Vengeance Is Mine mh-3

by Mickey Spillane

  There had been enough words. Now the fun ought to start.

  Chapter Eight

  I was in bed when Joe called. The alarm had been set for eleven-thirty and was five minutes short of going off. I drawled a sleepy hello and Joe told me to wake up and listen.

  “I’m awake,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Don’t ask me how I got this stuff. I had to do some tall conniving but I got it. Emil Perry has several business accounts, a checking account for his wife and a large personal savings account. All of them except his own personal account were pretty much in order. Six months ago he made a cash withdrawal of five thousand bucks. That was the first. It’s happened every other month since then, and yesterday he withdrew all but a few hundred. The total he took out in cash was an even twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Where did it go?”

  “Getting a line on his personal affairs wasn’t as easy as I thought. Item one, he has a wife and family he loves almost as much as his standing in the community. Item two, he likes to play around with the ladies. Item three, put item one and two together and what do you have?”

  “Blackmail,” I said. “All the setup for blackmail. Is that all?”

  “As much as I had time for. Now, if there’s nothing else on your mind and I hope there isn’t, I’ll be seeing you never again.”

  “You’re a real pal, Joe. Thanks a million.”

  “Don’t do me any more favors, Mike, hear?”

  “Yeah, I hear. Thanks again.”

  There was too much going on in my head to stay in bed. I crawled under the shower and let it bite into my skin. When I dried off I shaved, brushed my teeth and went out and had breakfast. Fat little Emil scared to death of Rainey. Fat little Emil making regular and large withdrawals from the bank. A good combination. Rainey had to get dough enough to throw in the kitty to build that arena someway.

  I looked out the window at the gray sky that still had a lot of snow in it, thinking that it was only the beginning. If what I had in mind worked out there ought to be a lot more to come.

  The little .25 was still in the pocket of my jacket and it slapped against my side as I walked out to the elevator. The streets were clear and I told the boy to take off the chains and toss them in the trunk. He made himself another couple of bucks. When I backed out of the garage I drove across to Broadway and turned north pointing for the Bronx.

  This time the big sedan with the gold initials was gone. I drove around the block twice just to be sure of it. All the blinds on the upper floor were drawn and there was a look of desertion about the place. I parked on the corner and walked back, turning in at the entrance.

  Three times I lifted the heavy bronze knocker, and when that didn’t work I gave the door a boot with my foot. A kid on a bicycle saw me and shouted, “They ain’t home, mister. I seen ‘em leave last night.”

  I came down off the stoop and walked over to the kid. “Who left?”

  “The whole family, I guess. They was packing all kinds of stuff in the car. This morning the maid and the girl that does the cleaning left too. They gimme a quarter to take some empty bottles back to the store. I kept the deposit too.”

  I fished in my pocket for another quarter and flipped it to him. “Thanks, son. It pays to keep your eyes open.”

  The kid pocketed the coin and took off down the street, the siren on the bike screaming. I walked back up the path to the house. A line of shrubs encircled the building and I worked my way behind them, getting my shoes full of snow and mud. Twice I stopped and had a look around to be sure there weren’t any nosy neighbors ready to yell cop. The bushes did a good job. I felt all the windows, trying them to see if they were locked. They were.

  I said the hell with it and wrenched a stone out of the mud and tapped the glass a good one. It made a racket but nobody came around to investigate. When I had all the pieces picked out of the ‘frame I grabbed .the sill and hoisted myself into the room.

  If sheet-covered chairs and closed doors meant what it looked like, Emil Perry had flown the coop. I tried the lamp and it didn’t work. Neither did the phone. The room I was in seemed to be a small study, something where a woman would spend a lot of time. There was a sewing machine in the corner and a loom with a half-finished rug stretched out over nails in the framework.

  The room led into a hallway of doors, all closed. I tried each one, peering into the yellow light that came through the blinds. Nothing was out of place, everything had been recently cleaned, and I backed out a little bit madder each time.

  The hallway ran into a foyer that opened to the breezeway beside the house. On one side I could see the kitchen through a small window in the wall. On the other side a heavily carpeted flight of stairs led to the next floor.

  It was the same thing all over again. Everything neat as a pin. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, another bedroom and a study. The last door faced the front of the house and it was locked.

  It was locked in two places, above and below the knob.

  It took me a whole hour to get those damn things open.

  No light at all penetrated this room. I flicked a match on my thumbnail and saw why. A blackout shade had been drawn over the other shade on each of the two windows. It didn’t hurt to lift them up because nobody could see in through the outermost shade.

  I was in Emil Perry’s own private cubicle. There were faded pictures on the wall and some juicy calendar pinups scattered around on the tables and chairs. A day bed that had seen too many years sagged against one wall. Under one window was a desk and a typewriter, and alongside it a low, two-drawer filing cabinet. I wrenched it open and pawed through the contents. Most of it was business mail. The rest were deeds, insurance papers and some personal junk. I slammed the drawers shut and started taking the place apart slowly.

  I didn’t find a damn thing.

  What I did find was in the tiny fireplace and burned to a crisp. Papers, completely burned papers that fell to dust as I touched them. Whatever they were, he had done a good job of burning them. Not one corner or bit showed that was anything but black.

  I swore to myself and went back to the filing cabinet where I slid out an insurance policy on Perry’s wife. I used the policy as a pusher to get all the bits into the envelope, then sealed the flap and put the policy back in the drawer.

  Before I went out I tried to make sure everything was just like he had left it. When I gave a few things an extra adjustment I closed the door and let the two locks click into place.

  I went out the same way I came in, making a rough attempt at wiping out the tracks I had left in the snow and mud behind the bushes. When I climbed in behind the wheel of my car I wasn’t feeling too bad. Things were making a little more sense. I turned on the key, let the engine warm up and switched back to Manhattan.

  At Fifty-ninth Street I pulled over and went into a drugstore and called the Calway Merchandising outfit. They gave me Perry’s business address and I put in a call to them too. When I asked for Mr. Perry the switchboard operator told me to wait a moment and put through a connection.

  A voice said, “Mr. Perry’s office.”

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Perry, please.”

  “I’m sorry,” the voice said, “Mr. Perry has left town. We don’t know when he’ll be back. Can I help you?”

  “Well . . . I don’t know. Mr. Perry ordered a set of golf clubs and wanted them delivered today. He wasn’t at home.”

  “Oh . . . I see. His trip was rather sudden and he didn’t leave word here where he could be reached. Can you hold the parcel?”

  “Yeah, we’ll do that,” I lied.

  Emil Perry had very definitely departed for parts unknown. I wondered how long he’d be away.

  When I got back in my car I didn’t stop until I had reached my office building. I had another package waiting for me. If I hadn’t gone in through the basement it would have been a surprise package. The elevator operator gave a sudden start when I stepped in the car and looked at me nervously.

  I said, “What’s the matter with you?”

/>   He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, Mr. Hammer, but some policemen went up to your office a little while ago. Real big guys they were. Two of ‘em are watching the lobby besides.”

  I stepped out of that car fast. “Anybody in my office now?”

  “Uh-huh. That pretty girl who works for you. Is there any trouble, Mr. Hammer?”

  “Plenty, I think. Look, forget you saw me. I’ll make it up to you later.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Hammer. Glad to help.”

  He closed the door and brought the elevator upstairs. I walked over to the phone on the wall and dropped in a nickel, then dialed my own number. I heard the two clicks as both Velda’s phone and the extension were lifted at the same time.

  Velda sounded nervous when she said good morning. I held my handkerchief over the mouthpiece and said, “Mr. Hammer, please.”

  “I’m sorry, but he hasn’t come in yet. Can I take a message?”

  I grunted and made like I was thinking, then, “Yes, if you please. He is to meet me at the Cashmore Bar in Brooklyn in an hour from now. I’ll be a few minutes late, so if he calls in, remind him.”

  “Very well,” Velda replied. Her voice had a snicker in it now,

  “I’ll tell him.”

  I stood there by the phone and let ten minutes go by slowly, then I put in another nickel and did the same thing over again.

  Velda said, “You can come up now, Mike. They’re gone. Brooklyn is a long way off.”

  She had her feet up on the desk paring her nails with a file when I walked in. She said, “Just like you used to do, Mike.”

  “I don’t wear dresses you can see up, though.”

  Her feet came down with a bang and she got red. “How’d you find out . . .” her head nodded toward the door, “about them?”

  “The elevator operator put me wise. He goes on our bonus list.

  What did they want?”

  “You.”

  “What for?”

  “They seemed to think you shot somebody.”

  “That sniveling little bastard had the nerve to do it!” I threw my hat at the chair and ripped out a string of curses. I swung around, mad as hell. “Who were they?”

  “They let me know they were from the D.A.’s office.” A little worried frown drew lines across her forehead. “Mike . . . is it bad?”

  “It’s getting worse. Get me Pat on the phone, will you?”

  While she was dialing I went to the closet and got out the other bottle of sherry. Velda handed me the phone as I finished pouring two glasses.

  I tried to make my voice bright but there was too much mad in it. I said, “It’s me, Pat. Some of the D.A.’s boys just paid me a visit.”

  He sounded amazed. “What are you doing there, then?”

  “I wasn’t here to receive them. A dirty dog sent them on a wild-goose chase to Brooklyn. What goes on?”

  “You’re in deep, Mike. This morning the D.A. sent out orders to pick you up. There was a shooting out on the island last night. Two guys caught a slug and one of them was a fellow named Rainey.”

  “Sounds familiar. Was I identified?”

  “No, but you were seen in the vicinity and overheard threatening this Rainey fellow just a short time before.”

  “Did Rainey say all this himself?”

  “He couldn’t very well. Rainey is dead.”

  “What!” My voice sounded like an explosion. “Mike . . .”

  My mouth couldn’t form an answer.

  Pat said it again. “Mike . . . did you kill him?”

  “No,” I got out. “I’ll be in the bar up the street. Meet me there, will you? I have things to talk about.”

  “Give me an hour. By the way, where were you last night?” I paused. “Home. Home in bed sound asleep.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you in a little while.”

  Velda had drained both glasses while I was talking and was filling them up again. She looked like she needed them. “Rainey’s dead,” I told her. “I didn’t kill him but I wish I had.”

  Velda bit her lip. “I figured as much. The D.A. is tagging you for it, isn’t he?”

  “Right on the nose. What happened last night?”

  She handed me a glass and we lifted them together. Hers went down first. “I won some money. Clyde got me slightly drunk and propositioned me. I didn’t say no; I said later. He’s still interested. I met a lot of people. That’s what happened.”

  “A waste of time.”

  “Not entirely. We joined a party of visiting firemen and some very pretty young ladies. The life of the party was Anton Lipsek and he was quite drunk. He suggested they go up to his apartment in the Village and some of them did. I wanted to go but Clyde made a poor excuse of not being able to break away from his business. One other couple refused too, mainly because the boy friend was ahead on the roulette wheel and wanted to go back to it. The girl with him was the same one you had that night.”

  “Connie?”

  “Is that her name?” she asked coldly.

  I grinned and said it was.

  Velda rocked back in her seat and sipped the sherry. “Two of the girls that went along with Anton worked with Connie. I heard them talking shop a few minutes before your girl friend made some catty remarks that brought the conversation to a halt.”

  She waited until I had finished’ my drink. “Where were you last night?”

  “Out to see a guy named Rainey.”

  Her face went white. “But . . . but you told Pat . . .”

  “I know. I said I didn’t kill him. All I did was shoot him in the leg a little bit.”

  “Good heavens!” Then you did . . .”

  I rocked my head from side to side until she got the idea. “He wasn’t hurt bad. The killer did me one better and plugged him after I left. That’s the way it had to be. I’ll find out the details later.” I stuck a cigarette in my mouth and let my eyes find hers while I lit it. “What time did you meet Clyde last night?”

  Her eyes dropped and her lips went into a pout. “He made me wait until twelve o’clock. He said he was tied up with some work. I got halfway stood up, Mike, and right after you were telling me how nice I looked.”

  The match burned down to my fingers before I put it out. “That gave him a chance to get out to Rainey, kill him, and get back. That just about does it!” Velda’s eyes popped wide-open and she swallowed hard. “Oh, no, Mike . . . no I--I was with him right after . . .”

  “On Dinky it wouldn’t show if he just killed a guy. Not on Dinky. He’s got too many of ‘em under his belt.”

  I picked up my hat from the chair where I had tossed it and straightened out the wrinkles in the crown. “If the police call again stall ‘em off. Don’t mention Pat. If the D.A. is there call him a dirty name for me. I’ll be back later.”

  When I stepped out the door I knew I wasn’t going to be anywhere later. A big burly character in high-top shoes got up off the top step where he was sitting and said, “Lucky the boys left a couple of us here after all. They’re gonna be mad when they get back from Brooklyn.” Another character just as big came from the other end of the hall and joined in on the other side.

  I said, “Let’s see your warrant.”

  They showed it to me. The first guy said, “Let’s go, Hammer, and no tricks unless you want a fist in your face.” I shrugged and marched over to the elevator with them.

  The operator caught wise right off and shook his head sadly. I

  could see he was thinking that I should’ve known better. I squeezed over behind him as some others got on and by the time we hit the lobby I felt a little better. When the operator changed his uniform tonight he was going to be wondering where that .25 automatic came from. Maybe he’d even turn it in to the cops like a good citizen. They’d have a swell time running down that toy.

  There was a squad car right outside and I got in with a cop on either side of me. Nobody said a word and when I pulled out a pack of butts one of the cops slapped them out of my hands. He had three cigars stuffed in the breast pocket of his over
coat and when I faked a stretch my elbow turned them into mush. I got a dirty look for that. He got a better one back.

  The D.A. had his office all ready for me. A uniformed cop stood by the door and the two detectives ushered me to a straight-backed chair and took their places behind it. The D.A. was looking very happy indeed.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes or no?” I gave him the best sarcasm I could muster. His teeth grated together.

  “You’re under arrest,” he said. “For murder.”

  “I want to use the telephone.”

  He started smiling again. “Certainly. Go right ahead. I’ll be glad to speak to you through a lawyer. I want to hear him try to tell me you were home in bed last night. When he does I’ll drag in the super of your apartment, the doorman and the people who live on both sides of you who have already sworn that they heard nothing going on in your place last night.”

  I picked up the phone and asked for outside. I gave the number of the bar where I was supposed to meet Pat and watched the D.A. jot it down on a pad. Flynn, the Irish bartender, answered and I said, “This is Mike Hammer, Flynn. There’s a party there who can vouch for my whereabouts last night. Tell him to come up to the D.A.’s office, will you?”

  He was starting to shout the message down the bar when I hung up. The D.A. had his legs crossed and kept rocking one knee up and down. “I’ll be expecting my license back some time this week. With it I want a note of apology or you might not win the next election.”

  One of the cops smacked me across the back of my head. “What’s the story?” I asked.

  The D.A. couldn’t keep still any longer. His lips went thin and he got a lot of pleasure out of his words. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Hammer. Correct me if I’m wrong. You were out to the Glenwood Arena last night. You argued with this Rainey. Two men described you and identified you from your picture. Later they were all in the office when you opened the door and started shooting. One was hit in the leg, Rainey was-hit in the leg and head. Is that right?”