The Killing Man

by Mickey Spillane

  “Ah, you have many faces, old boy.” He picked up his stein and swirled the beer around. “You want one of these?” Before I could answer he waved to the waiter and motioned for two more steins. “Do you want a personal or a professional opinion?”

  “Start with a pro rundown.”

  “Well educated, intelligent, brainy, intellectual, or is that being redundant?”

  “The point’s clear.”

  “She’s sharp, mean as a snake, and when it comes to winning doesn’t have any conscience at all. She takes every advantage she can of being a woman and doesn’t seem to have chinks in her armor at all. She has powerful friends because she’s so damn good at what she does and any political enemies who tried to lean on her didn’t know what hit them.”

  “Great,” I said sourly.

  “She’s got a nice ass, hasn’t she?”

  “I only saw her from the front.”

  “That’s pretty good too.” Petey chuckled. “Why the inquiry?”

  “She’s coming out in the open,” I said. The waiter put the steins down with the handles facing in the wrong direction. I spun the mug around and slopped some of the beer on my sleeve.

  Petey took a pull of his beer and wiped the foam from his lip. “Not to be unexpected. That lady has been waiting her chance. I take it she’s into this thing with you?”

  “She’s asking questions.”

  He took another pull at his drink. “A wonderment,” he said. He looked at me across the table, his eyes probing. “We have something big here, I imagine.”

  “Where did she come from, Petey?”

  “Well, nobody does any great research on political appointments of that nature. The DA’s office runs a lot of lawyers, plenty of lady lawyers too. But this one was a little special. After she got out of school she spent a year in the FBI, did private legal work in Washington, D.C., then came back to New York. It’s easy to see why the DA’s office picked up on her.”

  “She well liked?”

  “Beats me, Mike. She probably is, but I don’t know how. A lot of the hotshots date her, but she doesn’t keep them around very long. She’s still not married. Got a nice pad up near the UN.” He hoisted the stein and drank the rest of the beer down without a stop. He belched, then said, “You got plans for the lady?”

  I did the same thing with my stein but I didn’t belch. “Nope,” I told him. “It’s just better to know what to expect.”

  That wise old face of his had a knowing expression and he leaned forward and laid his chin in his hands. “Something going down?”

  “Something smells funny.”

  “Like the old days?”

  I nodded and my eyes tightened up. “I don’t like it, friend. I thought those old days were gone for good.”

  “Do I get the story?”

  “Why not?” I said.

  “You watch out for the lovely lady DA. Though I sure would like to see you two tangle, a real kiss ‘n’ kill situation.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  “No trouble.” I picked up his check when I left. “You can leave the tip,” I told him.

  3

  Burke had wanted Velda to stay quiet as long as possible, so I didn’t get to the hospital until eight. We had coffee in the lounge and I asked him how she was progressing.

  “She was lucky. You can’t imagine how lucky. She was probably on the phone and tossed her hair all to one side while she was talking—” “

  “A habit she has,” I interrupted.

  “Anyway, she’s awake and sedated.”

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  He popped five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and stirred it around. “Sweet tooth,” he explained. “No, she said nothing except hello and the usual ‘Where am I?’ but she’s pretty aware of what’s going on.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “Gently, Mike, gently, and not for long. Nothing exciting.”

  “How long will she be here?”

  “At least two more days. If that was just a simple knockout-type blow she would be home by now, but somebody tried to kill her.”

  I told him thanks and didn’t bother to finish the coffee. I could see why Burke used all that sugar.

  Pat had called ahead, and the cop at the door looked at my ID and let me in. The room was in deep gloom, only a small night-light on the wall making it possible to see the outlines of the bed and equipment. When the door snicked shut I picked up the straightbacked chair by the sink, went to the bed and sat down beside her.

  Little by little I started to bunch up again, my hands squeezing the rails of the bed. My lips were stretched across my mouth and I wanted to hurt something or tear somebody apart. He should have told me. He never should have let me come in cold and see her like this.

  Velda. Beautiful, gorgeous Velda. Those deep brown eyes and that full, full mouth. Shimmering auburn hair that fell in a page-boy around her shoulders.

  Now her face was a bloated black-and-blue mask on one side, one eye totally closed under the bulbous swelling, the other a flat slit. Her hair was gone around the bandaged area and her upper lip was twice normal size.

  I put my hand over hers and whispered, “Damn it, kitten ...”

  Then her wrist moved and her fingers squeezed mine gently. “Are you ... all right?” she asked me softly.

  “I’m fine, honey, I’m okay. Now don’t talk. Just take it easy. All I want is to be here with you. That’s enough.”

  So I just sat there and in a minute she said, “I can ... listen, Mike. Please tell me ... what happened.”

  I played it back to her without building it up at all. I didn’t tell her the details of the kill and hinted that it was strictly the work of a nut, but she knew better.

  Under my fingers I could feel her pulse. It was steady. Her hand squeezed mine again. “He came in ... very fast. He had one hand over his face ... and he was ... swinging at me ... with the other. I ... never saw his face at all.” Remembering it hadn’t excited her. The pulse rate hadn’t changed.

  I said, “Okay, honey, that’s enough. You’re supposed to take it real easy awhile.”

  But she insisted. “Mike ...”

  “What, kitten?”

  “If the police ... ask questions ...”

  I knew what she was thinking. In her mind she had already put it on a case basis and filed it for immediate activity. There was no way she could be foxed into believing the story of a psycho on the loose. We had been too close too long and now she was reading my mind. She wanted me to have more space to work in, even if she had to be a target herself.

  “Play sick,” I said.

  Until she made a statement, everything was up in the air. She was still alive, so there was a possibility that she could have seen the killer. He couldn’t afford any witness at all, but if he tried to erase her he’d be a sitting duck himself. From here on, there would be a solid cover on the hospital room. The killer was going to sweat a little more now.

  I thought I saw the good corner of her mouth twitch in a faint smile and again I got the small finger squeeze. “Be careful,” she said. Her voice was barely audible and she was slipping back into a sleep once more. “I want ... you back.”

  Her fingers loosened and her hand slipped out of mine. She didn’t hear me when I said, “I want you back too, baby.”

  Outside the door the cop said, “How is she?” “Making it.” He was a young cop, this one. He still had that determined look. He had the freshness of youth, but his eyes told me he had seen plenty of street work since he left the academy. “Did Captain Chambers tell you what this was about?” I asked.

  “Only that it was heavy. The rest I got through the grapevine.”

  “It’s going to get rougher,” I said. “Don’t play down what you’re doing.”

  He grinned at me. “Don’t worry, Mike, I’m not jaded yet.”

  “Way to go, kiddo.”

  “By the way ...”

  “What’s that?”

&nb
sp; “How come you never locked into the department?”

  “King Arthur wouldn’t let me go.”

  “That’s right,” he laughed. “I forgot, you’re the Black Knight.”

  “Take care of my girl in there, will you?”

  His face suddenly went serious. “You got it, Mike.”

  Downstairs another shift was coming on, fresh faces in white uniforms replacing the worn-out platoon that had gone through a rough offensive on the day watch. The interns looked too young to be doctors, but they already had the wear and tear of the profession etched into them. One had almost made it to the door when the hidden PA speaker brought him up short, and with an expression of total fatigue, he shrugged and went back inside.

  I cut around the little groups and pushed my way through the outside door. The rain had stopped, but the night was clammy, muting the street sounds and diffusing the lights of the buildings. Nights like this stunk. There were no incoming taxis and it was a two-block walk to where they might cruise by. There was no other choice, so I went down the steps to the street. Behind me two interns were debating waiting for a nurse who had a car, then decided they were too tired to wait and followed me, taking the other side of the street.

  At night this area was solid bumper-to-bumper parked cars, wedged so tightly together you wanted to see how they came unstuck in the morning. A smart one had a two-foot space in front of him with his wheels cranked hard away from the curb so he couldn’t be pushed up, and I walked right past it like a Jersey tourist before I knew it didn’t fit and the slight metallic creak of a door was wrong and everything exploded at once.

  Ducking and twisting was automatic and something whispered by over my head. Then a pair of bodies were on me, fists smashing at my kidneys and bouncing off my neck. I rammed my elbow back and felt teeth go under it and the back of my head mashed the guy’s nose who was holding me. I was off balance and before I could use my feet another flying pair of arms nailed my legs together in a crude tackle and we all hit the pavement with me on the bottom. My .45 was still tight in the shoulder holster and I felt a hand going under my coat and yanking it clear.

  It wasn’t a mugging. I felt the needle go into my hip and within seconds the drowsiness started. Somebody was cursing and spitting blood behind me, and when I had no strength left the restraining arms fell away and I heard a voice saying he wanted to kick my brains out for breaking his nose.

  It wasn’t dream time. There were faraway sounds and feelings of being in motion. I could hear voices, but didn’t know what they were saying. And it was black. I felt tired and wanted to sleep, but I was in a limbo all alone.

  Time itself had no meaning. Its passage I could record by the throbbing where my body hurt, but no other way. So I just let it all happen, thinking of what a damned sucker I had been for letting myself get trapped. I said, “Shit,” and my ears heard it and I let my eyes slide open and lifted my head up.

  Somebody said, “He’s awake.”

  There was barely any light and it came from a small open bulb thirty feet away. I was tied to a chair, my arms and legs snug to it and two turns of rope holding me tight against the back. There was no sense wasting any strength thrashing around. Pros had done this job and I could barely make out the form of one of them in front of me, his face an indistinguishable pale orb. There was another behind me and he wasn’t breathing right. He kept swearing under his breath and spitting on the floor.

  A hand came out of the darkness and tilted my head back. The beam of a small flashlight swept across my eyes and the voice said, “It’s all worn off. He’s wide awake.” It was an accented voice, but nothing I could place.

  The other one sounded like he had a bad cold, his words whispery deep with a rasp to it. He moved in closer, but I still couldn’t make out his face. “Tell us about Penta,” he said.

  Sometimes you have to mouth off. I told him, “Up yours.”

  His hand came around and there was no way I could move. It was a flat-handed slap with a hell of a lot of meat behind it and I could taste blood in my mouth.

  “One more time, Hammer.”

  “Asshole,” I said.

  The hand got me again, harder than before. My ear was ringing so badly I hardly heard the other voice say, “Knock if off. We haven’t got time for this.”

  “You just let me ...”

  “Damn it, you’re not playing with some patsy. He’s been through the rough stuff before. Give him the sodium Pentothal.”

  I thought now somebody would come in close enough for me to get a good look at them, but an oily smelling towel was tossed over my head, then somebody pulled my sleeve back. I felt the cold touch of an alcohol swab, then a needle went into my forearm.

  Again, reality drifted away. It took all my defenses with it and I could hear and speak and even see light through the worn towel. A little part of my brain told me if I fought real hard I could lie right through the truth serum, but then, why bother lying when telling the truth was so much fun?

  “Who is Penta?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is Penta now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When did you meet Penta?”

  “I never met Penta.”

  “Who is Penta?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The first voice said, “Let’s increase the dosage.” I felt the needle again. There was another long pause before the questions started. I gave them the same answers. It was almost a pleasure to be able to do it.

  Another needle, and this time they waited almost too long. The sleep was coming on me.

  The voice said, “I am Penta.”

  Only my brain made an idiotic grin. If I said he wasn‘t, it would mean I knew Penta.

  My tongue said, “Good for you.”

  “Do you work for Penta?”

  They were trying it again.

  “I work ... by myself.” The words didn’t come out easily at all.

  The raspy one said, “He’s going.”

  “Well, that’s it,” his partner told him.

  “You think he was faking it?”

  “I don’t know how he could.”

  Sounds were too faint now to register and I felt myself being jostled around, then the sleep came and the strange, fuzzy chemical dreams that had no direction or substance, shooting off into one area after another like a firefight pattern of tracer bullets gone wild.

  Awakening was in slow motion, one part at a time. I stayed immobile until I had things back in focus again, trying to remember what had preceded the odd stupor I was in. Then the mental door unlatched and it was all there, not totally clear, but discernible enough.

  The ropes holding me in the chair had been loosened, with just enough tension there to keep me from falling off the chair. I shook them loose, then leaned forward and stood up. I was shaky, so I didn’t move for a minute.

  No drugs were lousing me up now and I could see better in the light from that dull bulb than I could before. I was in some kind of a garage, the oil and grease smell thick, dull forms of heavy machinery on either side of me. On the floor, in front of my feet, was my hat. Next to it was my .45.

  Bending down was easy. Getting back up wasn’t. I put the .45 back in the holster and straightened out my hat.

  No, that wasn’t a mugging. That was as far away from a mugging as you could get. I still had my money in my wallet and when I looked at my watch it read four fifteen.

  A wide sliding door was on the other side of the light with a normal door built into it. I twisted the lock, pulled on the knob and went out to the street. A sign over the door read SMILEY’S AUTOMOTIVE in old hand-painted letters. I walked to the corner slowly, saw where I was, then crossed the street and went another long block to where the lights were, waited a good five minutes, then flagged down a taxi.

  The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “You okay, mac?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, just been one of those nights.” I gave him my address and closed
my eyes.

  Pat looked at me with total disgust and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Mike, what kind of clown crap you call this? You let ten hours go by before you give me the story of what happened. You think we wouldn’t have responded right away?”

  “They were pros.”

  “Pros can leave marks behind,” he reminded me.

  “What did you find?”

  “Okay, nothing of importance. The chair, ropes. Somebody spit blood on the floor. Type O positive.”

  “And that’s half the population,” I said. “At least there’s somebody with some teeth out of whack and another dude with a busted nose probably sporting a pair of beautiful black eyes right now. You get anything more from the owner?”

  “Zilch, that’s what. Smiley’s place has been in that spot for over twenty years. During the slow season he shuts down and heads for the tracks. Playing the ponies is his one vice.”

  “That’s not a great area to leave a business alone, buddy.”

  “What’s he got to steal? A couple of hydraulic presses for straightening car frames? What’re you getting at anyway?”

  “The guys who had me knew the place would be empty.”

  “Hell, there were two other places down the street that were empty too.” He stopped and breathed in deeply. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a broken nose or de-toothed slob who has grease marks on his shoe soles we can identify.”

  “Don’t bother. They would have thought of that too.”

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “Because I was beat. There wasn’t one damn thing I could have done.”

  “When those interns called 911 we had you ID’d in fifteen minutes. Every car in the city was scrounging around looking for you.”

  “How about the car they threw me into?”

  “A black Mercedes. Late model and nobody got the number. One intern said the right rear taillight was out. So far, we haven’t located it.”

  “So what are you all pissed off about?” I asked him. “I’m here, nothing’s happened and we know somebody else is looking for the Penta character too.”

  Pat took another of those comforting deep breaths, quieted down and then told me, “We have all the information on the late Anthony DiCica.”