Survival...Zero

by Mickey Spillane

  “Where did you carry it?”

  “Inside my coat pocket.”

  I said, “Maybe you can remember anybody that pushed or shoved you that night. Anybody who was close to you in the crowd who could have lifted it?”

  Grove smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not a very suspicious person, Mr. Hammer. I never look at faces, only clothes. No, I wouldn’t remember that.”

  I crushed my paper cup, tossed it in the wastebasket and thanked him for his time. He was just another blank in a long series of blanks and all it was doing was making Lippy look worse than ever. Velda was right. I should have just left it all alone.

  So I got out of there, walked over to Forty-fourth and The Blue Ribbon, pulled out the chair behind my usual table and had the waiter bring me a knockwurst and beer. Jim waved hello from behind the bar and switched on the TV so I could watch the six o’clock news.

  Eddie Dandy came on after the weather, freshly shaven, his usual checkered sportscoat almost eyestraining to watch whenever he moved, his voice making every piece of dull information sound like a world-shattering event. George came over and sat down with his ever-present coffee cup in his hand and started in on his favorite subject of food. He had just asked me about a new specialty he was thinking of putting on the menu when I stopped him short with a wave of my hand.

  Eddie Dandy had changed the tone of his voice. He wasn’t reading from his notes, he was looking directly into the camera in deadly seriousness and said, “... and once again the public is being kept in the dark about a matter of grave importance. The unidentified body found in the Times Square station of the subway has been secretly autopsied with the findings kept locked in government files. No information has been given either the police or the press and the doctors who performed the autopsy are being confined in strict quarantine at this moment. It is this reporter’s opinion that this man died of a virulent disease developed by this government’s chemical-germ warfare research, one that could possibly lead to severe epidemic proportions, but rather than inform the public and institute an immediate remedial program, they chose to avoid panic and possible political repercussions by keeping this matter completely in the dark. Therefore, I suggest ...”

  I said, “Oh, shit!” Then threw a bill on the table and dashed to the phone booth in the next room. I threw a dime in the slot, dialed Pat’s number and waited for him to come on the phone.

  I said, “Mike here, Pat.”

  He was silent a second, then through his breathing he told me, “Get your ass down here like now, buddy. Like right this damn minute.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Pat wouldn’t talk to me. He didn’t even want to look at me and for the first time since we had been friends I felt like telling him to go to hell. I didn’t. I just sat there beside him in the patrol car and watched the streets roll by on the way to the office building on Madison Avenue where the watchdogs had their cute little front they thought nobody knew about. And this time even Pat was surprised when I got out first, went inside to the elevator and punched the 4 button without being told. There was a NO SMOKING sign in the elevator so I took out my deck, shook a cigarette loose and struck a wooden kitchen match across the No. Then he knew how I felt too. He started to say something, only I got there first.

  “You should have asked me,” I said.

  The others were all waiting, quiet and deadly, their faces full of venom, tinged with total dislike and anticipating selective revenge. Screw them too, I thought.

  There weren’t any introductions. The big guy with the bulging middle and the florid face simply pointed to a chair and after I looked at it long enough and decided on my own to sit down, I sat, then spun my butt into the middle of their big, beautiful mahogany company table and grinned when another one glared at me a second before picking it up and dropping it in a huge ceramic ashtray.

  Everyone sat down with such deliberate motion you’d think we were about to go into a discussion of a successful bond issue. But it wasn’t like that and I wasn’t about to let them open the meeting. I waited until the last chair had scraped into position and said, “If you clowns think you’re about to steamroller me, you’d just better start thinking straight. Nobody asked me here, nobody advised me of my rights, and right now I’d just as soon kick any or all of you on your damn tails ... including my erstwhile buddy here ... and all you need to start the action is one little push.”

  “You’re not under arrest, Hammer,” the fat one said.

  “Believe it, buddy, that I’m not. But I’m sure interested in getting that way.”

  When they looked at each other wondering what kind of a cat they had caught in their trap I knew I had the bull on them and I wasn’t about to let go. For the first time I looked directly at Pat. “I saw Eddie Dandy’s show tonight myself. You’ve already been informed by Captain Chambers here that I was a recipient of confidential information. It was given me in way of explanation so I wouldn’t do any loose talking, so I assume everyone here figures I picked up a few fast bucks by passing that information on. Okay, right now, hear this just once. It was Eddie Dandy who suggested the idea and I just made a few discreet inquiries that shook up my good pal Pat to the point where he had to fill me in on the rest.” I tapped out another butt and lit it. Somebody shoved the ashtray my way. “Pat, I said nothing, you got that?”

  He was still the cop. His expression didn’t change an iota. “Sorry, Mike.”

  “Okay, forget it.”

  “It can’t be forgotten,” the fat guy said. “Do you know who we are?”

  “Who the hell are you trying to kid?” I asked him.

  “You’re all D.C. characters playing political football with something you can’t handle. Now you got Eddie Dandy on your backs and can’t get him off.”

  One of the others snapped a pencil in two and stared at me, his face tight with rage. “He’ll be here to explain his part in this.”

  “There isn’t any part, you nut. All you can do now is offer excuses or start lying. Which is it? Or do you discredit Eddie? Tell me, is it true?”

  Everybody wanted to talk at once, but the fat guy at the end silenced them with one word. Then he looked down the table at me and folded his hands with all the innocence of a bear trap. “Tell me, Mr. Hammer, why are you so militant?”

  “Because I don’t dig you goons. You’re all bureaucratic nonsense, tax happy, self-centered socialistic slobs who think the public’s a game you can run for your own benefit. One day you’ll realize that it’s the individual who pulls the strings, not committees.”

  “And you’re that individual?”

  “I can pull more than strings, friend, that’s why you got me here. Right now I’m all for going out and really sounding off about what I know. How about that?” I sat back and listened to the quiet.

  Pat broke the eerie stillness. “Don’t push him, Mr. Crane. The whole thing shook me for a minute, but I’d rather have him on our side.”

  “Protecting yourself, Captain?”

  “Another remark like that and you’ll be protecting yourself, Mr. Crane. I’ll rap you right in the mouth.”

  The big man from the State Department took one look at Pat’s face and the knuckles of his interlocking fingers whitened. “Captain ...”

  “You’ll be better off just telling him, Mr. Crane. He isn’t kidding.”

  They could talk with their eyes, this bunch. They could just look at each other and have a conversation, hash the problem out and come to a decision. When it was made, Crane gave an almost imperceptible nod and stared at me again, his eyes cold. “Very well. I don’t approve, but considering how far out on a limb we are, we’ll give you the story.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Simply because we can’t afford to have anyone prying into this affair. After Eddie Dandy’s report we’ll have everyone in the news media asking questions. They don’t like negative answers. They’ll go directly to Dandy and we’re hoping you can influence him to state that he was
wrong in his premises.”

  “Brother!” I snubbed my butt out and sat back in my chair. “You don’t know reporters very well, do you? Where is Eddie now?”

  “Being briefed on the incident. He’ll be here shortly.”

  “You better have something good to tell him. Or me.” Crane nodded. “I think we have.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Of course you realize the confidential nature of this matter?”

  “I did before,” I said.

  Mr. Crane managed a little of his State Department pomp and leaned back, mentally choosing his words. When he was satisfied, he said, “In 1946 a Soviet agent was planted in this country by the regime then in power with specific instructions that at a certain time, when the economic and political factors were right, to totally sabotage certain key cities through the use of biological or chemical means. His orders were irrevocable. He was given the properties to accomplish his mission, and the persons he could contact who would relay the schedule of destruction. This was a top secret project that could in no way be canceled out. This agent had one contact who, like him, was only to relay the information of when it would take place, then set in motion the machinery that would take over after the destruction finished our present system of government.”

  “And that guy is dead,” I said.

  “Very dead. Now we know the system he used. It was bacteriological. He’s set everything in motion. It’s a time delay affair. Unfortunately, he somehow got exposed himself and died.”

  I looked over at Pat. “You said it came out of our labs.”

  Crane didn’t let him answer. “All research seems to come to the same conclusions. The strain of bacteria was similar, but not identical.”

  “You got troubles, Mr. Crane, haven’t you? We have ICBM’s, Polaris, all the new goodies stored up in silos around the country that can reach anywhere around the world, and now that you know what’s on our necks we can get in there for a first strike, only you’re not striking. Why?”

  That caught them a little off base. Maybe they thought I couldn’t figure it out. Crane gave me a perceptive brush of his eyes and said, “Because the Soviets are caught on their own horns. They don’t want it either. They want it stopped right now and they’re cooperating. There’s a new regime in power and their entire political system has been changed in view of the Chinese situation. They can’t afford to be hit from both sides. Only one of their personnel was able to hint at this development, but that was enough to get leads, process them and get the story. Do you see now why we can’t afford a panic?”

  “So you’re buying time.”

  “Exactly.”

  Before he could answer another of the gray flannel boys came in, walked up and spoke to him. Crane nodded and said, “Bring him in.”

  Eddie Dandy looked like he had been wrung out in an old Maytag. Sweat had plastered his hair to his forehead, his sports jacket was rumpled and he couldn’t keep his hands still at all. But his face still bore that hard stamp of the veteran newscaster with the “show me or else” look. Apparently they hadn’t mentioned me to him at all and his eyes registered momentary surprise when he saw me sitting there. I waved nonchalantly and winked and I knew damn well things were beginning to add up to him.

  They gave him the same rundown they gave me, but he had saved up his little shocker for them. When Crane insisted just a little too hard on Eddie divulging his source of information, he simply said, “Why it was you and Mr. Hollings who tipped me off.” I applauded with a laugh nobody appreciated. Pat gave me a tap with his foot.

  “Please don’t think everybody is stupid,” Eddie told them. “I have to research news items and the death of that guy in the subway had certain earmarks that were familiar to me. Or did you forget the death of all those sheep out west when that nerve gas went in the wrong direction? Or the two lab workers whose families raised such hell about the cover-up when they kicked off? Seeing you two in the hospital was all it took to pin the probability down... that and a few inquiries made to knowledgeable scientists who don’t approve of the more sophisticated methods of modern warfare.”

  Somehow they all seemed to stop communicating then. Their exchanges of looks didn’t bring any responses. Red-faced, Crane mustered all his eloquence and put the proposition right on the line. Eddie could be the turning point of panic. Until the location of the destruct cannisters could be determined and destroyed, Eddie was to retract his broadcast and maintain that position.

  He looked at me and I shrugged. I said, “There’s a possiblity a mass search for the stuff might help.”

  “You’ll get mass exodus from the cities and panic, Mr. Hammer,” Crane told me. “No, we have competent people experienced in these matters and with help from the Soviets I’m confident it can be accomplished.”

  “Sure, you trust the Soviets and you know what you’ll get. You get screwed every time and you slobs are all afraid of screwing back. What happens if you don’t find the stuff?”

  “We’re not even considering that possiblity,” he shot back. “No ...”

  But Eddie cut him off right there. “You’re forgetting something. Now my neck is out with the network and the audience. I’ll be coming off looking like a bumbling amateur. I’ll be lucky if I can hang on to my job. So we make a deal.”

  “Yes?”

  “No other reporter, broadcaster or what-have-you gets any part of this story if you pull it off. All I need is a hint that this has been leaked and I’ll blow the whole thing all over your faces. If you manage to lock this thing up, I get first crack at releasing it along with verbal progress reports in the meantime. You haven’t got much choice, so you can take it or leave it.”

  “We’ll take it, Mr. Dandy,” Crane said. This time the communication was complete. Everybody else agreed too.

  Pat took Eddie Dandy and me to a late supper at Dewey Wong’s wild restaurant on East Fifty-eighth Street as a way of apology. I gave him a little private hell, but it didn’t take long to get back on our old footing. He was red-faced about it, but too much cop to let it bother him. What really had him going was the maximum effort order that was out in the department, recalling all officers from vacation, assigning extra working hours, canceling days off and hoping to keep the reason for the project secret long enough to get the job done. With the same thing going on all over the country, it wasn’t going to be easy. Until it was finished, every other investigation was going to be at a standstill. When we finished, Eddie took off to start working on his end and I rode back downtown with Pat. In the car I said, “Velda told me about Lippy working the theater areas.”

  “I hope it satisfies you.”

  “Ahh ...”

  “Come on, Mike, stay loose. It’s pretty damn obvious, isn’t it?”

  “There’s still a killer around.”

  “More than one, buddy, and we’re not concentrating any on your old pal. From now on we’ll be going after the biggest and the best for one reason only... to give the papers all the hot news they can handle so maybe they’ll skip over this latest incident. We’re in trouble, Mike.”

  “Never changes. There’s always trouble.”

  “And I don’t need any with you.”

  I handed him the insurance papers and note Heidi had given me. He glanced at them and handed them back, his face masked with total astonishment. “By damn, you land right in the middle of the biggest mess we’ve ever had and all you want is a passkey to some broad’s tail. Man, you never change! You damn homy ...”

  “Lay off, Pat. I could have had that for free yesterday.”

  “Then why ...”

  “It’ll keep you off my back if for no other reason.”

  “For that I’ll do anything. Look, take every one of those wallets and give them back personally. It won’t be hard to arrange at all. Then go get drunk or shack up for a week or get lost in the mountains... just anything at all!”

  “My pleasure,” I said.

  He slammed his hand down on his knee
with a disgusted gesture and shut up again. But he meant what he said. He packaged the whole lot for me, had me sign for each item and let me leave so he could handle all the traffic that was beginning to jam the room.

  Outside, I set my watch with the clock in a jeweler’s window. It was a quarter to eleven. The night was clear and an offshore breeze had blown the smog inland. You could see some of the stars that were able to shine through the reflected glow of the city lights. Traffic was thin downtown, but up farther New York would be coming to life. Or death, whichever way you looked at it. For me, I couldn’t care less because it had always been that way anyway. At least the little episode with all the forces of national and international governments had bought me the same thing it had bought them ... time. Everybody would be too busy to be clawing at my back now. I grinned silently and flagged down a cruising cab. Finero’s Steak House was jammed with the after-theater crowd, a noisy bunch three deep around the bar and a couple dozen others waiting patiently in the lobby for a table. I waved the maître d’ over, told him all I wanted was to see Ballinger and he let the velvet rope down so I could go in.

  He was like something out of a late-late movie, sitting there flanked by two full-blown blondes in dresses cut so low they seemed more like stage costumes than evening wear. His tux was the latest style, but on him it was all eyewash because he was still the dock-type hood and no tailor was ever going to change him. One of the blondes kept feeling his five o’clock shadow and murmuring about his virility. The other was doing something else and Ballinger was enjoying the mutual attention. The others respectfully ignored the play, paying due attention to their own dates. The original pair were there, but a new one had been added, a punk named Larry Beers who had been a pistolero with the Gomez Swan mob when he was nineteen and graduated into the upper echelon brackets when he had beaten a rap for gunning down two of the Benson Hill bunch. I didn’t know Ballinger had him on his side until now. Old Woodring was paying high for his services, whatever they were, that was for sure.