The Tough Guys

by Mickey Spillane

  Around the bend ahead I stopped suddenly, cut the engine, and listened. Then I heard a door slam and knew Benny had picked up his passenger. Dari was watching me and I didn’t have to tell her what had just happened.

  Silently, her eyes dropped to the .45 on the seat, then came back to mine. She said, “You would have killed him, wouldn’t you?”

  “It would have been a pleasure,” I said.

  “It’s terrible,” she whispered.

  “Well, don’t let it snow you, kid. I may have to do it yet.”

  It was dark when we reached the hotel. The clerk waved Dari over and said, “Right after you left a call came in. Girl said she was Ruth Gleason. She sounded almost hysterical. I couldn’t make much out of it. She was crying and talking about needing somebody.”

  Dari’s face turned ashen. She turned to me, waiting. “You said you could reach Grace Shaefer,” I reminded her.

  Dari nodded.

  “See if she can meet us at Jimmie’s bar in an hour.”

  Ten minutes went by before the operator got my call through to Artie. As usual, we made idle talk before I gave him the plate numbers I had picked up on the mountain road. He grunted disgustedly when I told him I wanted it right away. This would take a little time, so I left the number of the hotel and said I’d stand by.

  I looked at my watch and told the clerk to put any calls through to me in Dari’s room.

  Dari’s room was on the ground floor at the end of the corridor. I knocked and heard her call for me to come in. I stood there a moment in the semidarkness of the small foyer and then, unlike her, turned the key in the lock. Inside I could hear her talking over the phone.

  She was curled up on the end of a studio couch, wrapped in a black and red mandarin robe that had a huge golden dragon embroidered on it. The fanged mouth was at her throat.

  She had a Mrs. Finney on the wire. Trying to conceal her annoyance, Dari said, “Well, when Grace does call, can you have her meet me at Jimmie’s in an hour? Tell her it’s very important. All right. Thanks, Mrs. Finney.”

  She hung up and grimaced. “She knows where Grace is, damn it.”

  “Why is it a secret?”

  “Because…” she gave me an impish grin, “Mrs. Finney’s rooming house is… a little more than a rooming house. During the summer, that is.”

  “Oh,” I said. “And she’s still loyal to her… clients?”

  “Something like that.”

  “The national pastime. No place is too big or too little for it. Any town, anyplace, and there’s always a Mrs. Finney. Do you think she’ll speak to Grace?”

  “She’ll be there.” She stood up, the satiny folds of the robe whipping around her until the golden dragon seemed almost alive.

  There is some crazy fascination about a big woman. And when I looked at her I knew that her love was my kind, greedy, wanting to have everything; violent, wanting to give everything. Her eyes seemed to slant up and the front of the robe followed the concavity of her belly as she sucked in her breath. Her breasts were high and firm, their movement making the dragon’s head move toward her throat hungrily.

  I held out my hand and without hesitation she took it. When I pulled her toward me she came effortlessly, sliding down beside me, leaning back against the cushions with eyes half-slitted to match those of the guardian golden dragon.

  My hands slid around her, feeling the heat of her body through the sheen of the satin. There was nothing soft about her. She was hard and vibrant, quivering under my touch and, although she was waiting, she was tensing to spring, too, and I could sense the flexing and rolling of the muscles at her stomach and across her back.

  Her fingertips were on me, touching with wary gentleness and having the knowledge of possession, but first exploring the fullness of something she now owned. One hand went behind my head, kneaded my neck, and the other guided my face to hers. No word was spoken. There was need for none. This was the now when everything was known and everything that was to be would be.

  She held me away an instant, searching my face, then, realizing how we both desperately hated the silent restraint, did as a woman might and licked my lips with her tongue until they were as wet as her own and with a startled cry let herself explode into a kiss with me that was a wild maelstrom of a minute that seemed to go on endlessly.

  My fingers bit into her wrists. “Now you know.”

  “Now I know,” she answered. “It never happened to me before, Kelly.”

  Dari raised my hands to her mouth, kissed the backs of my hands and smiled.

  “What do we do now?” she asked me.

  “We don’t throw this away, kid. It’s ours. We’ll take it right and keep it forever.”

  Slowly she uncoiled, stood in front of me and let all the love in her face tell me I had said what she wanted to hear but didn’t expect.

  She let me watch her, then laughed deep in her throat and said, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that you’re not wearing anything at all under that… geisha thing.”

  “You’re right,” she said.

  She let me look and hunger another moment, then fingered the clasp of the robe. She held each edge in her hand and threw her arms back slowly, unfolding the robe like immense, startlingly crimson wings, and stood outlined against them in sheer suntanned beauty highlighted by the mouth so red and hair so blonde.

  With another smile my Valkyrie turned and moved away slowly into the bedroom opposite, and behind me the phone rang so suddenly I jumped.

  The desk clerk said, “Mr. Smith, I have your New York call.”

  My tone stopped Artie’s usual kidding around.

  “Okay, buddy,” he said, “but you got yourself a mixed-up package. Two of those cars, a station wagon and a sedan, belong to businessmen who show clean all the way.”

  “Maybe, Art, but Harry Adrano was riding in the wagon and that boy’s been working with the happy dust.”

  “That one Cadillac is a rented car. The guy who signed out for it is a Walter Cramer nobody knows anything about, but the guy who paid the tab is something. He’s Sergei Rudinoff, a Soviet attaché who’s been in this country three months.”

  I thanked Art, hung up, and stared at the phone. The picture was coming through loud and clear.

  Dari took me out back to her car and handed me the keys.

  It was 8:30. Jimmie spotted us when we walked in and came down.

  “Grace Shaefer’s in the back. Said she’s waiting for you.”

  I grinned back and we headed for the back room.

  Grace Shaefer sat there nursing a highball. She was a wide-eyed brunette with a voluptuously full body in no way disguised by the black, low-cut dress. The white swell of her breasts was deliberately flaunted, the outline of her crossed legs purposely apparent. One time she had been beautiful, but now her beauty had gone down the channels of whoredom.

  “Hello, Dari. Who’s your big friend?”

  “This is Kelly Smith. How have you been, Grace?”

  Her smile was to me, a plain invitation, though she spoke to Dari. “I’ve been fine. Let’s say, I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Grace… are you going up on the hill this time?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, almost defiantly. “Why?”

  Before Dari could answer I said, “How thick are you involved, Grace?”

  “Say, look…”

  “You’re hooked, baby. You can get out of it if you want to.”

  There was genuine fear in her eyes. “I got the feeling you’re looking to get yourself killed,” she told me.

  “It’s been tried. Now… how about you? If you want, you can do me a favor up there.”

  When she answered I knew she had made up her mind. She said, “Smithy boy, like you know my kind, I know yours. Let’s not turn our backs on ourselves. The day I want to commit suicide I’ll do you a favor, otherwise from now on stay clear of me. That plain?”

  I nodded. But Grace wasn’t finished yet
. With that subtle intuition some people have, she knew what was between us and said to Dari, “I could do you a favor though, Dari. Mr. Simpson is having a party tonight. He could do with more girls. One thing a pretty bitch like you can be sure of, you’ll always be welcome up there. Just come willingly. Remember?”

  I grabbed Dari’s arm before she could hit her and with a deliberate smirk Grace tossed her furs over her shoulders and walked out.

  The outside door slammed open. The kid who came in was scared and out of breath. He gasped and said, “Mr. Smith…”

  Then I recognized him. Sonny Holmes, the one who braced Paley and Weaver in the bar over the Evans girl.

  “Mr. Smith… they’re looking for you. I’m telling you, they’re after you bad.”

  I grabbed his shoulder. “Who?”

  “Those two you fought with because of me. They were over at your hotel asking for you and the desk clerk said you’d be here.”

  “Those two don’t bother me.”

  “Maybe not them, but they went outside and talked to some others in a car. A Cadillac from the hill.”

  “Benny Quick spotted me. That little bastard finally got his memory back. Well, the next time I tag him he won’t have any memory left.” My voice came through my teeth.

  “Mr. Smith, you better get out of here.”

  Without knowing it, I had the .45 in my hand.

  “Look, kid, you take Miss Dahl out of here. Get in her car and make sure you’re not followed. Try to get to the police. You tell Cox his town is about to explode.”

  “No, Kelly…”

  “Don’t start bugging me now, Dari. Do what you’re told. This is my kind of business and I’ll take care of it my way.”

  She glanced at the gun. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Kelly… don’t let’s spoil it so quickly, please, Kelly.” She paused, her eyes wet. “You’ve been one of them. I think everybody knew it. You carry a gun… you’ve been shot… you’re here in the middle of all this. Run, darling… please. I don’t care what you were, don’t stay part of this or they’ll kill you!”

  “Not while I have a rod, kitten.”

  Her words sounded flat. “That’s just as bad, isn’t it?” she asked. “You kill them… and the law kills you.”

  I could feel the amazement in the short laugh I let out. I cut it off, grinned, and handed her the .45. “Okay, kitten, have it your way.”

  She dropped the gun in her pocket, went to kiss me, and then everything out in the bar went quiet. Before she could move, I shoved her in Sonny’s arms and whispered harshly, “Take her, damn it!”

  When the door closed behind them I turned, ran to the bank of windows at the side of the room, and felt for the catch. Slowly, a drop of sweat trickled down my back. The windows were the steel casement awning type and somebody had removed the crank handles. Another second and they’d be back here and there wasn’t time to break out.

  At the end of the room were the johns and on a sudden thought I turned into the one marked WOMEN. If they searched the place they’d go to the other one first instinctively. There was no lock on the outside door, but a waste basket fitted under the knob. Another couple of seconds maybe. The window there was the same as the others, steel casement with the handle gone. It was shoulder high and the opaque, wire-impregnated glass was practically unbreakable.

  Outside, I heard muffled voices. I cursed softly, fighting the stem of the window handle. It wouldn’t budge. I reached back, grabbed a handful of paper, and wrapped a section around the toothed edges. This time when I twisted, the stem gave a little. With exasperating slowness the window began to swing out. On the other side of the wall a heavy foot kicked the door open and somebody said, “Come on out of there!”

  If the men’s room was the same as this, they could see the shut window and know I didn’t go out it, but they couldn’t see into the closed toilet booth and would figure I was holed up there. I grinned, thinking that it was a hell of a place to be trapped.

  The window was out far enough then. I hauled myself up, squirmed through the opening as a hand tried the door.

  Under me was a driveway. One end was blocked by a building, the other was open into the lighted street. I ran toward the light and was a second too late because somebody cut the corner sharply and I could see the gun in his fist.

  But the edge was still mine. He had not yet adjusted to the deep black of the alley, and for me he was a lovely silhouette. He could hear my feet and raised the gun. Before he could pull the trigger I crossed one into his jaw that took bone and teeth with it and he hit the ground as if he were dead and I spilled on my face across him.

  The other guy was on top of me before I could get up. I dove for the gun the first guy had dropped, fumbled it, and the other one had me.

  He should have shot me and been done with it. Instead he cut loose with a running kick that seemed to splinter into my bad side like I had lain on a grenade. It was the amazing agony of the kick that saved me. I arched away from the next one with a tremendous burst of energy and my spasmodic kick spilled the guy on top of me.

  I had the other gun then. Grabbing it was instinctive. Slamming it against his ear was instinctive.

  Never before had the bulging fire in my side been like this, not even when it happened. I tried to wish myself unconscious… anything to get away from it. And instinctively I realized that the only thing that would stop it was up in my room at the hotel.

  Then it’s over and you don’t know how it happened. You don’t remember the route, the obstacles, the staircase. You can almost forget instinct as you open the door, then it’s there again, because the door should have been locked and you throw yourself on the floor as a little bright flash of light winks in the darkness. Getting the gun up is instinctive and as something tugs into the flesh of your upper arm you put out the light that has been trying to kill you.

  A few feet away something crumples to the floor and you get up, flip the switch, and see Benny Quick lying face up with a hole between his eyes.

  I didn’t waste time. I shook out six capsules and washed them down. For a minute I stood there, waiting for the relief to come. And gently it came, like a wave of soft warm water, so that once more I could think and act like a person instead of an instinct-led animal.

  They were looking for me on the street. They’d come here next to check with Benny. They’d find Benny dead and the big hunt would be on. My mind was fuzzy now. I shoved the gun under my belt, stuck Benny’s in my pocket, and got my hands under his arms. Benny had died quickly. A scatter rug covered the signs of his final exit and I dragged him outside, closing the door after me.

  I could think of only one place to put him. I got him down the back stairs and around the corner to the door of Dari’s room. I dragged the body in and dumped it on the floor because it was as far as I could go with it.

  Across the room a girl was trying to scream. She watched me with eyes so black they seemed unreal and when she got done trying to scream she collapsed on the floor.

  The girl began to sob. I knew who she was. Tentatively, I said, “Ruth? Ruth Gleason?”

  She seemed to realize that I wouldn’t hurt her. The glazed look left her eyes and she got her feet under her. “Y-yes.”

  “Dari… have you seen Dari?”

  “No… I tried to… I waited…”

  Think, I thought, damn it, THINK!

  The Holmes kid would have taken her somewhere. Dr. McKeever had the Evans girl at his wife’s sister’s place. The kid would go there.

  “Would you know Dr. McKeever’s wife… or her sister?” I asked.

  For a second Ruth Gleason stopped being scared and bobbed her head, puzzled. “Her sister is Emma Cox… Captain Cox’s wife. They… don’t live together anymore.”

  “Can you drive?”

  She nodded again. I reached in my pocket and threw her the truck keys. “Willie Elkin’s truck. It’s out back. You call Doctor McKeever and tell him to meet us at his sister’s. You’ll have to drive.”


  I could hear her voice but couldn’t concentrate on it. I felt her hand on my arm and knew I was in the truck. I could smell the night air and sometimes think and cursed myself mentally for having gone overboard with those damned capsules.

  Time had no meaning at all. I heard Dr. McKeever and Dari and felt hands in the hole in my side and knew pieces of flesh were being cut away from the hole in my arm. There was Dari crying and the Gleason girl screaming.

  All she could say was, “You’re a doctor, give it to me, please. You have to! Oh, please… I’ll do anything… please!”

  Dari said, “Can you…?”

  There were other voices and McKeever finally said, “It’ll help. Not much, but it will quiet her.”

  “And Kelly?” she asked.

  “He’ll be all right. I’ll have to report this gunshot wound.”

  “No.” There was a soft final note in her voice. “He has to get away.”

  Ruth Gleason was crying out for Lennie to please come get her.

  The pain-killing fog I was wrapped in detached me from the scene then.

  “You’ve been withdrawing, haven’t you, Ruth?” Dr. McKeever asked.

  Her voice was resigned. “I didn’t want to. Lennie… took it away. He wanted to… get rid of me.”

  After a moment McKeever continued, “When did it start, Ruth?”

  Her voice sounded real distant. “On the hill. Flori and I… went there. Flori needed the money… her father…”

  “Yes, I know about that. What about you?”

  “A man… before Lennie. We met downtown and he… invited me. It sounded like fun. He gave me some pot.”

  Dari said, “What?”

  “Marihuana,” the doctor told her. “Then what, Ruth?”

  “Later we popped one. For kicks. Week later.”

  “Flori, too?”

  Ruth giggled. “Sure,” she said, “everybody. It was fun. We danced. Nude, you know? No clothes. Mr. Simpson came in and watched. He gave me five hundred dollars, can you imagine? Flori too. And that was only the first time. Oh, we did lots of dances. We wore costumes for Mr. Simpson and we made his friends laugh and we…”