From the third floor you could hear the rhythmic tap of her feet dancing a staccato number that made you think of an Eleanor Powell routine when prettylegs was queen of the boards. There was no music, yet you knew she heard some and was in a never-never land of her own.
Velda knocked but the dancing didn’t stop. She turned the knob and pushed the door open and with a soft cry the girl in the middle of the room twisted around, her hand going to her mouth when she saw me, huge eyes darting from Velda’s to mine. She threw one glance toward the window when Velda said, “It’s all right, Sue. This is our friend.”
It was going to take more than that to convince her and there wasn’t enough time. “My name is Mike Hammer, Sue. I’m going to help you. Can you understand that?”
Whatever it was, it worked. The fear left her face and she tried on a tentative smile and nodded. “Will you . . . really?”
“Really,” I nodded back. To Velda I said, “Can we get her out of here?”
“Yes. I know of a place I can take her.”
“Where?”
“Do you remember Connie Lewis’ restaurant on Forty-first?”
“Just off Ninth?”
“That’s it. I’ll be there. She has the upper three floors to herself.”
“That was seven years ago.”
“She’ll be there,” Velda told me.
“Okay,” I said, “you get there with the kid. I’ll do the talking on the bit downstairs, then in about an hour you show up at Pat’s office. I’m being a damn fool for letting you out on the street again but I can’t see any other way of doing it.”
Her hand squeezed mine and she smiled. “It’ll be all right, Mike.”
Then the kid walked up and I looked into the face of the prettiest little Lolita-type I ever saw. She was a tiny blonde with enormous brown eyes and a lovely mouth in a pert pointed face that made you want to pick her up like a doll. Her hair was silk-soft and hung loosely to her shoulders and when she moved all you could see was girl-woman and if you weren’t careful you’d feel the wrong kind of feel.
But I was an old soldier who had been there and back, so I said, “How old are you, chicken?”
She smiled and said, “Twenty-one.”
I grinned at Velda. “She’s not lying. You thought she was kidding when she told you that, didn’t you?”
Velda nodded.
“We’ll get straight on this later. Right now take off.” I looked at Sue, reaching out to feel her hair. “I don’t know what your trouble is, girl, but first things first. I’m going to lay something on the line with you though.”
“Oh?”
“Downstairs there are two dead men because of you. So play it the way you’re told and we’ll make it. Try using your own little head and there may be more dead people. Me, I’ve had it. I’ll help you all the way as long as you do it like I say, but go on your own and you’re like out, kid, understand? There aren’t any more people who can make this boy tumble again, big or little. I’m telling you this because you’re not as little as you look. You can fool a lot of slobs, but not this slob, so we’re starting off square, okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Hammer.” There was no hesitation at all.
“Call me Mike.”
“Sure, Mike.”
“Get her out of here, Velda.”
The sirens converged from both directions. They locked the street in on either end and two more took the street to the front of the house. The floods hit the doorway and the uniformed cops came in with .38’s in their hands.
I had the door open, the lights lit, and both hands in view when the first pair stepped through the doorway. Before they asked I took the position, let them see my .45 on the table beside the other guns, and watched patiently while they flipped open my wallet with the very special ticket in the identification window.
The reaction was slow at first. They weren’t about to take any chances with two dead men on the floor, but they couldn’t go too far the other way either. Finally the older one handed my wallet back. “I knew you back in the old days, Mike.”
“Times haven’t changed much.”
“I wonder.” He nodded toward the two bodies. “I don’t suppose you want to explain about all this now?”
“That’s right.”
“You got a big ticket there. When?”
“Call Captain Chambers. This is his baby.”
“I guess it is.”
“There’s a new Inspector in the division. He might not like the action.”
“No sweat, friend. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worrying. I just remember you and Captain Chambers were friends.”
“No more.”
“I heard that too.” He holstered his gun. Behind him another pair came in cautiously, ready. “This a big one?” he asked.
“Yeah. Can I make a call?”
“Mind if I make it for you?”
“Nope.” I gave him a number that he already knew and watched his face go flat when I handed him the name. He went outside to the car, put the call through, and when he came back there was a subtle touch of deference in his attitude. Whatever he had said to the others took the bull off me and by the time the M.E. got there it was like someone had diplomatic immunity.
Pat came in five minutes later. He waited until the pictures were taken and the bodies removed, then waved everybody else out except the little man in gray whom nobody was big enough to wave out. Then he studiously examined my big fat .45 and said, “The same one, isn’t it?”
“It’s the only one I ever needed.”
“How many men have you killed with it?”
“Nine,” I said. Then added, “With that gun.”
“Good score.”
“I’m still alive.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
I grinned at him. “You hate me, buddy, but you’re glad, aren’t you?”
“That you’re still alive?”
“Uh-huh.”
He turned slowly, his eyes searching for some obscure answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes I can’t tell who is the worse off. Right now I’m not sure. It’s hard to kill friendships. I tried hard enough with you and I almost made it work. Even with a woman between us I can’t be sure anymore. You crazy bastard, I watch what you do, see you get shot and beat to hell and wonder why it has to happen like that, and I’m afraid to tell myself the answer. I know it but I can’t say it.”
“So say it.”
“Later.”
“Okay.”
“Now what happened?” He looked at Art Rickerby sitting in the chair.
I said, “Velda was here. I came for her. These two guys bust in, this one here first. The other came in time to break up the play.”
“Nicely parlayed.”
“Well put, buddy.”
“For an ex-drunk you’re doing all right.” He glanced at Rickerby again.
“Some people have foresight,” I reminded him.
“Do I leave now?” Pat said. “Do I go along with the Federal bit and take off ?”
For the first time Art Rickerby spoke. He was quiet as always and I knew that there were no ends left untied in the past I had just left. He said, “Captain . . . there are times when . . . there are times. It was you who forced Mr. Hammer into circumstances he could hardly cope with. It was a dead man and me who made him stick to it. If he’s anathema out of the past, then it’s our fault. We brought a man back who should have died a long time ago. The present can’t stand a man like that anymore. Now they want indecision and compromise and reluctance and fear . . . and we’ve dropped a hot iron in society’s lap. We’ve brought a man back who almost shouldn’t be here and now you and me and society are stuck with him.”
“Thanks a bunch,” I said.
“Sure,” Pat said to Art, “he’s always been in the special-privilege class, but now it’s over my head. You got the pull, Rickerby. I don’t get all the picture, but I’ve been around long enough to figure a few things out. Just
clue me on this one.”
“Pat . . .” I started.
“Not you, Mike. Him.” He smiled with that gentle deceptive-ness. “And make it good. We have two dead men here and I’m not writing that off for anybody. No more I’m not.”
Art nodded and glanced at his watch. “The girl Velda,” he said, “she was the crux. She has information this country depends upon. A team of assassins was assigned to kill her and nobody could get to that team we called ‘The Dragon’ but him because nobody could be as terrible as they were. It turned out that he was even worse. If that is a good word. For that information this country would pay any price and part of the cost was to rehabilitate this man in a sense and give him back his privilege and his gun.
“The Dragon team is gone now. There is only the girl Velda. There is still that price to pay and he can call the tune. You have no choice but to back him up. Is that clear?”
“No, but it’s coming through,” Pat said. “I know most of the story but I find it hard to believe.”
I said, “Pat . . .”
“What?”
“Let’s leave it, kid. We were both right. So she’s still mine. If you want her then take her away, but you have to fight me for her and you haven’t got a chance in the world of winning.”
“Not as long as you’re alive,” he told me.
“Sure, Pat.”
“And the law of averages is on my side.”
“Why sure.”
I didn’t think he could do it, but he did. He grinned and stuck out his hand and instinctively I took it. “Okay, boy. It’s like before now. We start fresh. Do I get the story or does he?”
“First him, buddy,” I said, nodding toward Art, “then you. It’s bigger than local and I’m not just a private cop anymore.”
“They told me about your ticket. Smart.”
“You know me. Never travel small.”
“That’s right. Somebody’s got to be the hero.”
“Nuts. If I’m on a dead play, then I want odds that will pay off.”
“They did.”
“Damn right they did. I stuck it up and broke it off. Everybody wanted me dead and instead it turned all the way around. So I got the payoff. A big ticket and the rod back and nobody puts the bull on me until I flub it royally . . . and this, friend, I’m not about to do again.”
“No?”
“Watch.”
“My pleasure, big buddy.” He grinned. Again. “Mind if I leave and you talk it out with Mister Government here?”
“No. But be at your office soon. She’ll be there and so will I.”
“Soon?”
“An hour.”
“I’ll be waiting, hero.”
When he left Art Rickerby said, “She has to talk right away. Where is she?”
“I told you . . . in an hour . . . at Pat’s office.”
“There were dead men here.”
“So . . .”
“Don’t piddle with me, Mike.”
“Don’t piddle with me, Art.”
“Who were they?”
“I damn well don’t know, but this you’ll do and damn well do it right.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“No? I’ll shove it up your tail if I want to, Art, and don’t you forget it. You do this one my way. This is something else from your personal angle and leave it alone. Let those dead men be. As far as anybody is concerned they’re part of The Dragon group and the last part at that. There ain’t no more, the end, finis. They came for Velda and I was here to lay on the gravy like I did the rest and you go along with it. What’s here is not part of your business at all, but for the moment you can cover me. Do it.”
“Mike . . .”
“Just do it and shut up.”
“Mike . . .”
I said softly, “I gave you The Dragon, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I was dead. You exhumed me. You made me do things that were goddamned near impossible and when I didn’t die doing them you were surprised. So be surprised now. Do like I tell you.”
“Or . . .?’
“Or Velda won’t come in.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive, friend.”
“It will be done.”
“Thanks.”
“No trouble.”
And Velda told them the next day. She spelled it out in detail and a government organization collapsed. In Moscow thirty men died and in the East Zone of Berlin five more disappeared and in South America there was a series of accidents and several untimely deaths and across the face of the globe the living went to the dead in unaccountable numbers and codes and files were rearranged and meetings hastily brought about and summit conferences planned and in the U.N. buildings whole new philosophies were adopted and decisions brought about in a changed light and as suddenly as she had been a threat to a different world, she had become a person again. She had nothing more to give and in the world of politics there was no retribution as long as you knew nothing new and really didn’t care at all.
But there was something new. There were two dead men to tell about it and somewhere in the city was another with a bullet in his gut looking for somebody to take it out and if the little blonde didn’t tell, one of these would.
You just didn’t lay dead men at your feet without someone coming looking for you.
And I had them at my feet.
CHAPTER 2
I knew I had a tail on me when I left the D.A.’s office. It had been nicely set up even though Rickerby had put the fix in for me. No local police force likes to be queered out of a deal in their own backyard, and if they could move in, orders or not, they were going to give it the big try. If Pat had set the tail it would have been hard to spot, but the new D.A. was too ambitious to figure out there were civilian-type pros in the police business too.
For an hour I let him wait outside bars, fool around a department store while I picked up a few goodies, then went in one door of the Blue Ribbon Restaurant on Forty-fourth, around through the bar, and out that door while he was looking for me at the tables. I was back on Seventh Avenue before he knew I was gone, flagged down a cab, and had him cut over to Forty-ninth and Ninth.
Connie Lewis’ place was called “La Sabre” and turned out to be a downstairs supper place for the neighborhood trade. It specialized in steaks and chops and seemed to be built around a huge charcoal grill that smoked and sizzled into a copper canopy. Connie was a round little woman with a perpetual smile and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth that said it was for real. It had been years since I had seen her and she hadn’t changed a bit.
But me she didn’t recognize at first. When it did come she beamed all over, tried to get me to drink, then eat, and when I wouldn’t do either, showed me the way to the staircase going upstairs and told me Velda was on the second floor rear with her company.
I used the same VY knock and she opened the door. There was no gun in her hand this time, but I knew it wasn’t far out of reach. She pulled me in, closed the door, and locked it. I grinned at her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and touched her mouth with mine. Lightly. I couldn’t afford any more. Her eyes laughed back at me and told me I could pick my own time and place. Any time, any place.
I said, “Hello, beautiful. Where’s the kid?”
“Here I am, Mike.”
She eased into the room impishly, hands clasped behind her back. She stood at the corner of the bedroom door watching, seemingly unafraid, but inside those huge brown eyes was a worm of fear that had been there too long to be plucked out easily.
I took Velda’s arm, steered her to the table, and motioned the kid to come over too. Automatically, the kid slid closer to Velda, knowing she was protected there, never taking her eyes from my face.
“Let’s have it,” I said.
Velda nodded. “You can tell him.”
“I . . . don’t know.”
For what it was worth I took out my new wallet and flipped it open. The b
lue and gold card with the embossed seal in the plastic window did the trick again. She studied it, frowned, then made up her mind.
“All right,” she finally told me. “My name is Sue Devon.” When she said it there was a challenge in her voice I couldn’t ignore.
“Am I supposed to know you?”
She flicked her eyes to her hands, to Velda, then to me. “I have another name.”
“Oh?”
“Torrence. I never use it. He had me legally adopted a long time ago but I never use his name. I hate it.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, kid. I don’t make you at all.”
Velda reached out and touched my hand. “Sim Torrence. He was the District Attorney once; now he’s running in the primaries for governor of the state.”
“Win with Sim?”
“That’s right.”
“I remember seeing posters around but I never tied him up with the D.A.’s office.” I let a grin ease out. “It’s been a rough seven years. I didn’t keep up with politics. Now let’s hear the rest of this.”
Sue nodded, her hair tumbling around her face. She bit at her lip with even white teeth, her hands clasped so tight the knuckles showed white. “I ran away from him.”
“Why?”
The fear was a live thing in her eyes. “I think . . . he killed my mother. Now he wants to kill me.”
When I glanced at Velda I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. I said, “People running for governor don’t usually kill people.”
“He killed my mother,” she repeated.
“You said you thought he did.” She didn’t answer so I asked, “When was this supposed to have happened?”
“A long time ago.”
“How long?”
“I . . . was a baby. Eighteen years ago.”
“How do you know he did this?”
She wouldn’t look at me. “I just know it, that’s all.”
“Honey,” I said, “you can’t accuse a man of murder with a reason like that.”
She made a little shrug and worked her fingers together.
I said, “You have something else in your mind. What is it?”
Velda slipped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed. Sue looked at her gratefully and turned back to me again. “I remember Mama talking. Before she died. Whatever she said . . . is in my mind . . . but I can’t pick out the words. I was terribly frightened. She was dying and she talked to me and told me something and I don’t remember what it was!” She sucked her breath in and held it while the tears welled up in her eyes.
The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3 Page 21
