught wise right off and shook his head sadly. I could see he was thinking that I should’ve known better. I squeezed over behind him as some others got on and by the time we hit the lobby I felt a little better. When the operator changed his uniform tonight he was going to be wondering where that .25 automatic came from. Maybe he’d even turn it in to the cops like a good citizen. They’d have a swell time running down that toy.

  There was a squad car right outside and I got in with a cop on either side of me. Nobody said a word and when I pulled out a pack of butts one of the cops slapped them out of my hands. He had three cigars stuffed in the breast pocket of his overcoat and when I faked a stretch my elbow turned them into mush. I got a dirty look for that. He got a better one back.

  The D.A. had his office all ready for me. A uniformed cop stood by the door and the two detectives ushered me to a straight-backed chair and took their places behind it. The D.A. was looking very happy indeed.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes or no?” I gave him the best sarcasm I could muster. His teeth grated together.

  “You’re under arrest,” he said. “For murder.”

  “I want to use the telephone.”

  He started smiling again. “Certainly. Go right ahead. I’ll be glad to speak to you through a lawyer. I want to hear him try to tell me you were home in bed last night. When he does I’ll drag in the super of your apartment, the doorman and the people who live on both sides of you who have already sworn that they heard nothing going on in your place last night.”

  I picked up the phone and asked for outside. I gave the number of the bar where I was supposed to meet Pat and watched the D.A. jot it down on a pad. Flynn, the Irish bartender, answered and I said, “This is Mike Hammer, Flynn. There’s a party there who can vouch for my whereabouts last night. Tell him to come up to the D.A.’s office, will you?”

  He was starting to shout the message down the bar when I hung up. The D.A. had his legs crossed and kept rocking one knee up and down. “I’ll be expecting my license back some time this week. With it I want a note of apology or you might not win the next election.”

  One of the cops smacked me across the back of my head.

  “What’s the story?” I asked.

  The D.A. couldn’t keep still any longer. His lips went thin and he got a lot of pleasure out of his words. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Hammer. Correct me if I’m wrong. You were out to the Glenwood Arena last night. You argued with this Rainey. Two men described you and identified you from your picture. Later they were all in the office when you opened the door and started shooting. One was hit in the leg, Rainey was hit in the leg and head. Is that right?”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  “I give you credit enough to have gotten rid of it.”

  “What happens when you put those witnesses on the stand?”

  He frowned and grated his teeth again.

  “It sounds to me,” I told him, “that they might make pretty crummy witnesses. They must be sterling characters.”

  “They’ll do,” he said. “I’m waiting to hear who it is that can alibi you.”

  I didn’t have to answer that. Pat walked in the office, his face gray around the mouth, but when his eyes lit on the smirking puss of the D.A. it disappeared. Bright boy gave him an ugly stare. Pat tried for a little respect and didn’t make it. I’ve heard him talk to guys in the line-up the same way he did to the D.A. “I was with him last night. If you had let the proper department handle this you would have known it sooner. I went up to his apartment about nine and was there until four A.M. playing cards.”

  The D.A.’s face was livid. I could see every vein in his hand as he gripped the end of the desk. “How’d you get in?”

  Pat looked unconcerned. “Through the back way. We parked around the block and walked through the buildings. Why?”

  “What was so interesting at this man’s apartment that made you go there?”

  Pat said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but we played cards. And talked about you. Mike here said some very uncomplimentary things about you. Shall I repeat them for the record?”

  Another minute of it and the guy would have had apoplexy. “Never mind,” he gasped, “never mind.”

  “That’s what I mean about having witnesses with sterling characters, mister,” I chipped in. “I take it the charges are dropped?”

  His voice barely had enough strength to carry across the room. “Get out of here. You, too, Captain Chambers.” He let his eyes linger on Pat. “I’ll see about this later.”

  I stood up and fished my other deck of Luckies. The cop with the smashed cigars still sticking out of his pocket watched me with a sneer. “Got a light?” He almost gave me one at that until he realized what he was doing. I smiled at the D.A., a pretty smile that showed a lot of teeth. “Remember about my license. I’ll give you until the end of the week.”

  The guy flopped back in his chair and stayed there.

  I followed Pat downstairs and out to his car. We got in and drove around for ten minutes going nowhere. Finally Pat muttered, “I don’t know how the hell you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get in so much trouble.” That reminded me of something. I told him to stop and have a drink, and from the way he swung around traffic until we found a bar I could see that he needed it.

  I left him at the bar to go back to the phone booth where I dialed the Globe office and asked for the sports editor. When Ed came on I said, “This is Mike, Ed. I have a little favor to ask. Rainey was knocked off last night.”

  He broke in with, “Yeah, I thought you were going to tell me if anything happened. I’ve been waiting all day for you to call.”

  “Forget it, Ed, things aren’t what you’re thinking. I didn’t bump the bastard. I didn’t know he was going to get bumped.”

  “No?” His tone called me a liar.

  “No,” I repeated. “Now listen ... what happened to Rainey is nothing. You can do one of two things. You can call the D.A. and say I practically forecasted what was going to happen last night or you can keep quiet and get yourself a scoop when the big boom goes off. What’ll it be?”

  He laughed, a typical soured reporter’s laugh. “I’ll wait, Mike. I can always call the D.A., but I’ll wait. By the way, do you know who Rainey’s two partners were?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Petey Cassandro and George Hamilton. In Detroit they have quite a rep, all bad. They’ve both served stretches and they’re as tough as they come.”

  “They’re not so tough.”

  “No ... you wouldn’t think so now, would you? Well, Mike, I’ll be waiting to see what gives. It’s been a long time since I had a scoop on the police beat.”

  Pat wanted to know what I did and I told him I called the office. I straddled the stool and started to work on the highball. Pat had his almost finished. He was thinking. He was worried. I slapped him on the back. “Cheer up, will you? For Pete’s sake, all you did was make
the D.A. eat his words. That ought to make you feel great.”

  Pat didn’t see it that way. “Maybe I’m too much cop, Mike. I don’t like to lie. If it wasn’t that I smelt a frame I would have let you squirm out of it yourself. The D.A. wants your hide nailed to his door and he’s trying hard to get it.”

  “He came too damn close to getting it to suit me. I’m glad you got the drift of the situation and knew your way around my diggings well enough to make it sound good.”

  “Hell, it had to sound good. How the devil would you be able to prove you were home in bed all night? That kind of alibi always looks mighty foolish on a witness stand.”

  “I’d never be able to prove it in a million years, chum,” I said.

  The drink almost fell out of his hand when it hit him. He grabbed my coat and spun me around on the stool. “You were home in bed like you said, weren’t you?”

  “Nope. I was out seeing a guy named Rainey. In fact, I shot him.”

  Pat’s fingers loosened and his face went dead-white. “God!”

  I picked up my glass. “I shot him, but it wasn’t in the head. Somebody else did that. I hate like hell to put you on the spot, but if we’re going to tie into a killer the both of us’ll do better than just one.”

  Pat rubbed his face. It still didn’t have its normal color back. I thought he was going to get sick until he gulped down his drink and signaled for another. His hands shook so bad he could hardly manage it without the ice chattering against the glass.

  “You shouldn‘t’ve done it, Mike,” he said. “Now I’ll have to take you in myself. You shouldn’t’ve done it.”

  “Sure, take me in and have the D.A. eat your tail out. Have him get you booted off the force so some incompetent jerk can take your place. Take me in so the D.A. can get his publicity at the expense of the people. Let a killer go around laughing his head off at us. That’s what he wants.

  “Hell, can’t you see how the whole thing smells? It reeks from here to there and back again.” Pat stared into his glass, his head shaking in outrage. “I went to see Emil Perry. Rainey was there. Perry tied up with Wheeler because he gave an excuse for Wheeler’s suicide when actually he didn’t even know the guy except to say hello to at business affairs. Perry ties in with Wheeler and Rainey ties in with Perry.

  “Every month Perry had been pulling five grand out of his bank. Smell it now. Smells like blackmail, doesn’t it? Go on, admit it. If you won’t here’s something that will make you admit it. Yesterday Perry withdrew twenty grand and left town. That wasn’t traveling expenses. That was to buy up his blackmail evidence. I went out to his house and found what was left of it in his fireplace.”

  I reached inside my coat for the envelope and threw it down in front of him. He reached for it absently. “Now I’ll tell you what started the Rainey business. When I first saw Perry I told him I was going to find out what it was that Rainey had on him and lay the whole thing in the open. It scared him so much he passed out. Right away he calls Rainey. He wants to buy it back and Rainey agrees. But meanwhile Rainey has to do something about it. He took a shot at me right on Broadway and if I had caught a slug there wouldn’t have been a single witness, that’s the way people are.

  “When I went out to see him I put it to him straight, and just to impress him I plowed a hole in his leg. I did the same thing to one of his partners.”

  I didn’t think Pat had been listening, but he was. He turned his head and looked at me with eyes that had cooled down to a sizzle. “Then how did Rainey stop that other bullet?”

  “Let me finish. Rainey wasn’t in this alone by a long shot. He wasn’t that smart. He was taking orders and somewhere along the line he tried to take off on his own. The big boy knew what was cooking and went out to take care of Rainey himself. In the meantime he saw me, figured I’d do it for him, and when I didn’t he stepped in and took over by himself.”

  Pat was picturing the thing in his mind, trying to visualize every vivid detail. “You’ve got somebody lined up, Mike. Who?”

  “Who else but Clyde? We haven’t tied Rainey to him yet, but we will. Rainey isn’t hanging out in the Bowery because he likes it. I’ll bet ten to one he’s on tap for Clyde like a dozen other hard cases he keeps handy.”

  Pat nodded. “Could be. The bullet in Rainey’s leg and head were fired from the same gun.”

  “The other guy was different. I used his pal’s automatic on him.”

  “I don’t know about that. The bullet went right through and wasn’t found.”

  “Well, I know about it. I shot him. I shot them both and left the guns right there on the table.”

  The bartender came down and filled up our glasses again. He shoved a bowl of peanuts between us and I dipped into them. Pat popped them into his mouth one at a time. “I’ll tell you what happened down there, Mike. The one guy who wasn’t shot dragged his partner outside and yelled for help. He said nobody came so he left Rainey where he was figuring him to be dead and pulled his buddy into a car and drove to a doctor over in the Glenwood development. He called the cops from there. He described you, picked out your picture and there it was.”

  “There it was is right. Right there you have a pay-off again. The killer came in after I left and either threatened those two guys or paid ‘em off to put the bee on me and keep still as to what actually did happen. They both have records in Detroit and one carried a gun. It wouldn’t do either one of ’em any good to get picked up on a Sullivan charge.”

  “The D.A. has their affidavits.”

  “You’re a better witness for me, kid. What good is an affidavit from a pair of hoods when one of the finest sticks up for you?”

  “It would be different under oath, Mike.”

  “Nuts. As long as you came in when you did it never gets that far. The D.A. knew when he was licked. In one way I’m glad it happened.”

  Pat told me to speak for myself and went back to his thinking. I let him chase ideas around for a while before I asked him what he was going to do. He said, “I’m going to have those two picked up. I’m going to find out what really happened.”

  I looked at him with surprise and laughed. “Are you kidding, Pat? Do you really think either one of those babies will be sticking around after that?”

  “One has a bullet hole in his leg,” he pointed out.

  “So what?” I said. “That’s nothing compared to one in the head. Those guys are only so tough ... they stop being tough when they meet somebody who’s just a little bit tougher.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m getting out a tracer on them.”

  “Good. That’s going to help if you find them. I doubt it. By the way, did you check on the bullets that somebody aimed at me?”

  Pat came alive fast. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that. They were both .38 specials, but they were fired from different guns. There’s more than one person who wants you out of the way.”

  Maybe he thought I’d be amazed just to be polite, at least. He was disappointed. “I figured as much, Pat. It still works down to Rainey and Clyde. Like I said, when I left Perry, he must’ve called Rainey. It was just before lunch-time and maybe he figured I’d eat at home. Anyway, he went there and when I stopped to pick up my coat and gloves he started tailing me. I wasn’t thinking of a tail so I didn’t give it a thought. He must have stuck with me all day until I was alone and a good target.”

  “That doesn’t bring Clyde into it.”

  “Get smart, Pat. If Rainey was taking orders from Clyde then maybe Clyde followed him around too, just to be sure he didn’t miss.”

  “So Clyde took the second shot at you himself. You sure made a nice package of it. All you need is a photograph of the crime.”

  “I didn’t see enough of his face to be sure it was him, but it was a man in that car, and if he shot at me once he’ll shoot at me again. That’ll be the last time he’ll shoot anyone.”

  I finished my drink and pushed it across the bar for more. We both ordered sandwiches and ate our
way through them without benefit of conversation. There was another highball to wash them down. I offered Pat a Lucky and we lit up, blowing the smoke at the mirror behind the bar.

  I looked at him through the silvered glass. “Who put the pressure on the D.A., Pat?”

  “I’ve been wondering when you were going to ask that,” he said.

  “Well ...”

  “It came from some odd quarters. People complaining about killers running loose and demanding something be done about it. Some pretty influential people live out in Glenwood. Some were there when the questioning was done.”