Mike Hammer 09 - The Twisted Thing

by Mickey Spillane

  Chapter Three

  I came back together like a squadron of flak-eaten bombers re-forming. I heard the din of their motors, a deafening, pulsating roar that grew louder and louder. Pieces of their skin, fragments of their armor drifted to earth and imbedded themselves in my flesh until I thought I was on fire.

  Bombs thudded into the earth and threw great flashes of flame into my face and rocked my body back and forth, back and forth. I opened my eyes with an effort. It was the kid shaking me. "Mister. Can you get up? They all ran away looking for me. If you don't get up they'll be back and find us. Hurry, please hurry." I tried to stand up, but I didn't do too good a job. Ruston York got his arms around me and boosted. Between the two of us I got my feet in position where I could shove with my legs and raise myself. He still had on my coat, but that was all. I patted his shoulder. "Thanks, kid. Thanks a lot." It was enough talk for a while. He steered me outside and up into the bushes along the trees where we melted into the darkness. The sand muffled our footsteps well. For once I was grateful for the steady drip of rain from the trees; it covered any other noises we made. "I found your gun on the floor. Here, do you want it?" He held the .45 out gingerly by the handle. I took it in a shaking hand and stowed it in the holster. "I think you shot somebody. There's an awful lot of blood by the door." "Maybe it's mine," I grunted. "No, I don't think so. It's on the wall, too, and there's a big hole in the wall where it looks like a bullet went through." I prayed that he was right. Right now I half-hoped they'd show again so I could have a chance to really place a few where they'd hurt. I don't know how long it took to reach the car, but it seemed like hours. Every once in a while I thought I could discern shouts and guarded words of caution. By the time Ruston helped slide me under the wheel I felt as though I had been on the Death March. We sat there in silence a few moments while I fumbled for a cigarette. The first drag was worth a million dollars. "There's a robe in the back," I told the kid. He knelt on the seat, got it and draped it over his legs. "What happened?" "Gosh, mister, I hardly know. When you pushed me away I ran out the door. The man I think you shot nearly grabbed me, but he didn't. I hid behind the door for a while. They must have thought I ran off because when they followed me out one man told the others to scatter and search the beach, then he went away too. That's when I came in and got you." I turned the key and reached for the starter. It hurt. ""Before that. What happened then?" "You mean the other night?" "Yeah." "Well, I woke up when the door opened. I thought maybe it was Miss Malcom. She always looks in before she goes to bed, but it wasn't her. It was a man. I wanted to ask him who he was when he hit me. Right here." Ruston rubbed the top of his head and winced. "Which door did he come in?' "The one off the hall, I think. I was pretty sleepy." Cute. Someone sneaks past the guard at the gate, through a houseful of people and puts the slug on the kid and walks off with him. "Go on." While he spoke I let in the clutch and swung around, then headed the car toward the estate. "I woke up in a boat. They had me in a little room and the door was locked. I could hear the men talking in the stern and one called the man who was steering, Mallory. That's the only time I heard a name at all." The name didn't strike any responsive chord as far as I was concerned, so I let him continue. "Then I picked the lock and..." "Wait a second, son." I looked at him hard. "Say that again." "I picked the lock. Why?" "Just like that you picked the lock. No trouble to it or anything?" "Uh-uh." He flashed a boyish grin at me, shyly. "I learned all about locks when I was little. This one was just a plain lock." He _must_ be a genius. It takes me an hour with respectable burglar tools to open a closet door. "...and as soon as I got out I opened a little hatch and crawled up on the deck. I saw the lights from shore and jumped overboard. Boy, was that water cold. They never even heard me at all. I nearly made it at that. After I jumped the boat kept right on going and disappeared, but I guess they found the door open down below. I should have locked it again but I was sort of scared and forgot. Just when I got up on the shore some man came running at me and they had me again. He said he'd figured I'd head for the lights, then he slapped me. He was waiting for the others to come and he made me go into the shack with him. Seems like they tied up in the cove and had to wait awhile before they could take me back to the boat. "He had a bottle and started drinking from it, and pretty soon he was almost asleep. I waited until he was sort of dopey then threw my pajama pants out the window with a rock in them hoping someone would find them. He never noticed what I did. But he did know he was getting drunk, and he didn't have any more in the bottle. He hit me a few times and I tried to get away. Then he really gave it to me. When he got done he took some rope and tied me up and went down the beach after the others. That was when you came in." "And I went out," I added. "Gee, mister, I hope you didn't get hurt too badly." His face was anxious, truly anxious. It's been a long time since someone worried about me getting hurt. I ran my fingers through his hair and shook his head gently. "It isn't too bad, kid," I said. He grinned again, pulled the robe tighter and moved closer to me. Every few seconds he'd throw me a searching glance, half curious, half serious. "What's your name?" "Mike Hammer." "Why do you carry a gun?" "I'm a detective, Ruston. A private detective." A sigh of relief escaped him. He probably figured me for one of the mob who didn't like the game, I guess. "How did you happen to find me?" "I was looking for you." "I'm...I'm glad it was you, Mr. Hammer, and not some body else. I don't think anyone would have been brave enough to do what you did." I laughed at that. He was a good kid. If any bravery was involved he had it all. Coming back in after me took plenty of nerve. I told him so, but he chuckled and blushed. Damn, you couldn't help but like him. In spite of a face full of bruises and all the hell he had been through he could still smile. He sat there beside me completely at ease, watching me; out of the corner of his eye as though I was a tin god or something. For a change some of the lights were off in the house. Henry, the gatekeeper, poked a flashlight in the car and his mouth fell open. All, he got out was, "M...Master Ruston!" "Yeah, it's him. Open the gates." He pulled a bar at the side and the iron grillwork rolled back. I pushed the buggy through, but by the time I reached the house Henry's call had the whole family waiting on the porch. York didn't even wait until I stopped. He yanked the door open and reached for his son. Ruston's arms went around his neck and he kept repeating, "Dad...Dad." I wormed out of the car and limped around to the other side. The family was shooting questions at the kid a mile a minute and completely ignored me, not that it mattered. I shoved them aside and took York by the arm. "Get the kid in the house and away from this mob. He's had enough excitement for a while." The scientist nodded. Ruston said, "I can walk, Dad." He held the robe around himself and we went in together. Before the others could follow, York turned. "If you don't mind, please go to your rooms. You will hear what happened in the morning." There was no disputing who was master in that house. They looked at one another then slouched off in a huff. I drew a few nasty looks myself. I slammed the door on the whole pack of them and started for the living room, but Harvey interrupted me en route. Having once disrupted his composure, events weren't likely to do it a second time. When he handed me the tray with the diagram of the bedroom layout neatly worked up he was the perfect flunky. "The guest plan, sir," he said. "I trust it is satisfactory?" I took it without looking at it and thanked him, then stuck it in my pocket. York was in an anteroom with his son. The kid was stretched out on a table while his father went over each bruise carefully, searching for abrasions. Those he daubed with antiseptic and applied small bandages. This done he began a thorough examination in the most professional manner. When he finished I asked, "How is he?" "All right, apparently," he answered, "but it will be difficult to tell for a few days. I'm going to put him to bed now. His physical condition has always been wonderful, thank goodness." He wrapped Ruston in a robe and rang for Harvey. I picked up the wreckage that was my coat and slipped into it. The butler came in and at York's direction, picked the kid up and they left the room. On the way out Ruston smiled a good-night at me over the bu
tler's shoulder. York was back in five minutes. Without a word he pointed at the table and I climbed on. By the time he finished with me I felt like I had been in a battle all over again. The open cuts on my face and back stung from iodine, and with a few layers of six-inch tape around my ribs I could hardly breathe. He told me to get up in a voice shaky from suppressed emotion, swallowed a tablet from a bottle in his kit and sat down in a cold sweat. When I finished getting dressed I said, "Don't you think you ought to climb into the sack yourself? It's nearly daybreak." He shook his head. "No. I want to hear about it. Everything. Please, if you don't mind...the living room." We went in and sat down together. While I ran over the story he poured me a stiff shot of brandy and I put it away neat. "I don't understand it. Mr. Hammer...it is beyond me." "I know. It doesn't seem civilized, does it?" "Hardly." He got up and walked over to a Sheraton secretary, opened it and took out a book. He wrote briefly and returned waving ten thousand dollars in my face. "Your fee, Mr. Hammer. I scarcely need say how grateful I am." I tried not to look too eager when I took that check, but ten G's is ten G's. As unconcernedly as I could, I shoved it in my wallet. "Of course, I suppose you want me to put a report in to the state police," I remarked. "They ought to be able to tie into that crew, especially with the boat. A thing like that can't be hidden very easily." "Yes, yes, they will have to be apprehended. I can't imagine why they chose to abduct Ruston. It's incredible." "You are rich, Mr. York. That is the primary reason." "Yes. Wealth does bring disadvantages sometimes, though I have tried to guard against it." I stood up. "I'll call them then. We have one lead that might mean something. One of the kidnappers was called Mallory. Your boy brought that up." "What did you say?" I repeated it. His voice was barely audible. "Mallory...No!" As if in a trance he hurried to the side of the fireplace. A pressure on some concealed spring-activated hidden mechanism and the side swung outward. He thrust his hand into the opening. Even at this distance I could see him pale. He withdrew his hand empty. A muscular spasm racked his body. He pressed his hands against his chest and sagged forward. I ran over and eased him into a chair. "Vest...pocket." I poked my fingers under his coat and brought out a small envelope of capsules. York picked one out with trembling fingers and put it on his tongue. He swallowed it, stared blankly at the wall. Very slowly a line of muscles along his jaw hardened into knots, his lips curled back in an animal-like snarl. "The bitch," he said, "the dirty man-hating bitch has sold me out." "Who, Mr. York? Who was it?" He suddenly became aware of me standing there. The snarl faded. A hunted-quarry look replaced it. "I said nothing, you understand? Nothing." I dropped my hand from his shoulder. I was starting to get a dirty taste in my mouth again. "Go to hell," I said, "I'm going to report it." "You wouldn't dare!" "Wouldn't I? York, old boy, that son of yours pulled me out of a nasty mess. I like him. You hear that? I like him more than I do a lot of people. If you want to expose him to more danger that's your affair, but I'm not going to have it." "No...that's not it. This can't be made public." "Listen, York, why don't you stow that publicity stuff and think of your kid for a change? Keep this under your hat and you'll invite another snatch and maybe you won't be so lucky. Especially," I added, "since somebody in your household has sold you out." York shuddered from head to foot. "Who was it, York? Who's got the bull on you?" "I...have nothing to say." "No? Who else knows you're counting your hours because of those radiation burns? What's going to happen to the kid when you kick off?" That did it. He turned a sick color. "How did you find out about that?" "It doesn't matter. If I know it others probably do. You still didn't tell me who's putting the squeeze on you." "Sit down, Mr. Hammer. Please." I pulled up a chair and parked. "Could I," he began, "retain you as sort of a guardian instead of reporting this incident? It would be much simpler for me. You see, there are certain scientific aspects of my son's training that you, as a layman, would not understand, but if brought to light under the merciless scrutiny of the newspapers and a police investigation might completely ruin the chances of a successful result. "I'm not asking you to understand, I'm merely asking that you cooperate. You will be well paid, I assure you. I realize that my son is in danger, but it will be better if we can repel any danger rather than prevent it at its source. Will you do this for me?" Very deliberately I leaned back in my chair and thought it over. Something stunk. It smelled like Rudolph York. But I still owed the kid a debt. "I'll take it, York, but if there's going to be trouble I'd like to know where it will come from. Who's the man-hating turnip that has you in a brace?" His lips tightened. "I'm afraid I cannot reveal that, either. You need not do any investigating. Simply protect my interests, and my son." "Okay," I said as I rose. "Have it your own way. I'll play dummy. But right now I'm going to beat the sheet. It's been a tough day. You'd better hit it yourself." "I'll call Harvey." "Never mind, I'll find it." I walked out. In the foyer I pulled the diagram out of my pocket and checked it. The directions were clear enough. I went upstairs, turned left at the landing and followed the hand-carved balustrade to the other side. My room was next to last and my name was on white cardboard, neatly typed, and framed in a small brass holder on the door. I turned the knob, reached for the light and flicked it on. "You took long enough getting here." I grinned. I wondered what Alice Nichols had used as a bribe to get Harvey to put me in next to her. "Hello, kitten." Alice smiled through a cloud of smoke. "You were better looking the last time I saw you." "So? Do I need a shave?" "You need a new face. But I'll take you like you are." She shrugged her shoulders and the spider web of a negligee fell down to her waist. What she had on under it wasn't worth mentioning. It looked like spun moonbeams with a weave as big as chicken wire. "Let's go to bed." "Scram, kitten. Get back in your own hive." "That's a corny line, Mike, don't play hard to get." I started to climb out of my clothes. "It's not a line, kitten, I'm beat." "Not that much." I draped my shirt and pants over the back of the chair and flopped in the sack. Alice stood up slowly. No, that's not the word. It was more like a low-pressure spring unwinding. The negligee was all the way off now. She was a concert of savage beauty. "Still tired?" "Turn off the light when you go out, honey." Before I rolled over she gave me a malicious grin. It told me that there were other nights. The lights went out. Before I corked off one thought hit me. It couldn't have been Alice Nichols he had meant when he called some babe a man-hating bitch. Going to sleep with a thought like that is a funny thing. It sticks with you. I could see Alice over and over again, getting up out of that chair and walking across the room, only this time she didn't even wear moonbeams. Her body was lithe, seductive. She did a little dance. Then someone else came into my dream, too. Another dame. This one was familiar, but I couldn't place her. She did a dance too, but a different kind. There was none of that animal grace, no fluid motion. She took off her clothes and moved about stiffly, ill at ease. The two of them started dancing together, stark naked, and this new one was leading. They came closer, the mist about their faces parted and I got a fleeting glimpse of the one I couldn't see before. I sat bolt upright in bed. No wonder Miss Grange did things that bothered me. It wasn't the woman I recognized in her apartment, it was her motions. Even to striking a match toward her the way a man would. Sure, she'd be a man-hater, why not? She was a Lesbian. "Damn!" I hopped out of bed and climbed into my pants. I picked out York's room from the diagram and tiptoed to the other side of the house. His door was partly opened. I tapped gently. No answer. I went in and felt for the switch. Light flooded the room, but it didn't do me any good. York's bed had never been slept in. One drawer of his desk was half-open and the contents pushed aside. I looked at the oil blot on the bottom of the drawer. I didn't need a second look at the hastily opened box of .32 cartridges to tell me what had been in there. York was out to do murder. Time, time, there wasn't enough of it. I finished dressing on the way out. If anyone heard the door slam after me or the motor start up they didn't care much. No lights came on at all. I slowed up by the gates, but they were gaping open. From inside the house I could hear a steady snore. Henry was a fine gatekeeper.
I didn't know how much of a lead he had. Sometime hours ago my watch had stopped and I didn't reset it. It could have been too long ago. The night was fast fading away. I don't think I had been in bed a full hour. On that race to town I didn't pass a car. The lights of the kid's filling station showed briefly and swept by. The unlit head lamps of parked cars glared in the reflection of my own brights and went back to sleep. I pulled in behind a line of cars outside the Glenwood Apartments, switched off the engine and climbed out. There wasn't a sign of life anywhere. When this town went to bed it did a good job. It was one time I couldn't ring doorbells to get in. If Ruston had been with me it wouldn't have taken so long; the set of skeleton keys I had didn't come up with the right answer until I tried two dozen of them. The .45 was in my fist. I flicked the safety off as I ran up the stairs. Miss Grange's door was closed, but it wasn't locked; it gave when I turned the knob. No light flared out the door when I kicked it open. No sound broke the funeral quiet of the hall. I stepped in and eased the door shut behind me. Very slowly I bent down and unlaced my shoes, then put them beside the wall. There was no sense sending in an invitation. With my hand I felt along the wall until I came to the end of the hall. A switch was to the right. Cautiously, I reached around and threw it up, ready for anything. I needn't have been so quiet. Nobody would have yelled. I found York, all right. He sat there grinning at me like a blooming idiot with the top of his head holding up a meat cleaver.