The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3

by Mickey Spillane

“So take a swim,” I told her and grinned. It was the way I felt and the grin was the best I could do. She took a run and a dive and hit the water, came up stroking for the other side, then draped her arms on the edge of the drain and waited for me.

  I went in slowly, walking up to the edge, then I dove in and stayed on the bottom until I got to the other side. The water made her legs fuzzy, distorting them to Amazonian proportions, enlarging the cleft and swells and declivities of her belly, then I came up to where all was real and shoved myself onto the concrete surface and reached down for Laura.

  She said, “Better?” when I pulled her to the top.

  I was looking past her absently. “Yes. I just remembered something.”

  “Not about the gun, Mike.”

  “No, not about the gun.”

  “Should I know?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t really know myself yet. It’s just a point.”

  “Your eyes look terribly funny.”

  “I know.”

  “Mike—”

  “What?”

  “Can I help?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to leave me now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Will you come back?”

  I couldn’t answer her.

  “It’s between the two of us, isn’t it?”

  “The girl hunters are out,” I said.

  “But will you come back?”

  My mind was far away, exploring the missing point. “Yes,” I said, “I have to come back.”

  “You loved her.”

  “I did.”

  “Do you love me at all?”

  I turned around and looked at this woman. She was mine now, beautiful, wise, the way a woman should be formed for a man like I was, lovely, always naked in my sight, always incredibly blond and incredibly tanned, the difference in color—or was it comparison—a shocking, sensual thing. I said, “I love you, Laura. Can I be mistaken?”

  She said, “No, you can’t be mistaken.”

  “I have to find her first. She’s being hunted. Everybody is hunting her. I loved her a long time ago so I owe her that much. She asked for me.”

  “Find her, Mike.”

  I nodded. I had the other key now. “I’ll find her. She’s the most important thing in this old world today. What she knows will decide the fate of nations. Yes, I’ll find her.”

  “Then will you come back?”

  “Then I’ll come back,” I said.

  Her arms reached out and encircled me, her hands holding my head, her fingers tight in my hair. I could feel every inch of her body pressed hard against mine, forcing itself to meet me, refusing to give at all.

  “I’m going to fight her for you,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re mine now.”

  “Girl,” I said, “I’m no damn good to anybody. Look good and you’ll see a corn ear husked, you know?”

  “I know. So I eat husks.”

  “Damn it, don’t fool around!”

  “Mike!”

  “Laura—”

  “You say it nice, Mike—but there’s something in your voice that’s terrible and I can sense it. If you find her, what will you do?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Will you still come back?”

  “Damn it, I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you know, Mike?”

  I looked down at her. “Because I don’t know what I’m really like anymore. Look—do you know what I was? Do you know that a judge and jury took me down and the whole world once ripped me to little bits? It was only Velda who stayed with me then.”

  “That was then. How long ago was it?”

  “Nine years maybe.”

  “Were you married?”

  “No.”

  “Then I can claim part of you. I’ve had part of you.” She let go of me and stood back, her eyes calm as they looked into mine. “Find her, Mike. Make your decision. Find her and take her. Have you ever had her at all?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve had me. Maybe you’re more mine than hers.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then find her.” She stepped back, her hands at her side. “If what you said was true then she deserves this much. You find her, Mike. I’m willing to fight anybody for you—but not somebody you think is dead. Not somebody you think you owe a debt to. Let me love you my own way. It’s enough for me at least. Do you understand that?”

  For a while we stood there. I looked at her. I looked away. I said, “Yes, I understand.”

  “Come back when you’ve decided.”

  “You have all of Washington to entertain.”

  Laura shook her head. Her hair was a golden swirl and she said, “The hell with Washington. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Velda, Laura. The names were so similar. Which one? After seven years of nothingness, which one? Knowing what I did, which one? Yesterday was then. Today was now. Which one?

  I said, “All right, Laura, I’ll find out, then I’ll come back.”

  “Take my car.”

  “Thanks.”

  And now I had to take her. My fingers grabbed her arms and pulled her close to where I could kiss her and taste the inside of her mouth and feel the sensuous writhing of her tongue against mine because this was the woman I knew I was coming back to.

  The Girl Hunters. We all wanted the same one and for reasons of a long time ago. We would complete the hunt, but what would we do with the kill?

  She said, “After that you shouldn’t leave.”

  “I have to,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “She had to get in this country someway. I think I know how.”

  “You’ll find her, then come back?”

  “Yes,” I said, and let my hands roam over her body so that she knew there could never be anybody else, and when I was done I held her off and made her stay there while I went inside to put on the gun and the coat and go back to the new Babylon that was the city.

  CHAPTER 11

  And once again it was night, the city coming into its nether life like a minion of Count Dracula. The bright light of day that could strip away the facade of sham and lay bare the coating of dirt was gone now, and to the onlooker the unreal became real, the dirt had changed into subtle colors under artificial lights and it was as if all of that vast pile of concrete and steel and glass had been built only to live at night.

  I left the car at the Sportsmen’s Parking Lot on the corner of Eighth and Fifty-second, called Hy Gardner and told him to meet me at the Blue Ribbon on Forty-fourth, then started my walk to the restaurant thinking of the little things I should have thought of earlier.

  The whole thing didn’t seem possible, all those years trapped in Europe. You could walk around the world half a dozen times in seven years. But you wouldn’t be trapped then. The thing was, they were trapped. Had Velda or Erlich been amateurs they would have been captured without much trouble, but being pros they edged out. Almost. That made Velda even better than he had been.

  Somehow, it didn’t seem possible.

  But it was.

  Hy had reached the Blue Ribbon before me and waited at a table sipping a stein of rich, dark beer. I nodded at the waiter and he went back for mine. We ordered, ate, and only then did Hy bother to give me his funny look over the cigar he lit up. “It’s over?”

  “It won’t be long now.”

  “Do we talk about it here?”

  “Here’s as good as any. It’s more than you can put in your column.”

  “You let me worry about space.”

  So he sat back and let me tell him what I had told Laura, making occasional notes, because now was the time to make notes. I told him what I knew and what I thought and where everybody stood, and every minute or so he’d glance up from his sheets with an expression of pure incredulity, shake his head and write some more. When the implications of the total picture began really to penetrate, his teeth clamped d
own on the cigar until it was half hanging out of his mouth unlit, then he threw it down on his plate and put a fresh one in its place.

  When I finished he said, “Mike—do you realize what you have hold of?”

  “I know.”

  “How can you stay so damn calm?”

  “Because the rough part has just started.”

  “Ye gods, man—”

  “You know what’s missing, don’t you?”

  “Sure. You’re missing something in the head. You’re trying to stand off a whole political scheme that comes at you with every force imaginable no matter where you are. Mike, you don’t fight these guys alone!”

  “Nuts. It looks like I have to. I’m not exactly an accredited type character. Who would listen to me?”

  “Couldn’t this Art Rickerby—”

  “He has one purpose in mind. He wants whoever killed Richie Cole.”

  “That doesn’t seem likely. He’s a trained federal agent.”

  “So what? When something hits you personally, patriotism can go by the boards awhile. There are plenty of other agents. He wants a killer and knows I’ll eventually come up with him. Like Velda’s a key to one thing, I’m a key to another. They think that I’m going to stumble over whatever it was Richie Cole left for me. I know what it was now. So do you, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Hy said. “It was Velda’s location, wherever she is.”

  “That’s right. They don’t know if I know or if I’ll find out. You can damn well bet that they know he stayed alive waiting for me to show. They can’t even be sure if he just clued me. They can’t be sure of anything, but they know that I have to stay alive if they want to find Velda too.”

  Hy’s eyes went deep in thought. “Alive? They tried to shoot you twice, didn’t they?”

  “Fine, but neither shot connected and I can’t see a top assassin missing a shot. Both times I was a perfect target.”

  “Why the attempt then?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” I said. I leaned on the table feeling my hands go open and shut wanting to squeeze the life out of somebody. “Both tries were deliberately sour. They were pushing me. They wanted me to move fast, and if anything can stir a guy up it’s getting shot at. If I had anything to hide or to work at, it would come out in a hurry.”

  “But you didn’t bring anything out?”

  I grinned at him and I could see my reflection in the glass facing of the autographed pictures behind his head. It wasn’t a pretty face at all, teeth and hate and some wildness hard to describe. “No, I didn’t. So now I’m a real target because I know too much. They know I don’t have Velda’s location and from now on I can only be trouble to them. I’ll bet you that right now a hunt is on for me.”

  “Mike—if you called Pat—”

  “Come off it. He’s no friend anymore. He’ll do anything to nail my ass down and don’t you forget it.”

  “Does he know the facts?”

  “No. The hell with him.”

  Hy pushed his glasses up on his head, frowning. “Well, what are you going to do?”

  “Do, old buddy? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going after the missing piece. If I weren’t so damn slow after all those years I would have caught it before. I’m going after the facts that can wrap up the ball game and you’re going with me.”

  “But you said—”

  “Uh-uh. I didn’t say anything. I don’t know where she is, but I do know a few other things. Richie Cole came blasting back into this country when he shouldn’t have and ducked out to look for me. That had a big fat meaning and I muffed it. Damn it, I muffed it!”

  “But how?”

  “Come on, Hy—Richie was a sailor—he smuggled her on the ship he came in on. He never left her in Europe! He got her back in this country!”

  He put the cigar down slowly, getting the implication.

  I said, “He had to smuggle her out, otherwise they would have killed her. If they took a plane they would have blown it over the ocean, or if she sailed under an assumed name and cover identity they would have had enough time to locate her and a passenger would simply fall overboard. No, he smuggled her out. He got her on that ship and got her into this country.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “Sure it’s easy! You think there wasn’t some cooperation with others in the crew! Those boys love to outfox the captain and the customs. What would they care as long as it was on Cole’s head? He was on a tramp steamer and they can do practically anything on those babies if they know how and want to. Look, you want me to cite you examples?”

  “I know it could be done.”

  “All right, then here’s the catch. Richie realized how close The Dragon was to Velda when they left. He had no time. He had to act on his own. This was a project bigger than any going in the world at the time, big enough to break regulations for. He got her out—but he didn’t underestimate the enemy either. He knew they’d figure it and be waiting.

  “They were, too,” I continued. “The Dragon was there all right, and he followed Cole thinking he was going to an appointed place where he had already hidden Velda, but when he realized that Cole wasn’t doing anything of the kind he figured the angles quickly. He shot Cole, had to leave because of the crowd that collected and didn’t have a chance until later to reach Old Dewey, then found out about me. Don’t ask me the details about how they can do it—they have resources at their fingertips everywhere. Later he went back, killed Dewey, didn’t find the note Cole left and had to stick with me to see where I led him.”

  Hy was frowning again.

  I said, “I couldn’t lead him to Velda. I didn’t know. But before long he’ll figure out the same thing I did. Somebody else helped Cole get her off that boat and knows where she is!”

  “What are you going to do?” His voice was quietly calm next to mine.

  “Get on that ship and see who else was in on the deal.”

  “How?”

  “Be my guest and I’ll show you the seamier side of life.”

  “You know me,” Hy said, standing up.

  I paid the cabbie outside Benny Joe Grissi’s bar and when Hy saw where we were he let out a low whistle and said he hoped I knew what I was doing. We went inside and Sugar Boy and his smaller friend were still at their accustomed places and when Sugar Boy saw me he got a little pasty around the mouth and looked toward the bar with a quick motion of his head.

  Benny Joe gave the nod and we walked past without saying a word, and when I got to the bar I held out the card Art Rickerby had given me and let Benny Joe take a long look at it. “In case you get ideas like before, mister. I’ll shoot this place apart and you with it.”

  “Say, Mike, I never—”

  “Tone it down,” I said. “Bayliss Henry here?”

  “Pepper? Yeah. He went in the can.”

  “Wait here, Hy.”

  I went down to the end with the door stenciled MEN and pushed on in. Old Bayliss was at the washstand drying his hands and saw me in the mirror, his eyes suddenly wary at the recognition. He turned around and put his hands on my chest. “Mike, my boy, no more. Whatever it is, I want none of it. The last time out taught me a lesson I won’t forget. I’m old, I scare easy, and what life is left to me I want to enjoy. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then forget whatever you came in here to ask me. Don’t let me talk over my head about the old days or try and make like a reporter again.”

  “You won’t get shot at.”

  Bayliss nodded and shrugged. “How can I argue with you? What do you want to know?”

  “What ship was Richie Cole on?”

  “The Vanessa.”

  “What pier?”

  “She was at number twelve, but that won’t do you any good now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hell, she sailed the day before yesterday.”

  What I had to say I did under my breath. Everything was right out the window because I thought too slow and a couple of da
ys had made all the difference.

  “What was on it, Mike?”

  “I wanted to see a guy.”

  “Oh? I thought it was the ship. Well maybe you can still see some of the guys. You know the Vanessa was the ship they had the union trouble with. Everybody complained about the chow and half the guys wouldn’t sign back on. The union really laid into ’em.”

  Then suddenly there was a chance again and I had to grab at it. “Listen, Bayliss—who did Cole hang around with on the ship?”

  “Jeepers, Mike, out at sea—”

  “Did he have any friends on board?”

  “Well, no, I’d say.”

  “Come on, damn it, a guy doesn’t sail for months and not make some kind of an acquaintance!”

  “Yeah, I know—well, Cole was a chess player and there was this one guy—let’s see, Red Markham—yeah, that’s it, Red Markham. They’d have drinks together and play chess together because Red sure could play chess. One time—”

  “Where can I find this guy?”

  “You know where Annie Stein’s pad is?”

  “The flophouse?”

  “Yeah. Well, you look for him there. He gets drunk daytimes and flops early.”

  “Suppose you go along.”

  “Mike, I told you—”

  “Hy Gardner’s outside.”

  Bayliss looked up and grinned. “Well, shoot. If he’s along I’ll damn well go. He was still running copy when I did the police beat.”

  Annie Stein’s place was known as the Harbor Hotel. It was a dollar a night flop, pretty expensive as flops go, so the trade was limited to occasional workers and itinerant seamen. It was old and dirty and smelled of disinfectant and urine partially smothered by an old-man odor of defeat and decay.

  The desk clerk froze when we walked in, spun the book around without asking, not wanting any trouble at all. Red Markham was in the third room on the second floor, his door half open, the sound and smell of him oozing into the corridor.

  I pushed the door open and flipped on the light. Overhead a sixty-watt bulb turned everything yellow. He was curled on the cot, an empty pint bottle beside him, breathing heavily through his mouth. On the chair with his jacket and hat was a pocket-sized chessboard with pegged chessmen arranged in some intricate move.