The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3 Read online

  “This business . . . about Mr. Torrence killing her mother.”

  “That’s an idea she’ll have to get out of her mind.”

  Geraldine said, “She dreams it. Dreams can be pretty real sometimes. Her very early childhood couldn’t have been very nice. I don’t think she ever knew who her father was. If she makes open accusations it can damage Mr. Torrence.”

  “I’ll speak to her. She around?”

  “There’s a summer house on the south side where she practices. She practically lives there.”

  She was standing in front of me now, concern deep inside those wild blue eyes. I said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Geraldine smiled, reached up slowly, and put her arms around my neck. With the same deliberate slowness she pulled herself on her toes, wet her lips with her tongue, and brought my mouth down to hers. It was a soft teasing, tasting kiss, as if she were sampling the juice from a plum before buying the lot. Her mouth was a warm cavern filled with life and promise, then just as slowly she drew away, smiling.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I grinned at her. “Thank you.”

  “I could hate you easier than I could like you.”

  “Which is worse?”

  “That you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

  “Maybe I will, baby.”

  At first I didn’t think she was there, then I heard the sounds of a cabinet opening and I knocked on the door. Her smile was like the sun breaking open a cloud and she reached for my hand. “Hello, Mike. Gee I’m glad to see you.” She looked past me. “Isn’t Velda with you?”

  “Not this time. Can I come in?”

  She made a face at me and stepped aside, then closed the door.

  It was a funny little place, apparently done over to her specifications. One wall was all mirror with a dancer’s practice bar against it. Opposite was a record player with a shelf of LP’s, a shoe rack with all the implements of the trade, a standup microphone attached to a record player, a spinet piano covered with lead sheets of popular music and Broadway hits, with a few stuffed animals keeping them in place.

  The rest of the room was a girl-style den with a studio couch, dresser, cabinets, and a small conference table. Cardboard boxes, books, and a few old-fashioned paper files covered the table and it was these she was going through when I found her.

  “What’re you up to, Sue?”

  “Going through my mother’s things.”

  “She’s a long time dead. Face it.”

  “I know. Would you like to see what she looked like?”

  “Sure.”

  There were a few clippings from the trade papers of the time and some framed nightclub shots taken by the usual club photographers and they all showed a well-built blonde with a slightly vacuous expression. Whether it was intended or built-in I couldn’t tell, but she almost typified the beautiful but dumb showgirl. There were four photos, all taken in night spots long since gone. In two of them she was with a party of six. In the other two there were four people, and in those she was with the same man, a lanky darkhaired guy with deep-set eyes who almost seemed like a hell-fire preacher touring the sin spots for material for a sermon.

  “She was pretty,” I said.

  “She was beautiful,” Sue said softly. “I can still remember her face.”

  “These were taken before you were born.” I pointed to the dates on the back of the photos.

  “I know. But I can remember her. I remember her talking to me. I remember her talking about him.”

  “Come on, kid.”

  Her hair swirled as she made a small negative gesture. “I mean it. She hated him.”

  “Sue . . . they were married.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I looked at her sharply. “Want me to be blunt?”

  She shrugged and bit into her lip.

  “Your mother was an alcoholic. Sim tried everything to dry her out. Alcoholics hate that. If she hated him it was because he wanted to help. Get it out of your mind that he killed her.”

  “She told me the snake killed her.”

  “Drunks see snakes and elephants and everything else. Don’t go getting wrapped up in an obsession.”

  “She told me to look for a letter. Someday I’ll find it.”

  “You were three years old. How could you remember those things?”

  “I just do.”

  “Okay, you look for it then. Meanwhile, I want you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t cause trouble. You stay out of his hair until we clear this thing up. Promise me?”

  “Maybe.” She was smiling at me.

  “What do you want?”

  “Kiss me.”

  I grunted. “I just got done kissing Geraldine King.”

  “You’re nasty, but I don’t care.” She sidled around the desk and stood there with her hands behind her back. “I’ll take seconds,” she said.

  So I kissed her.

  “Not like that.”

  “How?” The damn game was getting out of hand. The big broads I could handle, but how do you get the kids off your back?

  Then she showed me how in a moment of sudden violence that was all soft and tender yet filled with some latent fury I couldn’t understand. The contact was brief, but it shook me and left her trembling, her eyes darkly languid and her face flushed.

  “I hope you like seconds best.”

  “By far, kid, only don’t do it again.” I faked a laugh and held her away. “Stay cool, okay?”

  “Okay, Mike.”

  Then I got out of there and back into the taxi where I gave the driver Pat’s address.

  CHAPTER 6

  The new Inspector was a transfer from another division, a hard apple I had seen around years ago. His name was Spencer Grebb and one of his passionate hatreds was personnel from other fields poking around in his domain, with first cut going to private investigators and police reporters. From the look he gave me, I seemed to have a special place in his book and was target one on his big S list.

  Charles Force was a D.A. out for Charlie Force. He was young, talented, on the way up, and nothing was going to deter his ambition. He was a nice-looking guy, but you couldn’t tell what was going on behind his face. He had made it the hard way, in the courtrooms, and was a pro at the game right down the line.

  Now they both sat at one side of the room with Pat in the middle, looking at me like I was game they were going to let out of the box long enough to get a running start so that hunting me down would be a pleasure.

  After the introductions I said, “You check those slugs out, Pat?”

  “Both from the same gun that killed Basil Levitt. You mentioned Marv Kania. Could you identify the guy, the guy who pulled the trigger?”

  “If he’s Kania I could.”

  “Try this.” Pat flipped a four-by-five photo across the desk and I picked it up.

  I looked at it and tossed it back. “That’s the one.”

  “Positive?”

  “Positive. He’s made two passes at me, once in the office building and today with a truck. It rammed a taxi I was in.”

  Inspector Grebb had a hard, low voice. “This you reported right away.”

  “Now I’m doing it. At the moment it could have been a simple traffic accident. I ducked out because I had something to do. Now I’m tying it all in.”

  His smile was a twisted thing. “You know, it wouldn’t be too hard to find a charge to press there, would it, Mr. Force?”

  Charlie Force smiled too, but pleasantly. A courtroom smile. “I don’t think so, Inspector.”

  As insolently as I could make it, I perched on the edge of Pat’s desk and faced them. “Let’s get something straight. I know what you guys would like to see, but I’m not going to fall easily. The agency I represent is federal. It’s obscure, but pulls a lot of weight, and if you want to see just how much weight is there, push me a little. I’m operating in an official capacity whether you like it or
not, which gives me certain latitudes. I’ve been around long enough to know the score on both ends so play it straight, friends. I’m cooperating with all departments as Captain Chambers will tell you. Just don’t push. You’d be surprised what kind of a stink I can raise if I want to.”

  I looked at Charlie Force deliberately. “Especially in the publicity circuit, buddy.”

  His eyebrows pulled together. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Hammer?”

  I nodded and grinned at him. “That I am, buster. That’s one edge I have on you. A bad schmear and you can go down a notch and never hit the big-time. So play ball.”

  They didn’t like it, but they had to take it. In a way, I couldn’t blame them a bit. An ex private jingle coming in with a big ticket isn’t easy to take. Especially not one with a reputation like mine.

  The D.A. seemed to relax. He was still stalling, but it wasn’t for real. “We’ve been advised to cooperate.”

  Thanks, Rickerby, I thought. You’re still paying for The Dragon.

  Pat said, “We ran a pretty thorough check on Basil Levitt.”

  “Anything?”

  “We located a girl he used to shack up with. She told us he was on a job but wouldn’t say what it was. He said he was getting paid well for it but there would be more later and he was already making big plans. Outside of a few others who knew he had fresh money on him, nothing.”

  “What about the rifle?”

  “Stolen from a sporting goods store upstate about a month ago. We had the numbers on file. He must have worn gloves in the room where he had the gun set up, but got careless when he loaded the clip. There was a single print that tied him in with it.”

  Before I could answer, Charlie Force said, “Now what we are interested in knowing is who he was shooting at.”

  I looked at my watch and then at his face. “Art Rickerby clued you in. You know what Velda was involved with.”

  “Yes,” he agreed pleasantly. “We know. But I’m beginning to wonder about it all.”

  “Well, stop wondering.”

  “You were there too. Right in the middle.”

  “Fresh on the scene. Levitt had been there some time. Days.”

  “Waiting for you?”

  Let them think it, I figured. I wasn’t cutting him in on anything. “I’m trying to find that out too,” I told him. “When I do you’ll get the word.”

  Grebb and Force got up together and headed for the door. Their inspection trip was over. They were satisfied now that I’d make a good target. Grebb looked at me through those cold eyes, still smiling twistedly. “Be sure to do that,” he said.

  When they were gone Pat shook his head. “You don’t make friends easily.”

  “Who needs them?”

  “Someday you will.”

  “I’ll wait until then. Look, buddy, you know what the action is in town?”

  Pat just nodded.

  “Dickerson?”

  He spread his hands. “We’re working on it.”

  “How can a wheel come in already operating and not be known?”

  “It isn’t hard. You want to know what we have?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Hoods are showing up from all over the country. They’re all clean, at least clean enough so we can’t tumble them. We can roust them when we want to, but they have nothing we can pin on them.”

  “How many?”

  “Not an army, but let a dozen wrong types hit town at once and it sets a pattern. Something’s about to happen.”

  “They’re not holding a convention.”

  “No, they’re getting paid somehow. Either there’s loot being laid out or they’re operating under orders. There are Syndicate men in and sitting by nice and quietly waiting for the word. All we can do is wait too. In the meantime there’s a shake-up in the rackets. Somebody’s got the power to pull strings long enough to get action out of the Midwest and the coast. There’s a power play going on and a big one. I wish I could figure it out.”

  He sat there drumming his fingertips on the desktop. “What do you think, Mike?”

  I gave it to him straight, right down the line, laying the facts face up from the time I walked into the apartment until I reached his office. I watched his mind close around the details and put them into mental cubbyholes to hold there until he had time to assimilate them. But I gave him no opinions, nothing more than facts.

  Finally he said, “There are some strange implications.”

  “Too many.”

  “I suppose you want something from me now.”

  “Yeah. Get a killer off my back.”

  His eyes touched mine and narrowed. “We’ll do all we can. He can’t get around too long with a bullet in him.”

  “Up to now he’s been doing great.”

  I got up off the desk and put on my hat. “This Arnold Goodwin . . .”

  “I’ll get a team out on it. This is one of the implications I don’t like. These are the real potential killers. Whether Torrence likes it or not, I’ll see that somebody is staked out around his house. We’ll keep it quiet, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “Good deal. I’ll see you later.”

  “By the way, Joey Adams called here for you. He wants to see you about something.” He grinned at me. “Said he got stopped on a traffic violation and flashed his honorary badge with all the little diamonds and just found out from the arresting officer what it was good for.”

  “Old joke.”

  “Funny though.”

  I called Joey from downstairs and had him meet me in the Blue Ribbon. It was between the meal hours and nobody was there, so George and I sipped coffee until he got there.

  After he ordered milk and cake I said, “What’s the bit?”

  “Look, you had me chasing down Sally Devon’s old friends. Well, I’m up in the office when Pauline Coulter comes in to tell me what she forgot. About a week ago she ran into Annette Lee, who was with Sally when she died.”

  “Man, she was old then.”

  “She’s older now, but still kicking. Annette Lee used to be a wardrobe mistress in a show Sally worked in and afterwards worked for Sally as sort of personal maid. Now how about that? You think I’ll make a cop yet?”

  “Not if you keep flashing that police badge.” I grinned.

  “Come on!”

  “Okay, it was a joke.” I laughed. “No kidding though . . . this Lee gal might clean up a few things. It’s nice to have friends in important places.”

  “Anytime, Mike.” He pulled out a card and scribbled down an address. “Here’s where she is. It’s a rooming house across town. She never goes anywhere so you can always find her home.”

  I stuck the card in my pocket. “How about now? You free?”

  “Like a bird, man.”

  Annette Lee had a front room downstairs in one of the countless brownstones along the street. Her pension money kept her adequately, her cat kept her company, and whatever went on outside her window was enough to keep her busy. She was a small woman, shrunken with age, but in the straight-back rocker, with tiny feet pushing against the floor with tireless rhythm to keep her in motion, she had a funny pixyish quality that was reflected in her faded gray eyes.

  There was no telling her accurate age, but it had crept up on her so that her talk wandered into peculiar directions and it was difficult to keep her on one track. But she remembered Sally Devon well. They had been good friends and it was Sally who had taken her in when she was sick and needed an operation, and Sally who cared for her and paid her expenses, so that when Sally needed her, she was glad to go.

  She eyed us sharply when I questioned her about Sally’s background, but until she was aware that I knew about her past, was reluctant to talk about it. It was Sally’s earnings in the seamier side of life that paid her expenses and she was grateful. Little by little she gave it to us. Sally had left show business to take up with men, had gotten involved with the wrong ones and found herself in trouble.

  Yes,
she knew Sim Torrence, and although she didn’t like him, thought he had done well by Sally. He had taken her in when she needed help, and if it hadn’t been for Sally’s drinking the marriage might have been successful. What she thought was that Sally’s guilt complex for bringing a tarnished background into Sim Torrence’s life drove her to alcoholism.

  She remembered the night Sally died, too. Outside in the cold. Drunk. It was a shame. She couldn’t revive her. I asked her directly if she thought Sim Torrence had anything to do with Sally’s death.

  Annette Lee gave me a shriveling glance. “Don’t be silly,” she said.

  “Just clearing up a point,” I told her.

  “Then what’s this all about, young man?”

  “Sue thinks so.”

  “Sally’s little baby?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Rubbish. She was only a mite.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But she’s pretty insistent about it. One minute she has the idea Torrence was responsible, the next she says it was a snake.”

  Annette’s face pulled into a tight expression and for a moment her eyes were less faded-looking. “Snake? Sally used to talk about that. When she was drunk. She kept mentioning the snake. Funny you should bring it up. Never thought it would make an impression on a child. Yes, she used to talk about the snake all right. But no snake killed her. She died right there in the front yard, right in my arms. Like to froze, the poor thing did, all drunk up and sick. Maybe it was for the best though.”

  She sat back in the rocker and closed her eyes. Too much talking was wearing her down. I motioned to Joey and we got up. “Well,” I said, “thanks for the talk. Maybe I’ll come back again sometime.”

  “Please do.”

  We walked to the door as the rhythm of her rocking slowed down. Just as I was about to leave it picked up again and she said, “Young man . . .”

  “Ma’am?”

  “They ever catch him?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The one who ran off with all that money. A whole lot of money. Sally’s old boyfriend.”

  I called Joey back in and shut the door. “A lot of money?”

  “Indeed. Three million dollars. Conley, I think his name was. Blackie Conley. He was a mean one. He was the meanest of them all. They ever catch him?”