The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 2

by Mickey Spillane

  I pulled my wallet out and went through it. Everything was there except money. Even my change was gone. I needed a dime like I never needed one before and there wasn’t even a character around to bum one from. Down the street lights of a diner threw a yellow blob on the sidewalks. I walked toward it, stood outside the door a second looking at the two drunks and the guy with the trombone case perched on the stools.

  There wasn’t any more I could lose so I walked in, called the counterman over and tossed my watch on the counter. “I need a dime. You can hold my watch.”

  “For a dime? Mac, you nuts? Look, if you need some coffee say so.”

  “I don’t need coffee. I want to make a phone call.”

  His eyes went up and down me and his mouth rounded into a silent “oh.” “You been rolled, huh?” He fished in his pocket, tossed a dime on the counter and pushed my watch back to me. “Go ahead, mac, I know how it is.”

  Pat wasn’t at home. My dime clinked back and I tried his office. I asked for Captain Chambers and he wasn’t there either. The cop on the board wanted to take a message and the captain would take care of it when he came in. I said, “Pal, this kind of message won’t wait. It’s something he’s been working on and if I can’t get word to him right away he’s going to hit the roof.”

  The phone dimmed out as the operator spoke away from it. I could hear the hurried exchange of murmurs, then: “We’ll try to contact the captain by radio. Can you leave your phone number?”

  I read it off the dial, told him I’d wait and hung up. The counterman was still watching me. There was a steaming hot cup of coffee by an empty stool with a half pack of butts lying alongside it. The guy grinned, nodded to the coffee and made himself a friend. Coffee was about all my stomach would hold, but it sat there inside me like a million bucks in my hand. It took the shakes out of my legs and the ache from my body.

  I lit a smoke, relaxed and watched the window. The wind in the street whipped the rain against the plate glass until it rattled. The door opened, a damp blast momentarily freshening the air. Another musician with a fiddle case under his coat sat down tiredly and ordered coffee. Someplace off in the distance a siren moaned, and a minute later another crossed its fading echo. Two more came on top of it, not close, but distant voices racing to a sore spot in the great sprawling sick body of the city.

  Corpuscles, I thought. That’s what they were like. White corpuscles getting to the site of the infection. They’d close in and wipe out the parasites and if they were too late they’d call for the carpenter corpuscles to come and rebuild broken tissue around the wound.

  I was thinking about it when Pat walked in, tired lines around his eyes, his face set in a frozen expression. There was a twitch in the corner of his mouth he tried to wipe away with the back of his hand.

  He came over and sat down. “Who kicked the crap out of you, Mike?”

  “I look that bad?”

  “You’re a mess.”

  I could grin then. Tomorrow, the next day, the day after, maybe, I’d be too sore to move, but right then I could grin. “They reached me but they didn’t hold on to me, chum.”

  His eyes got narrow and very, very bright. “There was a dirty little mess not too far from here. That wouldn’t be it, would it?”

  “How good is it like it stands?”

  Pat’s lips came apart over his teeth. “The one guy left is wanted for three different kills. This one finishes him.”

  “The coroner say that?”

  “Yeah, the coroner says that. I say that. We have two experts on the spot who say that too but the guy doesn’t say that. The guy doesn’t know what to say. He’s still half out and he says things about a girl named Berga Torn he worked over and when he knew what he did it woke him up and now he won’t say anything. He’s the scaredest clam you ever saw in your life.”

  “So it stands?”

  “Nobody’ll break it. Now what do you say about it?”

  I took a big pull on the butt and stamped it out in the ash tray. “It’s a detail. Right now it doesn’t mean a damn one way or the other to you or me. Someday over a beer I’ll make it into a good story.”

  “It better be good,” Pat said, “I have all hell breaking loose around my ears. Evello’s sister came to us with a list of phone calls yesterday and we tracked down the names into the damnedest places you ever saw. We have some of the wheels in the Mafia dangling by their you-know- whats and they’re scramming for cover. They’re going nuts down in Florida and on the Coast the police have pulled in people big enough to make your hair stand on end. Some of ‘em are talking and the thing’s opening wider.”

  He passed his hand over his eyes and drew it away slowly. “Damn it, we’re up as far as Washington itself. It makes me sick.”

  The shake was back in my legs again. “Talk names, Pat.”

  “Names you don’t know and some you do. We have the connections down pat but the ones up top are sitting tight. The Miami police pulled a quick raid on a local big shot and turned up a filing case of information that gives us a line into half the narcotics outlets in the States. Right now the Federal boys have assigned extra men to pick up the stuff and they’re coming home loaded.”

  “How about Billy Mist?” I asked him.

  “Nothing doing. Not a word on him so far. He can’t be located, anyway.”

  “Leo Harmody?”

  “You got another case? He’s howling police persecution and threatening to take things up with Congress. He can yell because there’s nothing we can slap him with.”

  “And Al Affia’s dead,” I said.

  Pat’s head turned toward me, his eyes a sleepy gray. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “It couldn‘t’ve happened to a better guy.”

  “He was chopped up good. Somebody had a little fun.”

  I looked at him, lit another smoke and flipped the match in the ash tray where it turned into a charred arc. “How far did you get with him?”

  “Not a thing. There wasn’t a recognizable print on that bottle.”

  “What’s the word on it, Pat?”

  His eyes got sleepier. “His waterfront racket is going sky-high. There’s been two killings down there already. The king is dead, but somebody is ready to take his place.”

  The rain had the sound of a rolling snare drum. It was working up in tempo, backed by the duller, more resonant peals of thunder that cracked the sky open. The three drunks stared at the window miserably, hugging their cups as an anchor to keep from drifting out into the night. The fiddle player shrugged, paid his bill and tucked the case back under his coat and left. At least he was lucky enough to grab an empty cab going by.

  I said, “Do you have the picture yet, Pat?”

  “Yeah, I have a picture,” he said. “It’s the biggest one I ever saw.”

  “You’re lost, kid.”

  The sleepiness left his eyes. His fingers turned the ash tray around slowly, then he gave me that wry grin of his. “Play it out, Mike.”

  I shrugged. “Everything’s coming your way. Now you’re having fun. What started it?”

  “Okay, so it began with Berga.”

  “Let’s not forget it. Let’s tie it all up together so when you’re out there having fun you’ll know why. I’ll make it short and sweet and you can check on it. Ten, twelve, maybe fifteen years ago a guy was bringing a package of dope into the country for delivery to the Mafia. He tangled with a dame on board and fell for her. That’s where Berga came into it. Instead of handing over the package he decided to keep it for his sweetie and himself even though he ran the risk of being knocked off.”

  “Nicholas Raymond,” Pat said.

  I knew the surprise showed on my face when I nodded. “Nicholas had them on the spot. They couldn’t bump him until they located the stuff and he wasn’t stupid enough to lead them to it. There was two million bucks’ worth in that consignment and they needed it badly. So Nick goes on living with this gal and one day he dies accidental
ly. It’s a tricky pitch but it isn’t a hard one. They figured that by this time he would have passed the secret along to her or she would have found out herself somehow.

  “But it didn’t happen that way. Nick was trickier than they thought. He got the word to her in case something happened to him, but even she didn’t know where it was or what it was that keyed it. I guess they must have tried to scare it out of her for a while because she hired herself a bodyguard. He played it too good and moved in. The Mafia didn’t like that. If he came across the stuff they’d be out of luck, so he went too.”

  Pat was watching me closely. There was an expression on his face like I wasn’t telling him anything new, but he wasn’t saying a word.

  “Now we come to Evello. He gets a proper knockdown to her somehow and off he goes on the big pitch. He gave her the whole treatment and probably winds it up with a proposal of marriage to make it sound good. Maybe he over-played his hand. Maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to fool her. Something slipped and Berga got wise that he was one of the mob. But she got wise to something else too. About then she suddenly discovered what it was they were all after and when she had the chance to get Evello creamed before that congressional committee she put in her bid figuring to get the stuff on her own hook later.”

  Now Pat’s face was showing that he didn’t know it all. There were sharp lines streaking out from the corners of his eyes and he waited, his tongue wetting down his lips from time to time.

  I said, “She pulled out all the stops and so did they. The boys with the black hands get around. They scared her silly and by that time it didn’t take much. She went to pieces and tried to fight it out in that sanitarium.”

  “That was her biggest mistake,” Pat said.

  “You mentioned a woman who came to see her.”

  He gave a slow nod, his hands opening and closing slowly. “We still can’t make her.”

  “Could it have been a man dressed like a dame?”

  “It could have been anything. There was no accurate description and no record of it.”

  “It was somebody she knew.”

  “Great.”

  “Now the stuff is still missing.”

  “I know where it is.”

  Pat’s head came around faster this time.

  “The two million turned into four by just sitting there,” I said. “Inflation.”

  “Damn it, Mike, where?” His voice was all tight.

  “On the good ship Cedric. Our friend Al Affia was working on the deal. He had given all the plans to her in his dive back there and whoever killed him walked off with them.”

  “Now you tell me,” he said hoarsely. “Now you spill it when somebody has had time to dig it loose.”

  I took a deep breath, grunted when the sting of pain stabbed across my chest and shook my head. “It’s not that easy, Pat. Al had those plans a long time. I’m even beginning to think I know why he was bumped.”

  Pat waited me out.

  “He tried to sucker Velda into his dump for a fast play at her. She slipped him a dose of chloral and while he was out started turning the place upside down. Al didn’t stay out very long. He got sick, his stomach dumped the stuff overboard and he saw what she was doing. Velda used the bottle on him then.”

  His eyes snapped wide open. “Velda!”

  “She didn’t kill him. She bopped him one and it cut his head open. He staggered out after her and got word to somebody. That somebody caught the deal in a hurry and someplace she’s still sweating.” All at once every bit of pain in my body flooded back and trapped me in its agony before fading away. I finished with, “I hope.”

  “Okay, Mike, let it loose! Damn it, what else have you got? So the kid’s sweating, you hope ... and I hope too. You know them well enough to realize what’s liable to happen to her now.”

  “She was on her way to see Billy Mist.” My grin turned sour and my teeth came out from under my lips again. “The cops didn’t find her.”

  “Supposing she never reached there?”

  “It’s a possibility I’ve been considering, friend. I saw her pass in a cab and she wasn’t alone.”

  I was going warm again. The coffee didn’t sit so well in my gut any more. I thought about it as long as I could then shut out the picture when I buried my face in my hands.

  Pat kept saying, “The bastards, the bastards!” His nails made a tattoo of sound on the counter and his breathing was almost as hard as mine was. “It’s breaking fast, but it’s not wide open yet, Mike. We’ll get to Billy. One way or another.”

  I felt a little better. I took my hands away and reached for the last butt in the pack. “It won’t break until you get the stuff. You and the whole staff up in Washington can work from now until ten years later and you won’t make a hole in the organization big enough to stop it. You’ll knock it kicking but you won’t kill it. Slowing it down a little is all we can hope for. They’re going to hang on to Velda until somebody has that four million bucks lined up.

  “I’m the target, chum. Me personally. I’ve scared the crap out of those guys as individuals ... not as an organization. They know I don’t give a damn what happens to the outfit, the dough or anything that goes with it. All I want is a raft of hides nailed to the barn door. That’s where I come in. I’m the little guy with a grudge. I’m the guy so damn burned up he’s after a man, not an organization. I’m the guy who wants to stand there and see him die and he knows it. He wants that consignment of narcotics in the worst way but before it does him any good I have to die first.

  “So they’re holding Velda. She’s the bait and she’s something else besides. I’ve been getting closer to this than anybody else and they’ve known something I never got wise to. Berga passed the clue to me before she died and I’ve been sitting on it all this time. For a little while they had it, but they couldn’t make it out. They expect me to. When I do I’ll have to use it to ransom Velda with it.”

  “They’re not that dumb, Mike,” Pat told me.

  “Neither am I. Someplace the answer slapped me in the teeth and I was in such a hurry I missed it. I can feel the damn thing crawling around in my head and can’t lay my finger on it. The damn arrogant bastards ...”

  Pat said, “The head is pretty far from the body.”

  “What?”

  He looked out the window and watched the rain. “They can afford to be arrogant. The entire structure of the Mafia is built on arrogance. They flout the laws of every country in the world, they violate the integrity of the individual, they’re a power in themselves backed by ruthlessness, violence and some of the shrewdest brains in existence.”

  “About the head and the body, I mean.”

  “We can smash the body of this thing, Mike, but in this country the head and the body aren’t connected except by the very thin thread of a neck. The top man, men, or group is a separate caste. The organization is built so that the head can function without the body if it comes to it. The body parts can be assembled any time, but it’s an assembly for the benefit of the head, never forget that. It’s a government. The little people in it don’t count. It’s the rulers who are important and the government is run solely for their benefit and to satisfy their appetites. They’re never known and they’re not going to be known.”

  “Unless they make one stinking little mistake,” I said.

  Pat stopped looking at the rain.

  I rubbed the ache out of my side. “The stuff is on the Cedric. All you have to do is find the ship. The records will carry the stateroom Raymond used. When you find it call Ray Diker at the Globe and give him first crack at the details of the yarn. Tell him to hold the story until I call you. By then I’ll have Velda.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “The last time you asked that I said I was going out to kill somebody.” I held out my hand. “Gimme a fin.”

  He looked puzzled, scowled, then pulled five ones out of his pocket. I laid two of them on the counter and nodded to the counterman to come get it. He
was all smiles.

  “Where’s Michael Friday?”

  “She said she was going to your place to see you.”

  “I wasn’t home.”

  “Well, she’s not reporting to me on the hour.”

  “No police guard?”

  His frown got bigger this time. “I tried to but she said no. One of the feds pulled out after her anyway. He lost her when she got in a cab.”

  “Sloppy.”

  “Lay off. Everybody’s up to their ears in this thing.”

  “Yeah. You going to trace the Cedric?”

  “What do you think. Where are you going?”

  I let a laugh out that sounded hollow as hell. “I’m going out in the rain and think some more. Then maybe I’ll go kill somebody else.”

  I could see Pat remembering the other years. Younger years when the dirt seemed to be only on the surface. When being a cop looked good and the law was for protection and guidance. When there weren’t so many strings and sticky red tape and corruption in high places.

  His hand went into his pocket and brought out the blued .38. He handed it to me under the shelf of the hanger. “Here, use this for a change.”

  And I remembered what Velda had said and I shook my head. “Some other time. I like it better this way.”

  I went out and walked down the street and let the rain hit me in the face. Someplace there was a gimmick and that was what I had to find. I reached the subway kiosk, bought a pack of Luckies and dropped them in my pocket. I waited for the uptown local and got aboard when it came in.

  With every jolt the train took I could feel the shock wear off a little bit more. It got worse and when it was too bad I stood up and leaned against the door watching the walls of the tunnel go by in a dirty blur.

  A gimmick. One lousy little gimmick and I could have it. It was there trying to come out and whenever I thought I had it my stomach would retch and I’d lose it.

  The train pulled into the station, opened its multitude of mouths but I was the only one who stepped out. I had the platform all to myself then, so I let go and the coffee came up.