The driver’s radio blared out another of those special bulletins the networks loved to issue. In Buffalo, New York the police had shot and killed Tom-Tom Schneider’s killers. The hostages were unharmed. Tomorrow the papers and TV would carry the full account and Pat Chambers could count on another day free of panic. But where the hell was Velda? Where was that lousy dip Beaver in the red vest and where were Woody Ballinger and his boys? The rain splattered against the windows and the radio went back to Dow-Jones averages and the cab pulled into the curb. I peeled off a five from my roll and handed it through the window to the driver.
The little patch on her head around the shaved area of her scalp was nearly unnoticeable, her hair covering it with the usual feminine vanity. I grinned at her, lying there under the covers and she smiled back, her eyes twinkling, “I know,” she said, “under the covers, the nightgown... I’m stark naked.”
“Lovely,” I said.
“X-ray eyes?”
“Absolutely. I walk down Fifth Avenue and all those broads in their fancy clothes think they’re hiding something? Hell, I look right through them and all I see is skin and hair and toenails that need cutting. Everybody’s naked, sugar. ”
“Am I naked?”
“My X-ray eyes are out of order.”
Renée looked at me and smiled, then pushed the covers down to her midriff, then all the way to her feet with a quick flip of her hand. Without taking her eyes off mine, she tugged at the nightgown, then slipped it over her head and tossed it to the floor.
“Now you’re naked,” I said.
“You don’t sound excited.”
“I’m an old dog, kid. I had this happen before lunch.” I lit up a butt and took a deep drag, then let the smoke blow across the bed.
“I could kill you.”
“You are.”
“How can you resist me?”
“It isn’t easy. Luckily, you’re a sick woman.”
“Horse manure,” Renée said. “Tell me how pretty I am.”
I looked at her lying there. “You look like a perfect biological specimen. Everything’s in the right place, the titties are pointing in the right direction, but a little saggy because you’re flat out like that. The snatch is cute, very decorous, but for a connoisseur like me, maybe a little bushy. A touch with a pair of scissors might sharpen up the angles and trim it down to size...”
“Oh, you dirty ...”
“Ah-ah ... you’re a sick woman, remember?” I held up my hand to stop her. “But you look kissable and parts of you are wet and inviting and if I didn’t have all the moral turpitude I was born with, do you know what I’d do?”
“I wish you’d just screw me and shut up.”
“You got no class, Renée.”
“You got no dick, Mike Hammer.”
“Want references?” I asked her. “How’s the head?”
She touched her scalp with her fingertips and winced. “Sore, but not that sore. I’ve been deliberately taking advantage of my ... condition, and staying bedridden.”
“I know. And your boss is up in the air over your disappearance. It seems that he can’t get along without you. I’m here on a rescue mission to get you back to work.”
Her mouth formed a fake pout. “I thought you just wanted to see me.”
“Right now I’m seeing all of you there is to see.”
“You’ve missed the other side.”
“Leave something to the imagination, will you? Besides, suppose that maid of yours walks in here?”
“Oh, she’ll understand.”
I shook my head and laughed. Dames. “Get up and get dressed. If you hustle I’ll have a coffee with you while I use your phone.”
Renée grimaced and tossed a pillow at me. “Your casual treatment is making me feel married, you big slob. How can you resist me like this?”
“It isn’t easy at all, sugar. If I had the time I’d tear you apart.”
“Nothing but promises.”
I threw the pillow back at her and went back to the living room. The chubby little maid with the odd accent had her coat on and asked me to tell Miss Talmage she was leaving for the afternoon, but would be back around five to prepare supper. If she was needed, she could be reached at her sister’s. Miss Talmage had the number.
When she left I picked up the phone and called Henaghan at the New York City Department of Public Works. His second secretary found him and put him through.
“Hey, Mike,” he yelled. “What’s new?”
“Need some information, Henny.”
“Well, this is a public department.”
“See if you can check and find out what construction units have been issued permits for blasting inside the city limits. Can do?”
There was a small silence and Henaghan said, “Aw, Mike, have you taken a look around lately? This town is like a beehive. They’re putting up stuff all over the place.”
“Yeah, but they only blast during the ground operation. It shouldn’t be all that difficult.”
“Look, I’ll give you a number ...”
“No dice. I’ll get handed from file clerks to petty officials who’ll want explanations and authorizations and still come up with year-old information. I could do better touring the city in a taxi taking notes and I haven’t got that much time. You do it for me.”
“Mike ...” Henny sounded harried.
“Or do you forget me having to run up to Albany to get you out of the can last summer? Or that time in Miami when ...”
“Okay, okay. Don’t remind me. The memories are too painful. Where are you?”
I gave him the phone number.
“Stay there. It may take a little while, but I’ll expedite things.”
From the bedroom I heard the shower cut off and clothes hangers rattling in a closet I stared absently at the rain slashing against the window and picked up the phone again, dailed my office number and activated the tape recorder.
And Velda had finally called in. Her voice was crisp and hurried, no words wasted at all. She said, “Suspect located at Anton Virelli’s area and running fast. Ballinger’s right behind him with his men but haven’t pinpointed his location. If you haven’t hit it yet, suspect goes by name of Beaver and knows he’s being tracked. He’s been working his way uptown and has something on his mind, probably a safe place to hide out. He should be making a move soon if he sticks to his timetable. My guess is he’ll come out of the west end of the block so I’m going to take a chance and cover the Broadway side. I’ll call back as soon as he shows.”
That was the end of the message and I was about to hang up when another click signaled a further message and a voice said, “Uh, Mike? Like this is you or a machine. Mike?” There was a pause, then, “So you’re automated. Everything’s gone automated.” I felt like telling that silly Caesar Mario Tulley to hurry up and get with it, but you don’t rush the new generation. “You know how you was asking about that guy in the red vest? So I split a joint with an old friend and we get to talking and I asked and sure enough, he knows a guy who knows him. I’m going to see him later, so if you get down this way I’ll be working around the Winter Garden. Maybe I’ll have something for you. Uh ... how the hell do you say so long to a machine anyway?” He mumbled something else and the connection was ended.
Damn, it was closing in fast. The ends were beginning to meet, but they were all tied up inside a tape recorder and I had to wait for the spool to roll. But Velda had narrowed it down somewhat. Anton Virelli was a bookie who operated from a storefront on Ninety-second Street just off Broadway. At least now I knew what area to concentrate on. I called Pat and rousted him out of bed at home. He hadn’t had much sleep, but he softened the growl in his voice and listened when I gave him the information. He thought he could tap a couple of plainclothesmen to probe the area for Beaver and he could get a warrant out for Woody and his boys that might slow them down long enough for us to reach our man first. I thanked him and hung up.
A lovely voice behind me sa
id, “Beaver. What an odd name. The people you know.”
I turned around and Renée was standing there, fresh from the shower, her hair piled on top of her head, wrapped in a heavy white terry-cloth robe belted tightly enough to make her a living hourglass. She smelled of summery fragrances and bath oils and she pirouetted gracefully so I could see all of her, then wrinkled her nose at me, brought in a tray with a coffee pot and two cups and sat down.
“Great,” she said. “Naked, I get no reaction. Completely covered in an old robe you simper like a kid. What’s with you men?”
I took the coffee she handed me. “We like the mystery better.”
“Liar. Business is more important to you. What have you been so busy about and who is Beaver? Another one of your friends who shoot at people?”
“I never met the guy.”
She gave me a hurt look. “All right, you don’t have to tell me anything. But don’t blame me for being curious, please. After all, I did get shot and it was a new experience, one that I wouldn’t like to repeat, and I thought some kind of explanation might be in order.”
Wind from the river rattled the window and the rain tried to claw its way in. I looked at her and grinned. Hell, she was entitled. I fished in my pocket and took out the three photos of Beaver, handing her one. I let her look at it while I started from the beginning and brought her up to date. But it was really me I was talking to, trying to jell the details in my mind, picking out the strange little flaws and attempting to force in things that didn’t belong or should have.
She handed the picture back and I stuck it in my pocket.
The phone still sat there, impassive and unconcerned with it all.
The muscles were tight across my back and my hands were knotted into balls of rage.
“Mike ...” she came over to me and unbuttoned my jacket, then slipped it off, her hands kneading the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and felt the tension begin to melt under the gentle pressure of her fingers. She tugged the shoulder harness off then and let the .45 drop to the floor, then it was my tie and my shirt, her hands working their way across my chest and arms. Her palms pushed me back on the couch and her fingers worked at my belt and I just let her go ahead until she was done. I felt her stand up, heard the soft whisper of cloth and let my eyes slit open a bare fraction and watched her standing there warmly nude and smiling. “Don’t move,” she said.
I closed my eyes again, wiping out all thought for the minute she was gone, then heard her come in and opened them again. She threw a pillow on the floor beside the couch, knelt down with her arms outstretched and the vibrator she had attached to her hand started to pulsate crazily as she started at my neck and began a slow, deliberate journey into other areas.
Time went by in slow, lazy circles, then the erotic tingling of the vibrator stopped and a more intense sensation replaced it until time erupted into an explosive spiral that diminished out of sight and left me gasping for breath.
On the table the phone had come to life.
I opened my eyes and Renée said, “Good?”
“Beautiful.”
I reached over and picked up the receiver.
Henaghan told me I probably could have done better with the taxi ride, but came up with five places conducting blasting operations at the moment. I wrote them all down, thanked him and hung up, looking at the list in my hand.
Only one place was above Fifty-Second Street, an area off Columbus Avenue at One Hundred-tenth Street. And that wasn’t anywhere near Anton Virelli’s territory at all. If Velda was holding down a stakeout around Ninety-second and Broadway, she was doing it alone. Somehow Beaver had cut loose earlier and with more manpower to cover the exits, Woody and his boys had caught his move and had him cornered in another location.
In a way it was a relief to me. She was out of the action now and I wanted to keep it that way. If Velda didn’t tumble to the fact that Beaver was gone I could move in alone without sweating about her catching a slug. I looked at the paper again and swore softly. An area, that’s all it was. A big flat area with hundreds of holes to crawl into. Those blasting signals were clear, but distant, tonal enough to penetrate phone booth walls or old apartments. There wasn’t any chance of tracking down every telephone in the neighborhood at all. What I needed was an address. Beaver was heading for one definite spot, that was sure. One place where he figured he’d be safe. He was enough of an old hand to stay out of the hands of other pros so far and he’d be playing it smart and cagy.
Caesar Mario Tulley was going to get me that address.
Renée had slipped back into her robe and was sitting on the end of the couch, watching me with a small, wistful smile. “I hate telephones,” she said.
“Things are beginning to move.”
“I know. You came, now you have to go.”
“Your turn the next time,” I said.
“It’s all right, Mike. Some things are more important than others.” She saw me frowning, not knowing how to answer her, and nodded. “Really, I understand,” she added.
“Beaver’s someplace around Columbus and a Hundred-tenth Street, Woody’s boys have him hemmed in. He’s probably pinned down temporarily, but not located yet. I want first crack at that bastard.”
“You know where he is?”
“No, but somebody else might have the answer.”
“Mike ...” Renée’s face went soft and worried. “Please be careful. I would like to see you again.”
“You will.”
“This wild business of yours... well, I guess I’ve been in a pretty distant world.” She licked her lips and shook her head in disbelief. “Dead people... I’ve been shot ...” her eyes met mine then, “ ... and you, Mike.”
“Things aren’t all that bad,” I said.
She tried to smile, but it was forced. I suddenly felt pretty silly standing there without any clothes on. She knew what I was feeling, faked a grin, then stood up and frowned. Her hand shot out to the table to support herself.
“You all right?” I asked her.
She touched the side of her head, blinked, then nodded, taking a deep breath. “Just my head. I still can’t move too quickly. I get dizzy when I do.” Her smile came back, this time with natural ease. “Why don’t you go inside and get dressed? I’m going to call my maid back. There are times when I just don’t like to be left alone.”
I picked up my clothes, somehow feeling guilty, and went into the bedroom. I showered quickly, climbed into my clothes, snugged the .45 down in its sling and went back into the living room.
For a minute I thought she wasn’t there, then I saw a small upturned palm sticking out from behind the chair and half ran to where she was lying. Her eyes were partially slitted open and a trickle of blood was oozing down from under the pad on her scalp.
I got my hands under her arms and lifted her to the couch, stretching her out with a pillow under her feet. A couple of ice-cold wet towels finally brought a flicker to her eyes and she moaned softly. “What the hell happened, kid?”
She let her eyelids close, then open. “I was ... calling Maria... and I fainted.” I looked at the compress on her head. One end had come loose from where it had evidently hit something. She winced and pushed my hand away.
“You want me to get a doctor?”
“No ... I’ll be all right. Please ... don’t leave until Maria gets here.”
“Sure, kid. How do you feel?”
“Awful ... headache.”
Luckily, Maria’s sister only worked three blocks away and she was there in ten minutes. She helped me get Renée into bed, but kept looking at me suspiciously as though she didn’t believe what really had happened. She made me leave while she got a nightgown on her, then came bustling back into the living room, frowning. Just in time I kicked the vibrator under the couch before she saw it. “You stay. I’m going to the drugstore for something to make her sleep.”
I got that guilty feeling again and just nodded.
From the bedroom I heard R
enée call my name and I walked in and took her hand. There was a fresh bandage in place and the blood had been wiped from her hair. “Mike .. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“Go do what you have to do,” she said softly.
I looked at my watch. It was still early. Caesar liked to work the later crowds; he looked a little more pitiful under the night lights. “I got time,” I told her.
It was thirty minutes before Maria got back with a plastic bottle of capsules, and another thirty before the drowsiness came over Renée’s eyes. Just before they closed, she said, “It was nice, wasn’t it, Mike?”
“Crazy, but beautiful,” I answered.
Maria gave me another of those stem looks and nodded toward the door. “Now you go.”
And I went.
I called William Dorn’s apartment from the first open bar I came to. A maid answered and said Mr. Dorn was in a business conference and couldn’t be disturbed at the moment.
“Give him a message for me, please.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Tell him Miss Talmage suffered a slight relapse and has been given a sedative, but there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh ... then she won’t be at the meeting this evening?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor. Is there anything Mr. Dorn can do?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Very well, Doctor, and thank you again.”
I hung up and grunted. I didn’t think I sounded like a doctor at all.
The rain was coming down harder and I turned up my collar against it. Somewhere Beaver was hiding and Woody and his boys were waiting.
It was going to be a trouble night.
CHAPTER 10
They could only hold the story back just so long. When more than one person knows, there is no secret. The final edition of the evening paper carried the opener that was the crack in the whole faulty scheme of security. An unmentioned source had leaked the information that the dead guy in the subway station had died of a highly contagious disease and upon further investigation nothing could be learned from officialdom about the matter. There were vigorous denials, but no one offered another explanation. The Newark paper went a little further, an editorial demanding an answer over a body-shot of the corpse.
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