She froze there, not a muscle in that beautiful body moving. I looked at all that white bare skin, seeing it in contrast with the shoes and the stockings. Her hands were still on the drawer and inches away from the gun. She didn’t have to be told that it couldn’t be done.
I let her stand in that position, that ridiculous, obscene position while I lifted the phone off its hook. I had to be sure of just one thing. I went through Information and gave her an address, and I heard Clyde’s phone ring. It took a little persuasion to get the cop off the line and Velda on it. I asked her one question and she answered it. She said Clyde was down in the basement out cold. The janitor had gotten him with a poker for some reason or other when he tried to get out. Clyde had never been near the office! She was still asking questions when I hung up.
It was all over now. I had found out why, I had found out how, now I knew who. The dead could go back to being dead forever.
I said, “Turn around, Juno.”
No dancer of ballet could have been more poised. Juno balanced delicately on tiptoe and stared at me, the devils of the pit alive in her eyes. The evil of murder was a force so powerful that I could feel it across the room. Juno, queen of the goddesses, standing naked before me, her skin glistening in the light.
Tomorrow I’d get my license back from the D.A. with a note of apology attached. Tomorrow Ed Cooper would have his scoop. Tomorrow would be tomorrow and tonight was tonight. I looked across Olympus and stared at Juno.
“I should have known, Juno. It occurred to me every time you rolled those big beautiful eyes at me. I knew it every time you suggested one of your little love games, then got scared because you knew you didn’t dare go through with it. Damn it, I knew it all along and it was too incredible to believe. Me, a guy what likes women, a guy who knows every one of their stunts ... and I fall for this. Yeah, you and Clyde had a business arrangement all right. You had a lot more than that too. Who kept who, Juno? Are you the reason why Velda went over so big with Clyde? God, what an ass I was! I should have caught it the day you hauled me into that Village joint for dinner. There was a Lesbian who followed you into the ladies’ room. I bet she could have kicked herself when she found out you were no better than she was. It was a part that fitted you to perfection. You played it so well that only the ones who didn’t dare talk knew about it. Well, Juno, I know about it. Me. Mike Hammer, I know all about it and I’ll talk. I’ll tell them you killed Chester Wheeler because he got mad enough to try to expose the girl who framed him, and you killed Rainey because he tried to clip you out of some dirty dough, and Jean Trotter died for knowing the truth, and Marion Lester for the same reason. You couldn’t have anybody knowing a truth that could be held over your head. Then Connie died because she discovered the truth when she found that television set in the storeroom and knew you never delivered it because Jean Trotter was no more married than you were. Yeah, I’m going to talk my fool head off, you slimy bastard, but first I’m going to do something else.”
I dropped the Luger to the floor.
It was too impossible for her to comprehend and she missed her chance. I had the Luger back in my hand before she could snatch the gun out of the drawer. I forgot all my reservations about shooting a woman then. I laughed through the blood on my lips and brought the Luger up as Juno swung around with eyes blazing a hatred I’ll never see again. The rod was jumping in my hand, spitting nasty little slugs that flattened the killer against the wall with periods that turned into commas as the blood welled out of the holes. Juno lived until the last shot had ripped through flesh and intestines and kicked the plaster from the wall, then died with those rich, red lips split in a snarl of pain and fearful knowledge.
She lived just long enough to hear me tell her that she was the only one it could have been, the only one who had the time. The only one who had the ability to make her identity a bewildering impossibility. She was the only one who could have taken that first shot at me on Broadway because she tailed me from the minute I left her house. She was the one all the way around because the reasons fit her perfectly as well as Clyde and Clyde didn’t kill anybody. And tomorrow that was tomorrow would prove it when certain people had their minds jarred by a picture of what she really looked like, with her short hair combed back and parted on the side.
Juno died hearing all that and I laughed again as I dragged myself over to the lifeless lump, past all the foam rubber gadgets that had come off with the gown, the inevitable falsies she kept covered so well along with nice solid muscles by dresses that went to her neck and down to her wrists. It was funny. Very funny. Funnier than I ever thought it could be. Maybe you’d laugh, too. I spit on the clay that was Juno, queen of the gods and goddesses, and I knew why I’d always had a resentment that was actually a revulsion when I looked at her.
Juno was a queen, all right, a real, live queen. You know the kind.
Juno was a man!
About the Author
A bartender’s son, Mickey Spillane was born in Brooklyn, New York, on March 9, 1918. An only child who swam and played football as a youth, Spillane got a taste for storytelling by scaring other kids around the campfire. After a truncated college career, Spillane—already selling stories to pulps and slicks under pseudonyms—became a writer in the burgeoning comic-book field, a career cut short by World War II. Spillane, who had learned to fly at air strips as a boy, became an instructor of fighter pilots.
After the war, Spillane converted an unsold comic-book project—“Mike Danger, Private Eye”—into a hard-hitting, sexy novel. The thousand-dollar advance was just what the writer needed to buy materials for a house he wanted to build for himself and his young wife on a patch of land in New Jersey.
The 1948 Signet reprint of his 1947 E.P. Dutton hardcover novel I, the Jury sold in the millions, as did the six tough mysteries that soon followed; all but one featured hard-as-nails P.I. Mike Hammer. The Hammer thriller Kiss Me, Deadly (1952) was the first private eye novel to make the New York Times bestseller list.
Mike Hammer’s creator claims only to write when he needs the money, and in periods of little or no publishing, Spillane has been occupied with other pursuits: flying, traveling with the circus, appearing in motion pictures, and nearly twenty years spoofing himself and Hammer in a lucrative series of Miller Lite beer commercials.
The controversial Hammer has been the subject of a radio show, a comic strip, two television series, and numerous gritty movies, notably director Robert Aldrich’s seminal film noir Kiss Me Deadly (1955) and The Girl Hunters (1963), starring Spillane as his famous hero.
Spillane has been honored by the Mystery Writers of America with the Grand Master Award, and with the Private Eye Writers of America “Eye” Lifetime Achievement Award; he is also a Shamus Award winner. A major motion picture is in development of the science-fiction revival of his comic book character “Mike Danger” (cocreated by Max Allan Collins). Spillane lives with his wife, Jane, in South Carolina.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
I, - THE JURY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
MY GUN IS QUICK
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
VENGEANCE IS MINE!
About the Author
0%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Mike Hammer Collection Volume 1 Page 66
