A million dollars in each.
I had finally found Blackie Conley.
She came up on bare feet and I didn’t hear her until her breath hissed with the horror of what she saw. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to stop the scream that started to come, her eyes wide open for long moments.
“Mike . . . who . . .?”
“Our killer, Velda. The Target. The one we were after. That’s Blackie Conley in the backseat there. He almost made it. How close can a guy come?”
“Pretty close, Mr. Hammer. Some of us come all the way.”
I didn’t hear him either! He had come up the side of the hill on sneakered feet and stood there with a gun on us and I felt like the biggest fool in the world! My .45 was back there in the love nest and now we were about to be as dead as the others. It was like being right back at the beginning again.
I said, “Hello, Sonny.”
The Snake. The real snake, as deadly as they come. The only one that had real fangs and knew how to use them. His face had lost the tired look and his eyes were bright with the desirous things he saw in his future. There was nothing stooped about him now, nothing of the old man there. Old, yes, but he wasn’t the type who grew old easily. It had all been a pose, a cute game, and he was the winner.
“You scared me, Mr. Hammer. When you got as far as Malek you really scared me. I was taking my time about coming here because I wasn’t ready yet and then I knew it was time to move. You damn near ruined everything.” What I used to call a cackle was a pose too. He did have a laugh. He thought it was funny.
Velda reached for my arm and I knew she was scared. It was too much too fast all over again and she could only take so much.
“Smart,” he said to me. “You’re a clever bastard. If all I had was the cops to worry about it would have been no trouble, but I had to draw you.” His mouth pulled into a semblance of a grin. “Those nice talks we had. You kept me right up to date. Tell me, did you think I had a nice face?”
“I thought you had more sense, Sonny.”
He dropped the grin then. “Get off it, guy. More sense? For what? You think I was going to spend all my life in the cooler without getting some satisfaction? Mister, that’s where you made your mistake. You should have gone a little further into my case history. I always was a mean one because it paid off. If I had to play pretty-face to make it pay off I could do that too.”
“You won’t make it, Sonny.”
“No? Well, just lose that idea. For thirty years I worked this one out. I had all the time in the world to do it too. With the contacts I had in the can I got enough on the big boys to make them jump my way when I was ready. I put together a mob and now I’ll have to move to get it rolling. You think I won’t live big for what little time I have left? Well, you’re making a mistake when you think that. A lot of planning went into this dodge, kid.”
“You still hate, don’t you?”
Sonny Motley nodded slowly, a smile of pure pleasure forming. “You’re goddamn right. I hated that bastard Torrence and tried to get at him through his kid. Mistake there . . . I thought he loved the kid. I would’ve been doin’ him a favor to rub her out, right?”
“He was trying for her too.”
“I got the picture fast enough. When I knocked him off in his house I thought I’d get the kid just for the fun of it. She fooled me. Where was she, mister?”
I shrugged.
“Hell, it don’t matter none now.” He lifted the gun so I could see down the barrel. “I thought sure you’d get on to me sooner. I pulled a boner, you know that, don’t you?”
I knew it now, all right. When Marv Kania tried to nail me with the cab it was because Sonny had called him from the back room when he faked getting me old clippings of his crime and told him where I was going. When Marv almost got me in my apartment it was because Sonny told him my new address and that I’d be there. I made it easy because I told Sonny both times.
I said, “Marv Kania was holed up in your place, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right, dying every minute, and all he wanted was to get that last crack at you. It was the one thing that kept him alive.”
“It was the thing that killed him too, Sonny.”
“Nobody’ll miss him but me. The kid had guts. He knew nobody could help him, but he stuck the job out.”
“You got the guts too, Sonny?”
“I got the guts, Hammer.” He laughed again. “You gave old Blackie credit for having my guts though. That was pretty funny. You were so sure it was him. Never me. Blackie the slob. You know, I figured out that cross when I was in stir. It came through to me and when I put the pieces together bit by bit I knew what I was going to do. I even figured out how Blackie got wise at the last minute and what he’d do to plan a getaway. He wasn’t such a hard guy to second-guess. After all, I had thirty years to do it in. Now it’s the big loot I waited all that time to spend.”
“You won’t do it, Sonny.”
“How you figure to stop me? You got no gun and you’re under one. I can pump a fast one into you both and nobody will hear a sound. Blackie picked this place pretty well. You’re gonna die, you know. I can’t let you two run around.”
Velda’s fingers bit into my arm harder. “See the money in the car, Hammer? It still there? It wasn’t in the shack so it’s gotta be there or around here somewhere.”
“Look for yourself.”
“Step back.”
We moved slowly, two steps, then stood there while Sonny grinned and looked into the window of the cab.
It was hard to tell what was happening to his face. For one second I thought I’d have a chance to jump him but he caught himself in time and swung the gun back on us. His eyes were dancing with the joy of the moment and the laugh in his throat was real.
Sonny Motley was doing what he had wanted to do for so long, meeting Blackie Conley face to face.
“Look at him. It’s him back there! Look at that dirty doublecrosser sitting there just like I shot him. Goddamn, I didn’t miss with that shot. I killed the son of a bitch thirty years ago! See that, Hammer . . . see the guy I killed thirty years ago? Damn, if that isn’t a pretty sight.”
He paused, sucking in his breath, his chest heaving. “Just like he was, still got that rifle he loved. See where I got him, Hammer . . . right in the chest. Right through the open window before he could get his second shot off.
“Hello, Blackie, you dirty bastard!” he shrieked. “How’d you like that shot? How’d it feel to die, Blackie? This is worth waiting all the thirty years for!”
Sonny turned and grimaced at me, his eyes burning. “Always figured to make it, Blackie did. Had the driver pull him into his hidey-hole and shot him in the head. But he never lived through my shot. No chance of that. Man, this is my big day . . . the biggest damn day in my life! Now I got everything!”
He drew himself erect at the thought, a funny expression changing his face. He said, “Only one thing I ain’t got anymore,” and this time he was looking at Velda.
“Take those clothes off, lady.”
Her fingers that were so tight on my arm seemed to relax and I knew she was thinking the same thing as I was. It could be a diversion. If she could step aside and do it so we were split up I might get the chance to jump him.
I didn’t watch her. I couldn’t. I had to watch him. But I could tell from his eyes just what she was doing. I knew when she took the skirt off, then the bra. I watched his eyes follow her hands as she slid the skirt down over her ankles and I knew by the quick intake of his breath and the sudden brightness of his eyes when she had stepped out of the last thing she wore.
She made the slightest motion to one side then, but he was with it. He said, “Just stay there, lady. Stay there close where I can get to you both.”
Not much time was left now. The fire in his eyes was still burning, but it wouldn’t last.
“Real nice, lady,” he said. “I like brunettes. Always have. Now you can die like that, right together.”
No time at all now.
“Too bad you didn’t get the money, Sonny.”
He shook his head at me, surprised that I’d make such a bad attempt. “It’s right on the floor there.”
“You’d better be sure, Sonny. We got here ahead of you.”
If he had trouble opening the door I might be able to make the move. All he had to do was falter once and if I could get past the first shot I could take him even if he caught me with it. Velda would hit the ground the second he pulled the trigger and together we’d have him.
“No good, Hammer. It’s right there and Old Blackie is still guarding it with his rifle. You saw it.”
“You didn’t.”
“Okay, so you get one last look.” He reached for the door handle and gave it a tentative tug. It didn’t budge. He laughed again, knowing what I was waiting for but not playing it my way at all. The gun never wavered and I knew I’d never get the chance. From where he stood he could kill us both with ease and we all knew it.
The next time he gave the door a sharp jerk and it swung open, the hinges groaning as the rust ground into them. He was watching us with the damndest grin I ever saw and never bothered to see what was happening in the cab. The pull on the door was enough to rock the car and ever so steadily the corpse of Blackie Conley seemed to come to life, sitting up in the seat momentarily. I could see the eyes and the mouth open in a soundless scream with the teeth bared in a grimace of wild hatred.
Sonny knew something was happening and barely turned his head to look . . . just enough to see the man he had killed collapse into dust fragments, and as it did the bony finger touched the trigger that had been filed to react to the smallest of pressures and the rifle squirted a blossom of roaring flame that took Sonny Motley square in the chest and dropped him lifeless four feet away.
While the echo still rumbled across the mountainside, the leather-covered skull of Blackie Conley bounced out of the cab and rolled to a stop face to face with Sonny and lay there grinning at him idiotically.
You can only sustain emotion so long. You can only stay scared so long. It stops and suddenly it’s like nothing happened at all. You don’t shake, you don’t break up. You’re just glad it’s over. You’re a little surprised that your hands aren’t trembling and wonder why it is you feel almost perfectly normal.
Velda said quietly, “It’s finished now, isn’t it?”
Her clothes were in a heap beside her and in the dying rays of the sun she looked like a statuesque wood nymph, a lovely naked wood nymph with beautiful black hair as dark as a raven against a sheen of molded flesh that rose and dipped in curves that were unbelievable.
Up there on the hill the grass was soft where we had lain in the nest. It smelled flowery and green and the night was going to be a warm night. I looked at her, then toward the spot on the hill. Tomorrow it would be something else, but this was now.
I said, “You ready?”
She smiled at me, savoring what was to come. “I’m ready.”
I took her hand, stepped over the bodies, new and old, on the ground, and we started up the slope.
“Then let’s go,” I said.
THET WISTED THING
To Sid Graedon, who saw the charred edges
CHAPTER 1
The little guy’s face was a bloody mess. Between the puffballs of blue-black flesh that used to be eyelids, the dull gleam of shock-deadened pupils watched Dilwick uncomprehendingly. His lips were swollen things of lacerated skin, with slow trickles of blood making crooked paths from the corners of his mouth through the stubble of a beard to his chin, dripping onto a stained shirt.
Dilwick stood just outside the glare of the lamp, dangling like the Sword of Damocles over the guy’s head. He was sweating too. His shirt clung to the meaty expanse of his back, the collar wilted into wrinkles around his huge neck. He pushed his beefy hand further into the leather glove and swung. The solid smack of his open hand on the little guy’s jaw was nasty. His chair went over backward and his head cracked against the concrete floor of the room like a ripe melon. Dilwick put his hands on his hips and glared down at the caricature that once was human.
“Take him out and clean ’im up. Then get ’im back here.” Two other cops came out of the darkness and righted the chair. One yanked the guy to his feet and dragged him to the door.
Lord, how I hated their guts. Grown men, they were supposed to be. Four of them in there taking turns pounding a confession from a guy who had nothing to say. And I had to watch it.
It was supposed to be a warning to me. Be careful, it said, when you try to withhold information from Dilwick you’re looking for a broken skull. Take a look at this guy for example, then spill what you know and stick around so I, the Great Dilwick, can get at you when I want you.
I worked up a husky mouthful of saliva and spat it as close to his feet as I could. The fat cop spun on his heel and let his lips fold back over his teeth in a sneer. “You gettin’ snotty, Hammer?”
I stayed slouched in my seat. “Any way you call it, Dilwick,” I said insolently. “Just sitting here thinking.”
Big stuff gave me a dirty grimace. “Thinking . . . you?”
“Yeah. Thinking what you’d look like the next day if you tried that stuff on me.”
The two cops dragging the little guy out stopped dead still. The other one washing the bloodstains from the seat quit swishing the brush over the wicker and held his breath. Nobody ever spoke that way to Dilwick. Nobody from the biggest politician in the state to the hardest apple that ever stepped out of a pen. Nobody ever did because Dilwick would cut them up into fine pieces with his bare hands and enjoy it. That was Dilwick, the dirtiest, roughest cop who ever walked a beat or swung a nightstick over a skull. Crude, he was. Crude, hard and dirty and afraid of nothing. He’d sooner draw blood from a face than eat and everybody knew it. That’s why nobody ever spoke to him that way. That is, nobody except me.
Because I’m the same way myself.
Dilwick let out his breath with a rush. The next second he was reaching down for me, but I never gave him the chance to hook his hairy paws in my shirt. I stood up in front of him and sneered in his face. Dilwick was too damn big to be used to meeting guys eye to eye. He liked to look down at them. Not this time.
“What do you think you’ll do?” he snarled.
“Try me and see,” I said.
I saw his shoulder go back and didn’t wait. My knee came up and landed in his groin with a sickening smash. When he doubled over my fist caught him in the mouth and I felt his teeth pop. His face was starting to turn blue by the time he hit the floor. One cop dropped the little guy and went for his gun.
“Cut it, stupid,” I said, “before I blow your goddamn head off. I still got my rod.” He let his hand fall back to his side. I turned and walked out of the room. None of them tried to stop me.
Upstairs I passed the desk sergeant still bent over his paper. He looked up in time to see me and let his hand snake under the desk. Right then I had my own hand six inches from my armpit practically inviting him to call me. Maybe he had a family at home. He brought his hand up on top of the desk where I could see it. I’ve seen eyes like his peering out of a rat hole when there was a cat in the room. He still had enough I AM THE LAW in him to bluster it out.
“Did Dilwick release you?” he demanded.
I snatched the paper from his hand and threw it to the floor, trying to hold my temper. “Dilwick didn’t release me,” I told him. “He’s downstairs vomiting his guts out the same way you’ll be doing if you pull a deal like that again. Dilwick doesn’t want me. He just wanted me to sit in on a cellar séance in legal torture to show me how tough he is. I wasn’t impressed. But get this, I came to Sidon to legally represent a client who used his one phone call on arrest to contact me, not to be intimidated by a fat louse that was kicked off the New York force and bought his way into the cops in this hick town just to use his position for a rake-off.”
The sergeant started to inte
rrupt, licking his loose lips nervously, but I cut him short. “Furthermore, I’m going to give you just one hour to get Billy Parks out of here and back to his house. If you don’t,” and I said it slowly, “I’m going to call the State’s Attorney and drop this affair in his lap. After that I’ll come back here and mash your damn face to a pulp. Understand now? No habeas corpus, no nothing. Just get him out of here.”
For a cop he stunk. His lower lip was trembling with fear. I pushed my hat on the back of my head and stamped out of the station house. My heap was parked across the street and I got in and turned it over. Damn, I was mad.
Billy Parks, just a nice little ex-con trying to go straight, but do you think the law would help him out? Hell no. Let one thing off-color pop up and they drag him in to get his brains kicked out because he had a record. Sure, he put in three semesters in the college on the Hudson, and he wasn’t too anxious to do anything that would put him in his senior year where it took a lifetime to matriculate. Ever since he wrangled that chauffeur’s job from Rudolph York I hadn’t heard from him . . . until now, after York’s little genius of a son had been snatched.
Rain started to spatter against the windshield when I turned into the drive. The headlights picked out the roadway and I followed it up to the house. Every light in the place was on as if the occupants were afraid a dark corner might conceal some unseen terror.
It was a big place, a product of wealth and good engineering, but in spite of its stately appearance and wrought-iron gates, somebody had managed to sneak in, grab the kid and beat it. Hell, the kid was perfect snatch bait. He was more than a son to his father, he was the result of a fourteen-year experiment. Then, that’s what he got for bringing the kid up to be a genius. I bet he’d shell out plenty of his millions to see him safe and sound.
The front door was answered by one of those tailored flunkies who must always count up to fifty before they open up. He gave me a curt nod and allowed me to come in out of the rain anyway.
“I’m Mike Hammer,” I said, handing him a card. “I’d like to see your boss. And right away,” I added.
The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3 Page 36
