Primal Spillane Page 13

  Holding the red-stained slugs in his hand, little Jake Morse walked over to Vic. “Here they are, Reynolds, they look like Magnum slugs to me! What d’ya think?”

  “Magnum, eh, that’s a pretty tricky gun for any of the local hoods to carry. Any other clues around?”

  “Nothing that I can see,” Jake said, “except maybe for the position of the bullet wounds. It seems to me that the skunks shot from hip level, and did a pretty neat job of it, at that!”

  Vic’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the little M.E. “Do you remember Mike Greer?”

  “Yeah, but he was sent up out on the coast a couple of years back. Why?”

  “He’s the only bird I know of that uses a Magnum. I wonder …”

  WHEN JAKE had the wounded watchmen safely on their way to a hospital, the two stepped out of the bank into the medical examiner’s dilapidated old jalopy. For a few minutes they rattled along in silence, then pulled up in front of a dirty brown building.

  Vic looked questioningly at Jake. “What are we stopping here for?”

  “I can read your mind, pal. You’ve been brooding over that Greer angle, and I know you wouldn’t be happy until you did a little investigating on the old boy. This is the place where he used to hang out. Come on, let’s go in!”

  They went into a musty old pool room. Dim light hung from the ceiling, over the faded green cloth of the tables. Two hawk-eyed men wielded the cues expertly, while lounging against the desk was the fat, scowling owner. Vic and Jake walked over to him.

  “What do youse guys want?” he snarled. The little M. E., for all his size, bristled like an alley cat. “Button your lip, punk. I’ll do the talking. We’re looking for Greer. Now cut out the comics and play ball, or you’ll get your teeth slapped down your throat!”

  “Why you little … ” A beefy-hand swung through the air, but Vic had seen it coming, pushed Jake out of the way, and snapped over a hard right. The big man hit the floor with a thud. Vic looked down at him.

  “Now where’s Greer?”

  The fat guy looked up with a sneer. If looks could kill, this one would have done away with them both. He didn’t answer at first, but his eyes glowed hate.

  “You’ll never find him!”

  Vic leaned down. Heavy as the guy was, Vic dragged him to his feet and let him have a few hard jabs to the chin, until blood trickled slowly from the corner of the mouth. Vic gave him a shove and he sat down hard in his own desk chair.

  “You told me more than you think!” the ace investigator said. “Come on. Jake, I got ideas!”

  THEIR next stop was a swanky uptown apartment house. A uniformed doorman frowned at the rattletrap old car, but a flash of the M.E.’s badge soon had him tamed down. They went into the elevator, with Jake dying of curiosity.

  “What are we doing in this place, Vic? It isn’t anything like the places Greer hung out in. I don’t get it!”

  Vic smiled. “Like all cheap crooks who get their hands on some dough, our friend, Greer, had to put on a front. This place was where he lived — under an assumed name, of course — while he was in the money. No one was supposed to be in the know, but Greer was tailed on another job once, and led us here. What I’m banking on is that he couldn’t give up the place after getting back into circulation.”

  “Oh, once a king always a king, eh?”

  “Something like that. Here we are. Be quiet. If this pans out the way I expect it to, you’ll have to watch your hide. Greer’s a nervous man with a gun!” Vic took a gun from each of his two shoulder holsters. He handed one to Jake. Stepping out of the elevator, the two tip-toed noiselessly to the end of the corridor.

  Warily, they stood to each side of the door. Vic rapped a sharp tattoo on the door with his gun butt. Footsteps, then the bolt rasped. The door opened, and a tall skinny man nodded at them.

  “What can I do fer you guys!”

  Vic gave him a cold glance.

  “Well, well, ‘Doc’ Gibbons, in the flesh!” Vic’s hand shot out and grabbed his shirt front. “Where’s Greer?”

  Just then something round and hard pressed into Vic and Jake’s backs.

  “Here I am, feller! It looks like you forgot that my apartment had two doorways leading out to the hall. Well, it’ll be the last mistake you’ll ever make! Turn around and start walking. You’re going for a nice long ride down to the river!”

  VIC turned around. Greer stood there grinning from ear to ear, a Magnum in each hand. He motioned, and Jake and he walked slowly to the elevators. Greer shoved the guns into each pocket. The first false move would be their last, Vic knew. This called for some fast thinking.

  Without a word being spoken, they rode down the elevator. Whenever they hesitated, the gun muzzles went into their backs, a gentle reminder. Outside the trio halted. No one took any notice of them, for apparently they were but three men bent on business.

  Little Jake was so nervous that he started to shake visibly. Greer only grinned at this. Had he but seen the queer expression on the insurance investigator’s face he might have been puzzled, for Vic was smiling, a smile that said, “If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, you wouldn’t be so happy!”

  The killer whistled for a cab and they got in, Jake on the end, Vic in the middle, and after covering them from the other end. Vic leaned over Jake, seemingly to open the window, but Greer rammed the gun into his ribs. “Leave the window down, bud. I don’t want you hollering to the nearest cop!”

  “Lot of good that would do, right?”

  “Right! This is the end of the trail for you boys! Maybe when they find your bodies in the river I’ll send you a batch of posies. Ha, ha!” Greer leaned forward and rolled down the window behind the driver. “Over to the water front, cabbie!” He turned the window back up again and sat back.

  Tell me!” Vic said. “Was it you who pulled the job on the Central Trust Banks and knocked off the guards?”

  “Seeing how you’ll never squeal — yeah, it was me. Not half bad either, was it?” The crook threw his head back and roared at the thought. “Yep! They let me out of the jug on good behavior, and two days later I had two jobs under my belt!”

  TALKING about his various escapades. Greer never noticed the direction the cab was taking. Nor did he dare take his eyes from Vic or Jake for a moment. The cab jolted to a stop along the curb. Immediately the place was a bedlam of blue-coated cops, shouting for all they were worth.

  The surprise of the police jolted Greer into immobility. Vic and Jake grabbed his gun, and shoved him out of the cab. In a minute the cops had the whole story, then Vic turned to the cabbie, winked broadly, and slipped him a five spot.

  Some time later the still puzzled Jake shoved Vic into a doorway and faced him, hands on his hips. “Listen, you! I was in on this snatch as well as you! Now that Greer has come clean about where the dough is, and his accomplices were, maybe you can loosen up and tell me how you foxed him!”

  Vic grinned. “Remember when I went to roll down the cab window? Well, I really flipped the switch on the little two-way telephone system in the cab. The driver heard every word of the conversation, and deliberately drove the wrong way up a one-way street to the station house, just as all the cops were lined up outside for inspection!”

  ***

  The Sea of Grassy Death

  “PULL in your lines, Jack, and fast — the bottom just fell out of the barometer! This storm is coming up like nobody’s business.”

  Even then, the small cutter was beginning to pitch violently. The young fellow in the stern hauled away on the outrigger lines until they were coiled all over the deck. No time to put them on the drying spools when a blast was headed their way.

  The wind began to howl, blowing the tops of the waves into white foam. In a few minutes the chop would turn to mountainous waves; a dangerous situation in a boat only thirty feet long.

  “Looks pretty bad, Slim!” Jack yelled above the wind. “Maybe we ought to anchor here!”

  “’Fraid we haven�
��t enough line! Water’s too deep here. We’ll just have to ride her out.”

  No sooner had he spoken, than the black clouds overhead flashed lighting, and the rain drenched the boat. Slim and Jack dashed into the cabin to keep the craft headed into the storm. They took turns at the wheel, using all their strength to avoid being turned over. Then, with a shuddering impact, a wall of water came over them. The motor hissed out and they were left at the mercy of the sea!

  For hours, the boat and its occupants were thrown about; first buried in a trough, then swirled to the high crest. The boys were smashed against the cabin and tossed about like corks. Finally, they lashed themselves to the wheel-post, but then, other movable objects in the room would come at them as if thrown by a giant hand.

  It was a mystery to Jack and Slim how they remained alive, but the stout heart of the boat couldn’t be broken, and when the dawn came, the ocean calmed down to a glassy slick. Jack patted the rail and looked at Slim. “Close one, wasn’t it?”

  “And how! We lost all our tackle, but it was worth it to pull out in one piece.” Jack had been studying the water for some time. Even in the early morning haze, what he saw made him jump. With a worried frown he turned to Slim.

  “Slim, we’re marooned! Look — right in the middle of the Sargasso Sea!”

  Slim looked, and his eyes almost popped out. With the mist rising like smoke, the aged, water-logged hulks of vessels came into view, all trapped in an ocean of floating seaweed!

  The Sea of Doomed Ships! The deadly mass of purple-green vegetation that trapped unwary ships and held them for all time, now had them! When the boys studied their position they knew that they would never fish from their cutter again.

  “Just looking at this won’t do any good,” Jack said. “From what I make of it, the only way out is by raft, and the only wood around is on those ghost ships.”

  Slim didn’t like the idea, but in the murky haze of the morning, both stripped down to their pants, and went overboard.

  They paddled around ship after ship, but all were rotten to the core — not fit for raft wood, and the lines that hung down over the sides were slimy, green things.

  “Over there, Jack! What’s that?” Slim pointed a shaking finger at a ball of fog.

  As if covered with a filmy curtain, the sharp prow of a sailing vessel jutted out of the stuff. The only visible portholes were like huge eyes glaring balefully at them. It was a fearsome sight, but the boys, more out of curiosity than courage, swam over. The mist, for some reason, was not lifting around the black hull of the ship, but hung suspended, so that the deck was hardly visible. Slim was about to say something, when from the boat came the unmistakable sound of voices! Nothing could have been more startling. Slim was all for getting out of there fast, but Jack held him!

  “Something fishy here, Slim. This fog — and those voices. And look! The hull of this boat is in perfect condition!”

  “Let’s park on one of those schooners until tonight, and see if we can get aboard her,” Slim said. The setup is even too phoney for me!”

  Together, they swam noiselessly away to the nearest derelict, and climbed the rotted ropes to the deck. In the daylight their hiding place wasn’t so bad, but for the night, Slim decided he’d rather face the voices on the other boat than what might be on this one. They passed the day exploring the hold, but whatever had been on board was long gone, for the bottom was torn clear out of it, and it was resting only on the twisted grass!

  DARKNESS closed in quickly, and before they could lose sight of the mystery ship, Jack and Slim dove in. When they reached the ship, there were no dangling ropes to be seen, so they swam to the rudder chain, and climbed the mossy links to the rear deck. Everything was in order, but no one was about. Careful not to make any noise, they sneaked forward and pressed their noses against a darkened porthole, when something cold and hard pressed against their backs! A voice boomed out of the black.

  “Vell, spies, huh? Git along there!”

  Rough hands grabbed them and they were shoved into a cabin, brilliantly lighted, but with the portholes blacked out! At first the boys could hardly believe their eyes — the place was a maze of radio equipment! The drone of a hidden generator was plainly audible.

  A dark-faced man came out of a room off the cabin. He took in the situation with a glance. “Tie em up and throw ’em in the hold! In the morning, dump ’em both on one of the derelicts!”

  Before they could say a word, their hands and feet were in ropes, and they were rolled down a flight of stairs into the belly of the ship.

  When the sound of footsteps faded away, Jack spoke up. “Quick, get busy on these ropes! No time to lose!”

  Slim and Jack lay back to back, and worked on each other’s bonds. Fortunately, the men who tied them weren’t sailors, and in an hour they were free.

  “What goes on here, Jack?” Slim asked, taking a deep breath.

  “From the looks of things, this is a German ship! Probably radioing the sizes and positions of our convoys to the Fatherland. They’re in an ideal spot to pull a stunt like that!” The boys stared at each other intently. Slim broke the silence.

  “Then, it’s up to us, I guess — Let’s go!”

  They stole up the stairs, and with a little manipulation, opened the lock on the door. There was no sound at all. Evidently, the crew was asleep. Slim located the radio room and softly opened the door. Snoring in a chair was the operator, and to keep him asleep, Slim hefted a handy wrench and brought it down on his head.

  They set to work in a hurry, barricaded the door and windows, and then flipped on the generator. Jack was at the key of the set. In a moment, the air was filled with their urgent message. Jack tapped it out, and at the receiving end, Slim got an almost immediate reply! A destroyer was in the neighborhood and had their position — coming at full speed!

  And just in time, for the set went dead as the sound of shoulders smashing against the door reached their ears! But the barricade held. Shots cracked through the panels, and the room shook with the effort to break in! The door was about to give, when a shell screamed through the air!

  Jack and Slim thumped each other, shouting, with joy. “THE DESTROYER!”

  LATER, on board the destroyer, with the enemy in irons, the captain congratulated the boys. “You’ve done your country a great service, men! We’ve been trying to locate that set a long time!”

  Slim looked at Jack. They were still shaking at their close call. “Well,” Slim smiled, “if it happens again, I hope it’s on land. That doggone Sargasso Sea is too spooky to suit me!”

  ***

  The Secret of the Wreck

  The gloom of the courthouse made the slight figure of the little man almost indistinguishable as he sneaked down the shadows of the corridor. Occasionally he would come into the light of a window and he would duck quickly out of sight. The door of the record room creaked open, and he slid inside.

  Minutes later there was a muffled blast, and out of the smoke came the little man, running softly toward an open window with a rope trailing over the edge. He climbed through and down the rope to the alley below where a car motor roared into life.

  Hal Williams was jerked out of the barber chair by the tearing smash of an auto ripping itself apart against the “L” pillar. He dashed out the door and had his camera unlimbered before he hit the street. By the sound of the smash, he thought, it ought to make a first page shot.

  The car wheels were still spinning when he got there. The body and chassis were wrapped around the steel support, while the roadway around was strewn with broken glass. What was left of the occupant made Hal turn away sick. Before the police came, Williams finished the roll and tucked his camera away.

  The prowl car stopped beside the mess and Sergeant McCabe greeted Hal, then gave the smoking remains a once-over. “Some mess!” he grunted, “See it happen?”

  “Nope, was in the barber’s.”

  The other cop had been poking around inside with his nightstick and came
up with a wallet. It probably was the only thing of value left.

  “His name was Jerry Baliff. Lived at the Headley Hotel.”

  Hal’s mind started to click when he heard the name, but for the life of him he couldn’t place it. He was bothered by its vague familiarity all the way to the “Daily Globe” building, but there he dismissed it from his mind.

  The office was in an uproar when he arrived. The editor threw his pictures to one side. “Can’t use ’em today, Hal. We got big news! Someone blew open the court safe last night and got away with the written evidence that was going to send ‘Killer’ Burnett to the chair. Without that evidence the prosecution won’t have a leg to stand on!”

  Burnett, the foulest of public enemies! He had killed and robbed ruthlessly, but somehow he had always escaped the law. Then one day a stool-pigeon brought in a document that sealed the killer’s fate. And now, the day before the trial, that evidence was gone!

  HAL grimaced at the thought of the murderous face of the criminal. He would be smiling now at the prospect of his freedom.

  A copy boy ran in and threw a sheaf of papers on the city editor’s desk. “Here’s the dope on the court house job, Chief. No clues except a piece of Headley Hotel stationary that the ‘Nitro’ was probably wrapped in.”

  Hal jumped at that. Immediately the name of the driver of the wrecked car popped into his head. Why, Jerry Baliff used to be contact man for Burnett! That was it! His mind was racing. If Baliff did the job, then he either dumped the papers or had them with him when he cracked up. Quickly he typed a report, then dashed out of the office. There was no time to lose!