The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3 Read online

  “They?”

  I should have been shaking. I should have been feeling some emotion, some wildness like I used to. What had happened? But maybe it was better this way. I could feel the weight of the .45 against my side and tightened my arm down on it lovingly. “They’re after Velda,” I said. “It’s her. They’re hunting her.”

  Hy squeezed his mouth shut and didn’t say anything for a full minute. He laid the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “Why, Mike?”

  “I don’t know, Hy. I don’t know why at all.”

  “If what I heard is true she doesn’t have a chance.”

  “She has a chance,” I told him softly.

  “Maybe it really isn’t her at all, Mike.”

  I didn’t answer him. Behind us the door opened and Marilyn came in. She flipped an envelope on Hy’s desk and set down the coffee container. “Here’s a picture that just came off the wires. Del said you requested it.”

  Hy looked at me a little too quickly, opened the envelope and took out the photo. He studied it, then passed it across.

  It really wasn’t a good picture at all. The original had been fuzzy to start with and transmission electrically hadn’t improved it any. She stood outside a building, a tall girl with seemingly black hair longer than I remembered it, features not quite clear and whose shape and posture were hidden under bulky Eastern European style clothing. Still, there was that indefinable something, some subtlety in the way she stood, some trait that came through the clothing and poor photography that I couldn’t help but see.

  I handed the photo back. “It’s Velda.”

  “My German friend said the picture was several years old.”

  “Who had it?”

  “A Red agent who was killed in a skirmish with some West German cops. It came off his body. I’d say he had been assigned to REN too and the picture was for identification purposes.”

  “Is this common information?”

  Hy shook his head. “I’d say no. Rather than classify this thing government sources simply refuse to admit it exists. We came on it separately.”

  I said, “The government knows it exists.”

  “You know too damn much, Mike.”

  “No, not enough. I don’t know where she is now.”

  “I can tell you one thing,” Hy said.

  “Oh?”

  “She isn’t in Europe any longer. The locale of REN has changed. The Dragon has left Europe. His victim got away somehow and all indications point to them both being in this country.”

  Very slowly, I got up, put my coat and hat on and stretched the dampness out of my shoulders. I said, “Thanks, Hy.”

  “Don’t you want your coffee?”

  “Not now.”

  He opened a drawer, took out a thick manila envelope and handed it to me. “Here. You might want to read up a little more on Senator Knapp. It’s confidential stuff. Gives you an idea of how big he was. Save it for me.”

  “Sure.” I stuck it carelessly in my coat pocket. “Thanks.”

  Marilyn said, “You all right, Mike?”

  I grinned at her a little crookedly. “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look right,” she insisted.

  Hy said, “Mike—”

  And I cut him short. “I’ll see you later, Hy.” I grinned at him too. “And thanks. Don’t worry about me.” I patted the gun under my coat. “I have a friend along now. Legally.”

  While I waited, I read about just how great a guy Leo Knapp had been. His career had been cut short at a tragic spot because it was evident that in a few more years he would have been the big man on the political scene. It was very evident that he had been one of the true powers behind the throne, a man initially responsible for military progress and missile production in spite of opposition from the knotheaded liberals and “better-Red-than-dead” slobs. He had thwarted every attack and forced through the necessary programs and in his hands had been secrets of vital importance that made him a number-one man in the Washington setup. His death came at a good time for the enemy. The bullet that killed him came from the gun of The Dragon. A bullet from the same gun killed Richie Cole and almost killed me twice. A bullet from that same gun was waiting to kill Velda.

  She came in then, the night air still on her, shaking the rain from her hair, laughing when she saw me. Her hand was cool when she took mine and climbed on the stool next to me. John brought her a martini and me another Blue Ribbon. We raised the glasses in a toast and drank the top off them.

  “Good to see you,” I said.

  “You’ll never know,” she smiled.

  “Where are you meeting Pat?”

  She frowned, then, “Oh, Captain Chambers. Why, right here.” She glanced at her watch. “In five minutes. Shall we sit at a table?”

  “Let’s.” I picked up her glass and angled us across the room to the far wall. “Does Pat know I’ll be here?”

  “I didn’t mention it.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  Pat was punctual, as usual. He saw me but didn’t change expression. When he said hello to Laura he sat beside her and only then looked at me. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

  “That’s nice.”

  He was a mean, cold cop if ever there was one, his face a mask you couldn’t penetrate until you looked into his eyes and saw the hate and determination there. “Where do you find your connections, Mike?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s peculiar how a busted private dick, a damn drunken pig in trouble up to his ears can get a gun-carrying privilege we can’t break. How do you do it, punk?”

  I shrugged, not feeling like arguing with him. Laura looked at the two of us, wondering what was going on.

  “Well, you might need it at that if you keep getting shot at. By the way, I got a description of your back alley friend. He was seen by a rather observant kid in the full light of the streetlamp. Big guy, about six-two with dark curly hair and a face with deep lines in the cheeks. His cheekbones were kind of high so he had kind of an Indian look. Ever see anybody like that?”

  He was pushing me now, doing anything to set me off so he’d have a reason to get at me but sure, I saw a guy like that. He drove past me on the Thruway and I thought he was a tired driver, then he shot at me later and now I know damn well who he is. You call him The Dragon. He had a face I’d see again someday, a face I couldn’t miss.

  I said, “No, I don’t know him.” It wasn’t quite a lie.

  Pat smiled sardonically. “I have a feeling you will.”

  “So okay, I’ll try to catch up with him for you.”

  “You do that, punk. Meanwhile I’ll catch up with you. I’m putting you into this thing tighter than ever.”

  “Me?”

  “That’s right. That’s why I’m glad you’re here. It saves seeing you later.” He had me curious now and knew it, and he was going to pull it out all the way. “There is a strange common denominator running throughout our little murder puzzle here. I’m trying to find out just what it all means.”

  “Please go on,” Laura said.

  “Gems. For some reason I can’t get them out of my mind. Three times they cross in front of me.” He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “The first time when my old friend here let a girl die because of them, then when Senator Knapp was killed a batch of paste jewels were taken from the safe, and later a man known for his gem smuggling was killed with the same gun. It’s a recurrent theme, isn’t it, Mike? You’re supposed to know about these things. In fact, it must have occurred to you too. You were quick enough about getting upstate to see Mrs. Knapp here.”

  “Listen, Pat.”

  “Shut up. There’s more.” He reached in his pocket and tugged at a cloth sack. “We’re back to the gems again.” He pulled the top open, spilled the sack upside down and watched the flood of rings, brooches and bracelets make a sparkling mound of brilliance on the table between us.

  “Paste, pure paste, Mrs. Knapp, but I think they are yours.”

&nbs
p; Her hand was shaking when she reached out to touch them. She picked up the pieces one by one, examining them, then shaking her head. “Yes—they’re mine! But where—”

  “A pathetic old junkman was trying to peddle them in a pawn-shop. The broker called the cops and we grabbed the guy. He said he found them in a garbage can a long time ago and kept them until now to sell. He figured they were stolen, all right, but didn’t figure he’d get picked up like he did.”

  “Make your connection, Pat. So far all you showed was that a smart crook recognized paste jewelry and dumped it.”

  His eyes had a vicious cast to them this time. “I’m just wondering about the original gem robbery, the one your agency was hired to prevent. The name was Mr. and Mrs. Rudolph Civac. I’m wondering what kind of a deal was really pulled off there. You sent in Velda but wouldn’t go yourself. I’m thinking that maybe you turned sour way back there and tried for a big score and fouled yourself up in it somehow.”

  His hands weren’t showing so I knew one was sitting on a gun butt. I could feel myself going around the edges but hung on anyway. “You’re nuts,” I said, “I never even saw Civac. He made the protection deal by phone. I never laid eyes on him.”

  Pat felt inside his jacket and came out with a four-by-five glossy photo. “Well take a look at what your deceased customer looked like. I’ve been backtracking all over that case, even as cold as it is. Something’s going to come up on it, buddy boy, and I hope you’re square in the middle of it.” He forgot me for a moment and turned to Laura. “Do you positively identify these, Mrs. Knapp?”

  “Oh, yes. There’s an accurate description of each piece on file and on the metal there’s—”

  “I saw the hallmarks.”

  “This ring was broken—see here where this prong is off—yes, these are mine.”

  “Fine. You can pick them up at my office tomorrow if you want to. I’ll have to hold them until then though.”

  “That’s all right.”

  He snatched the picture out of my fingers and put it back in his pocket. “You I’ll be seeing soon,” he told me.

  I didn’t answer him. I nodded, but that was all. He looked at me a moment, scowled, went to say something and changed his mind. He told Laura good-bye and walked to the door.

  Fresh drinks came and I finished mine absently. Laura chuckled once and I glanced up. “You’ve been quiet a long time. Aren’t we going to do the town?”

  “Do you mind if we don’t?”

  She raised her eyebrows, surprised, but not at all unhappy. “No, do you want to do something else?”

  “Yes. Think.”

  “Your place?” she asked mischievously.

  “I don’t have a place except my office.”

  “We’ve been there before,” she teased.

  But I had kissed Velda there too many times before too. “No,” I said.

  Laura leaned forward, serious now. “It’s important, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get out of the city entirely. Let’s go back upstate to where it’s cool and quiet and you can think right. Would you like to do that?”

  “All right.”

  I paid the bill and we went outside to the night and the rain to flag down a cab to get us to the parking lot. She had to do it for me because the only thing I could think of was the face in that picture Pat had showed me.

  Rudolph Civac was the same as Gerald Erlich.

  CHAPTER 10

  I couldn’t remember the trip at all. I was asleep before we reached the West Side Drive and awakened only when she shook me. Her voice kept calling to me out of a fog and for a few seconds I thought it was Velda, then I opened my eyes and Laura was smiling at me. “We’re home, Mike.”

  The rain had stopped, but in the stillness of the night I could hear the soft dripping from the shadows of the blue spruces around the house. Beyond them a porch and inside light threw out a pale yellow glow. “Won’t your servants have something to say about me coming in?”

  “No, I’m alone at night. The couple working for me come only during the day.”

  “I haven’t seen them yet.”

  “Each time you were here they had the day off.”

  I made an annoyed grimace. “You’re nuts, kid. You should keep somebody around all the time after what happened.”

  Her hand reached out and she traced a line around my mouth. “I’m trying to,” she said. Then she leaned over and brushed me with lips that were gently damp and sweetly warm, the tip of her tongue a swift dart of flame, doing it too quickly for me to grab her to make it last.

  “Quit brainwashing me,” I said.

  She laughed at me deep in her throat. “Never, Mister Man. I’ve been too long without you.”

  Rather than hear me answer she opened the door and slid out of the car. I came around from the other side and we went up the steps into the house together. It was a funny feeling, this coming home sensation. There was the house and the woman and the mutual desire, an instinctive demanding passion we shared, one for the other, yet realizing that there were other things that came first and not caring because there was always later.

  There was a huge couch in the living room of soft, aged leather, a hidden hi-fi that played Dvořák, Beethoven and Tchaikovsky and somewhere in between Laura had gotten into yards of flowing nylon that did nothing to hide the warmth of her body or restrain the luscious bloom of her thighs and breasts. She lay there in my arms quietly, giving me all of the moment to enjoy as I pleased, only her sometimes-quickened breathing indicating her pleasure as I touched her lightly, caressing her with my fingertips. Her eyes were closed, a small satisfied smile touched the corners of her mouth and she snuggled into me with a sigh of contentment.

  How long I sat there and thought about it I couldn’t tell. I let it drift through my mind from beginning to end, the part I knew and the part I didn’t know. Like always, a pattern was there. You can’t have murder without a pattern. It weaves in and out, fabricating an artful tapestry, and while the background colors were apparent from the beginning it is only at the last that the picture itself emerges. But who was the weaver? Who sat invisibly behind the loom with shuttles of death in one hand and skeins of lives in the other? I fell asleep trying to peer behind the gigantic framework of that murder factory, a sleep so deep, after so long, that there was nothing I thought about or remembered afterward.

  I was alone when the bright shaft of sunlight pouring in the room awakened me. I was stretched out comfortably, my shoes off, my tie loose and a light Indian blanket over me. I threw it off, put my shoes back on and stood up. It took me a while to figure out what was wrong, then I saw the .45 in the shoulder holster draped over the back of a chair with my coat over it and while I was reaching for it she came in with all the exuberance of a summer morning, a tray of coffee in her hands, and blew me a kiss.

  “Well hello,” I said.

  She put the tray down and poured the coffee. “You were hard to undress.”

  “Why bother?”

  Laura looked up laughing. “It’s not easy to sleep with a man wearing a gun.” She held out a cup. “Here, have some coffee. Sugar and milk?”

  “Both. And I’m glad it’s milk and not cream.”

  She fixed my cup, stirring it too. “You’re a snob, Mike. In your own way you’re a snob.” She made a face at me and grinned. “But I love snobs.”

  “You should be used to them. You travel in classy company.”

  “They aren’t snobs like you. They’re just scared people putting on a front. You’re the real snob. Now kiss me good morning—or afternoon. It’s one o’clock.” She reached up offering her mouth and I took it briefly, but even that quick touch bringing back the desire again.

  Laura slid her hand under my arm and walked me through the house to the porch and out to the lawn by the pool. The sun overhead was brilliant and hot, the air filled with the smell of the mountains. She said, “Can I get you something to eat?”

  I tig
htened my arm on her hand. “You’re enough for right now.”

  She nuzzled my shoulder, wrinkled her nose and grinned. We both pulled out aluminum and plastic chairs, and while she went inside for the coffeepot I settled down in mine.

  Now maybe I could think.

  She poured another cup, knowing what was going through my mind. When she sat down opposite me she said, “Mike, would it be any good to tell me about it? I’m a good listener. I’ll be somebody you can aim hypothetical questions at. Leo did this with me constantly. He called me his sounding board. He could think out loud, but doing it alone he sounded foolish to himself so he’d do it with me.” She paused, her eyes earnest, wanting to help. “I’m yours for anything if you want me, Mike.”

  “Thanks, kitten.”

  I finished the coffee and put the cup down.

  “You’re afraid of something,” she said.

  “Not of. For. Like for you, girl. I told you once I was a trouble character. Wherever I am there’s trouble and when you play guns there are stray shots and I don’t want you in the way of any.”

  “I’ve already been there, remember?”

  “Only because I wasn’t on my toes. I’ve slowed up. I’ve been away too damn long and I’m not careful.”

  “Are you careful now?”

  My eyes reached hers across the few feet that separated us. “No. I’m being a damn fool again. I doubt if we were tailed here, but it’s only a doubt. I have a gun in the house, but we could be dead before I reached it.”

  She shrugged unconcernedly. “There’s the shotgun in the bathhouse.”

  “That’s still no good. It’s a pro game. There won’t be any more second chances. You couldn’t reach the shotgun either. It’s around the pool and in the dark.”

  “So tell me about it, Mike. Think to me and maybe it will end even faster and we can have ourselves to ourselves. If you want to think, or be mad or need a reaction, think to me.”