Killer Mine

by Mickey Spillane

  “Swing me, copper. I’m waiting to hear the pitch.”

  “Let’s start with René Mills.”

  She shrugged elaborately and took a pull from the can of beer. “He’s dead. What else?”

  “Why, Rose?”

  “I can think of a hundred reasons. Somebody beat me to it. Kitty too. Hell, she pulled out before René was knocked off. I thought she was dumber’n me, but she saw the signs, she did. She knew what was coming and cut out before she was told to.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Jersey City. She left yesterday. Her old man let her go back to work for him in a factory. She won’t like it.”

  “And how about you?”

  “What the hell do you care?”

  “I don’t”

  “So why the action?” she asked.

  “René Mills,” I repeated.

  “You seem to know the score. Where do I come in? So I’m puttin’ out for cash, man. It ain’t the best, but it’ll do until something better shows.” She lost her hate for a second and stared at the ceiling. “Would you believe it, I used to be big time. Miami, then, and that was only four years ago. I was seventeen and rolling in the long green. Man, what days.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got clapped up and handed it out, and like that I was out. Two trips to the medic and I was okay, but the curse was there, man. So what’s new?”

  “Get back to René Mills.”

  She made a face and finished the beer. “He took me on. Me and Kitty. We was broke, willing and able. The trade was lousy compared to the other, but that’s the breaks. He set up the scene, we split fifty-fifty only we paid all the bills.” She gave another of those resigned shrugs and said, “We made out”

  “Why’d he drop you then?”

  “Went big time… like ha ha. He always had ideas and they got him dead. So this time he tells us to get lost, lays on a hundred bucks apiece when he’s all grins and new shoes with that watch back on his wrist he stole from some guy in a bar and hocked… got eighty bucks for it from Norman at the hockshop, so it was worth plenty.”

  “How, Rose?”

  “Who knows, copper? You think he’d spill? Hell, he booted Noisy Stuccio out of his pad a week before, and you know how close they were. Sure, old René had somethin’ going for him all the way.”

  “And what would you say it was?”

  She reached back over her shoulder, opened the small refrigerator and took out another bottle of beer. She didn’t offer me one. When she jacked the top off she said, “It was fresh money he didn’t expect. It came sudden like, but I’ll tell you this… he couldn’t get his hands on all of it. What he had was plenty, but not the large stuff. He liked to talk big, and kept hinting at what he was going to come into, but I knew that slob too damn well. He was thinking and working on something he didn’t have but sure damn well expected to get one way or another. That bastard wouldn’t let a penny get past him if he could help it”

  “Who supplied it?”

  “What’s it get me, copper?” She eyed me curiously, waiting for my answer.

  “Ask,” I said.

  She started to speak, stopped and gave me one more of those shrugs and went back to her beer.

  “I can give you advice,” I said.

  “Screw your advice,” she told me coldly. “No advice from a cop.”

  “I got a friend who makes pictures. We were in the war together. He might be able to use your type if you have the guts to try. Maybe it won’t work, but I can always ask.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  I was starting to feel like a damn dogooder and didn’t like it. Thirty days in the can would probably make more of an impression, but she was from the place I grew up and couldn’t get out and I knew what she felt like.

  Rose looked at me, the beer motionless in her hand. “You mean it, don’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “What’s this world coming to?” she said. “So I’ve tried everything, why not advice from a cop?” The hardness washed out of her eyes and the expression turned serious. “René had somebody stashed in his apartment. Somebody he knew.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because he was buying groceries for two, that’s why. I saw him at the deli, old Pops mentioned it and once I saw the laundry he brought into the laundromat. He bought booze he’d never buy for himself and he had those allover smiles he never had when times was hard.”

  “Who, Rose?”

  “I never inquired. If I did it would mean a belt in the mouth and I had enough of that, and in my business that would be…”

  “Disastrous,” I supplied. “Yeah.”

  I got up and pushed the chair back where it was. “I’ll make that call for you. Take it.”

  “Okay, copper,” she said. She lifted the bottle to her lips, sipped at it without taking her eyes from mine, then put it down and smiled. “And you know what? I’ll make it, too.” When I agreed with a little grin she said, “Watch out for that Al Reese. He had the bull on René and was pushing him. You’re the copper I’ve been hearing about, aren’t you?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then watch him. He knew René had dough coming. I saw them arguing one day and it was all on Al’s side. He had René pinned because of something he knew René did, like he does with everybody else, and held it over his head. When René started flashing that cabbage, Al was there, so he put things together and put the squeeze on him. Don’t play that fat boy down, copper. He’s just a precinct captain around here, but dig his place on the Sound and that boat he has and the broads he pays for and you’ll see more. The tax people ought to do him like they did Capone. Where he lives here is only for show to get the votes for the party like he’s one of the boys, but he’s a power, man, a big power.”

  “I’ll watch him,” I said.

  “He’s smart.”

  “So am I.”

  “He’s tough.”

  “I’m a helluva lot tougher, sugar.”

  “But he knows more about René and that’s what you’re interested in, isn’t it?”

  “You’re on the ball.”

  “I like you, copper. You’re welcome to stay a while if you want.”

  For fun I winked like maybe I’d be back, but we both knew what it meant. Twice now I’d been invited to a bed party free by a couple of pros who could make it interesting and twice I kissed off the deal. Too much training, I thought. Too many Army VD films.

  Hell, that wasn’t the reason. It was that damn Marty. I kept thinking about her.

  The late-afternoon shift was just beginning to drift into Donavan’s place when I got there. This was the straight bunch, the guys still in work clothes carrying lunch pails, having a drink before they had to breech the fortresses of their own homes. The bartender caught my entry and tried to pass the word, but I stopped him with a single look and went back to where Donavan was sitting behind a paper and pulled it away from his face.

  “Al Reese,” I said. “Where is he?”

  His tone was bland, but forced. “He ain’t been in.”

  All I had to do was start that damn vicious grin again.

  “Try Bunny’s,” he said in a hurry. He covered his fright by looking at his watch. “He don’t generally come over here until six.”

  I said, “You make a call, Donavan, you put the word out and I’ll smear you all over your own joint. You got that?”

  “Listen, Scanlon…”

  Tough guys I didn’t like. I just grinned again, and he got the message. Whatever he saw in my face scared the crap out of him. “Look… I got my own business…”

  I didn’t bother to hear him out.

  Bunny’s was a fag joint around the bend. Hell, you’ve probably read about it a dozen times if you keep up with the columns. At night a cop is stationed outside and a cruiser goes by every ten minutes looking for trouble. It was an old place and back when Prohibition was still in effect and the stage door Johnnies we
re still escorting the chorus babes around as status symbols and it was a genuine saloon, Larry and I were making bucks for eating money holding open car doors for the tux crowd and sometimes steering the lonelies to spots where exciting company could be found in a hurry.

  Now it was changed, the exterior was gaudy, the canopy and doorman expensive, the line of taxis unusually long for this area at this time, but the reason plain… it was the convention season, and the out-of-towners wanted a peek at New York in the rough.

  I could still feel Larry at my side, laughing at the suckers, knowing what marks they’d be when a forlorn lad was out for a favor and a broad watching to see how expansive her date would be. Hell, that was how he got his loot to go watch all the Tom Mix shows.

  Chief Crazy Horse, I kept thinking. Miss you, boy. Of all that big family we had, I miss you the most. One lousy war and a missing in action notification telegram busts us up.

  You didn’t miss a thing, Larry. The world went wild after you left. Most of the bunch are dead. Some died with you… some the hard way. Some are still waiting to die. The rest just waiting.

  I went inside.

  Al Reese was at the bar, his bulk taking up a corner of it Loefert was two stools down with a pretty, but hard-looking B girl beside him, and next to her Will Fater and Steve Lutz were sipping drinks without talking, satisfied with watching their reflections in the back bar mirror.

  It was going to be a fun evening. And the night hadn’t even begun.

  When I tapped him on the shoulder he turned around, annoyed at the interruption, his chunky jowls ready to chop into me with a wise remark, then all at once he went white.

  Everybody was looking when I said, “On the wall, fatty. Hands out, feet back and apart and make a move I don’t like and you’ll catch one.” I let them see the rod in the Weber rig and whatever my face said, they knew I wasn’t kidding. To insure the deal I nodded to Loefert, Fater and Lutz to join him and without a word they took the position. Hell, I knew they’d all be clean, but when you roust you roust and you don’t give a damn. Tomorrow all hell would break loose at HQ when Reese put the squeal in, but right then I was enjoying myself. The customers had a treat, the hired help had a laugh and Al Reese damn near had a stroke when I finally got them patted down, identified and let them go back to their seats. For the others it was an old routine, but for Reese, it was strictly a new experience.

  To add to it, I shoved him in the corner and made it quick. I made it loud enough so the bartender would hear it and let it go out on that grapevine that was faster than Western Union and said, “Fat boy… there’s a girl named Paula Lees that you lay off.” I looked over at Loefert and knew he was listening to every word. “If you… or anybody… bothers her I’ll take your ears off. Now I’m not speaking figuratively. I mean take your ears off. One day see Fuchie. Remember him? Remember that goatee he had? Know what his chin looks like now? I did that, fat boy, and the same I’ll do to your ears. Yell all you want and it’ll be like old times in the Tombs with the rubber hose and the hard cell. Think we can’t do it that way now and you aren’t thinking straight.”

  I gave Al Reese one hard shot in the kidneys with my fist to punctuate the argument and all the breath went out of him in a long sigh and Loefert turned eyes of pure hate my way while the others played it cool and just looked away.

  But they got the message.

  Paula Lees got her freedom.

  It was that easy. So far.

  I was a cop coming home to his old turf who didn’t like what he saw and decided to clean it up. I could hit the punks and take care of the unfortunate. Word would go out and maybe talking to them would be easier. Maybe.

  At six I knocked at Marty’s door and heard her run across the room to answer it. She had changed into a skirt and blouse, let her hair down, and the welcome home smile she gave me sent that feeling back into my stomach again. I could smell the coffee and hear chops sizzling in the kitchen and went in licking my lips.

  “Hungry, Joe?” She saw my expression and added, “Don’t answer that,” with an even bigger smile. “Grab a beer out of the fridge. Everything’ll be ready in a minute.”

  Damn, my place was never like this.

  We ate with a peculiar intimacy neither of us wanted to mention, but it hung in the air like a wild perfume. We talked about little things, both of us prolonging the moments we had until it came to an end over coffee. Marty poured a second cup and said, “The boys will kick you out of the club if they know you’ve been consorting with girls.”

  “No more. Most of them are dead.”

  “Strange, isn’t it?” She put the pot back on the stove and sat down. “Time goes so fast. I can remember chasing you and Larry, trying to get into the game… you sending me on stupid errands so I’d get lost or Larry making like he was going to scalp me with that tomahawk…”

  “I was thinking of him before,” I said.

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “We were pretty close. We were those kind of brothers.” I shrugged. “Life, kid.”

  “I know.”

  It had to end sooner or later so I said, “Finish your check today?”

  She regretted the sudden switch as much as I did and nodded ruefully, her attitude suddenly professional. “Verbal?”

  “That’ll do.”

  “Murphy had the most to contribute,” she told me. “He has some people inside their ranks and the word is that there is something hot brewing. The top men are pretty disturbed about something and have been doing a lot of traveling between New York and Chicago. Looked like a high-level series of meetings. There is a definite connection with the mob here and upstate… they’re looking out for Gus Wilder, all right, but that factor isn’t of prime importance. It’s something else… and that nobody is talking about.”

  “Still leaves us guessing,” I said.

  “Not quite. Orders that came from one of those meetings directed Loefert, Fater and Steve Lutz into this area. We concentrate on them, and we might find out something.”

  “Those guys don’t break very easily,” I reminded her.

  “Somewhere, they always have a chink in the armor, don’t they?”

  “Always,” I grinned. She was beginning to think like a beat cop now and not a social worker.

  “Then how do we start?”

  “With the first kills. It’s a homicide case, baby.”

  “Until now nobody’s talked. Nobody saw anything.”

  “I’m glad you’re so damn confident.”

  “Kitten, I’ve been at this job a long time,” I said. “There are times when they get ready. All you have to do is prod them a little.”

  “Okay then, ugly, I’m ready whenever you are,” she laughed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE supper crowd had left Tony’s Pizza when we got there. One couple was at the small bar, and two tables were occupied. Fat Mary was busy forcing another helping on one pair and Tony was behind the bar listening to a small transistor radio. Marty and I climbed on the stools and Tony saw us and came over grinning, the first time I saw him smile in a long time. He said hello in his rich Neapolitan accent and drew two beers automatically.

  “You do nice thing for those girls, Joe,” he told me. “I see them, they very glad. Terrible a woman should be on the streets and pushed around. Terrible.”

  “They should have kept their mouths shut or people will think the cops are getting soft.”

  “Ah, no. It is not like you think.” He gave us a knowing glance then. “Now you two, you belong here. Good maybe that you come back, Joe. Things are bad here, very bad.”

  “Those killings?”

  Tony nodded vigorously. “Very bad, that.”

  “It’s another department and I’m off duty. The hell with it.”

  His face pulled itself into a seamy, concerned frown. “Who cares about here, Joe? The cops? They don’t care. Somebody dies, so what?” He leaned forward confidentially. “That killer, he’s still here. He can kill a
nybody.”

  “What can I do, Tony? Hell, I knew all the guys who got knocked off. I went to school with “em.”

  Tony gave me a typical shrug. “So they’re no good, well okay. But still good people here, you can bet. You oughta know. Plenty good people. They’re scared, that’s what.”

  “You scared?”

  “Sure. I was scared of that stupid René Mills. I’m scared of everybody like them.”

  I kept my voice down. “What was with him, Tony? He was flashing money around and it was more than he ever had before. René never had the brains to set up a heist and nobody was going to just give it to him. He was a low-type punk.”

  Tony let his eyes rove around the place before he answered. “You know what I think? He had something on somebody. He was expectin’ plenty money soon. He had it all set.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Better’n that even. I tell you somethin’, Joe. That René, he stays up all night watching that damn TV or playing cards. Always like that. Never his light go off like he’s scared of the dark. Then alla sudden he got them lights out right after it gets dark. He comes down and goes up, but never a light goes on and when it does the shade is down like never before. He got somebody up there with him.”

  “Hiding him out?”

  I got another big shrug that lasted three seconds. “Who knows?”

  “Doesn’t sound reasonable, Tony. Who the hell would trust René Mills?”

  Tony gave me a face full of fat lip. “Suppose there’s nobody else he can go to?”

  “It wouldn’t be René Mills, buddy.”

  “For whoever it was, he kicked Noisy Stuccio out, didn’t he? René, he wouldn’t give a pork chop to his own mother if she didn’t pay. So Noisy paid him, then gets the boot. Noisy was pretty damn mad. Plenty years he live with René and pays most the bills ’cause he’s scared of René. Then the boot. How about that?”

  “How about that?” I repeated. “René still feeling pretty high when he got killed?”