The Mike Hammer Collection (79 page)

Clyde was staring at the gun in my hand. I held it at him level, but he was looking right down the barrel. Velda's was aimed right at his stomach.

“What did you do with Jean, Clyde? She was supposed to have eloped. Did you stash her away in a rooming house somewhere planning to get rid of her? Did she read the papers and find out about Rainey and break loose until you ran her down and tossed her over the bridge? Did Marion Lester put the heat on you for cash when she had you over the barrel until she had to be killed too?”

“Mike ...” he said.

“Shut up. I'm talking. I want to know a few things, Clyde. I want to know where those pictures are. Anton can't tell me because Anton's dead. You ought to see his head. His eyes were where his mouth was supposed to be. He didn't have them so that puts it on you.”

Clyde threw his arms back and screamed. Every muscle of his face contorted into a tight knot and the robe fell off his shoulders to the floor. “You aren't hanging murder on me, you shamus! I'm not going to hang for any murder, not me!”

Velda grabbed my arm and I shrugged her off. “You called it, Clyde. You won't hang for any murder, and you know why? Because you're going to die right here in this room. You're going to die and when the cops come I'll tell them what happened. I'll tell them that you had this gun in your hand and I took it away from you and used it myself. Or I can let Velda do it and put this gun in your hand later. It came from overseas ... nobody will ever trace it to me. How do you like those apples, Clyde?”

The voice behind me said, “He don't like 'em, mister. Drop that gun or I'll give it to you and the broad both.”

No, it couldn't happen to me again. Not again. Please, God, not this time. The hard round snout of a gun pressed against my spine. I dropped the Luger. Velda's hit the floor next to it. Clyde let out a scream of pure joy and staggered across the room to fall on it. He didn't talk. He lifted that rod by the butt and slashed it across my jaw. I tried to grab him and the barrel caught me on the temple with a jolt that dropped me to my knees. The voice with the gun took his turn and the back of my head felt like it flew to pieces.

I don't know how long I lay there. Time didn't mean a thing any more. First I was too late, then I was early, now I was too late again. I heard Clyde through the fog ordering Velda into another room. I heard him say to the guy, “Drag him in with her. It's soundproof in there, nobody' ll hear us. I'll fix him good for this when I get through with her. I want him to watch it. Put him in a chair and make him watch it.”

Then there were hands under my arms and my feet dragged across the floor. A door slammed and I felt the arms of a chair digging in the small of my back. Velda said, “No ... oh, God ... NO!”

Clyde said, “Take it off. All of it.” I got my eyes open. Clyde was standing there flexing his hands, his face a picture of lust unsatisfied. The other guy stood to one side of me watching Velda back away until she was against the wall. He still had the gun in his hand.

They all saw me move at the same time. My heart hammered me to my feet and I wanted to kill them both. Clyde rasped, “Shoot him if he tries anything.” He said it knowing I was going to try it anyway, and the guy brought the gun up.

There was only a single second to see it happen. Clyde and the guy had their eyes off Velda just long enough. Her hand went inside her suit jacket and came out with a little hammerless automatic that barked a deadly bark and the guy with the gun grabbed his stomach and tried to swear.

The pain in my head wouldn't let me stand. I tried to reach her and fell, seeing Clyde grab her arm and wrestle for the rod even as I was dragging myself toward the snub-nosed revolver that was still clutched in the other guy's hand.

Velda screamed, “Mike ... get him!
Mike!”
She was bent double trying to hold on to the gun. Clyde gave a wrench and she tumbled to the floor, her jacket ripping wide open. Velda screamed again and the gun clattered across the floor. Clyde wouldn't have had time to get it before I reached the other one and he knew it. He swore obscenely and ran for the door and slammed it shut after him. A bolt clicked in the lock and furniture was rammed into it to block the way. Then another door jarred shut and Clyde was gone.

Velda had my head in her lap rocking me gently. “Mike, you fool, are you all right? Mike, speak to me.”

“I'm okay, kid. I'll be fine in a minute.” She touched the cuts on my face, healing them with a kiss. Tears streamed down her cheeks. I forced a grin and she held me tighter. “Shrewdie, a regular shrewdie, aren't you?” I fingered the straps of the miniature shoulder holster she was wearing under the ruins of her jacket. “You'll do as a partner. Who'd ever think a girl would be wearing a shoulder rig?”

She grinned back and helped me to my feet. I swayed and held on to the chair for support. Velda tried the door, rattling the knob with all her strength. “Mike ... it's locked! We're locked in.”

“Damn it!”

The guy on the floor coughed once and twitched. Blood spilled out of his mouth and he gave one final, convulsive jerk. I said, “You can put a notch on your gun, Velda.”

I thought she was going to get sick, but that animal look screwed her face into a snarl. “I wish I had killed them both. Mike, what are we going to do? We can't get out.”

“We have to, Velda. Clyde ...”

“Did he ... is he the one?”

My head hurt. My brain was a soggy mass that revolted against thought. “He's the one. Try that door again.” I. finally picked the gun up off the floor and stood with it in my hand. It was almost too heavy to hold.

“Mike ... that night that Rainey was killed ... Clyde was at a conference. I heard them talking about it in the Bowery Inn. He was there.”

My stomach heaved. The blood was pounding in my ears. I put the gun to the lock and pulled the trigger. The crack of it sent it spinning out of my hand. The lock still didn't give. Velda repeated, “Mike ...”

“I heard you, goddamn it! I don't care what you saw or what anybody said. It was Clyde, can't you see that? It was Clyde and Anton. They had the pictures and ...”

I stopped and stared at the door. “The pictures ... Clyde's gone after those pictures. If he gets them he'll have the protection he needs and he'll get out of this sure as grass grows in the springtime!”

I found the gun and leveled it at the lock, pulling the trigger until the room reeked with the fumes of burned powder. Damn his soul! Those pictures ... they weren't in Anton's apartment and they weren't here ... the outside door had slammed shut too fast to give him time to pick anything up on the way. That left only one other place, the agency office.

Thinking about it gave me the strength I needed to bash it with my shoulder until it budged. Velda pushed with me and the furniture on the other side moved. We leaned against the dead weight, harder, working until the cords stood out in our necks. Something toppled from the pile and the door moved back far enough to let us out.

There was utter silence.

I threw the revolver on a chair and picked the Luger off the floor and stuffed it under my arm. I waved my thumb to the phone. “Call Pat. Try until you get him and if you can't, call the D.A.'s office. That'll get action quick enough. Make them put out a call for Clyde and we might be able to stop him in time.” I half-ran, half-stumbled to the door and held it open. Velda shouted something after me that I didn't hear and I scrambled out to the lobby. The elevator pointer was at the bottom floor, the basement. But the service car was still in place. It took its own, agonizing time about going down and I stopped it at the main hall and ran out the front. The admiral gave me a queer look, tried to grab me and got a fist in the mouth. He lost me in the snow before he could get up, but I could hear him yelling as I got in my car. I was two blocks away from the apartment building when the first squad car shot by. I was five blocks farther on when I remembered that Connie had gone up to the office that night.

I got that funny feeling back in my stomach again and jammed my foot down on the throttle and weaved across town so I could intersect Thirty-third Street without wasting a minute.

When I came to the cemetery of buildings I slowed down and parked. A light was on behind the entrance doors and an old fellow sat under it reading a paper. He was just checking his turnip watch when I pulled the door open. He shook his head and waved for me to go away.

I kicked the door so hard it shook violently. The old guy threw his paper down and turned the lock. “It's too late. You can't go in. We closed up half-hour ago. Not even late visitors. Go on, scram.”

He didn't get a chance to close it on me. I rammed it with the heel of my hand and stepped inside. “Anybody been here in the last few minutes?”

His head jerked nervously. “Ain't been nobody here for over an hour. Look, you can't come in, so why don't you ...”

Clyde hadn't shown up. Hell, he had to come here! He should be here! “Is there another way in this place?”

“Yes, the back way. That's locked up tight. Nobody can get in that way unless I unbolt it. Look, mister ...”

“Oh, keep quiet. Call the cops if you want to.”

“I don't understand ... what you after?”

I let him have the nastiest look I could work up. “A killer. A guy with a gun.”

He swallowed hard. “Nobody's been in ... you're kidding, ain't you?”

“Yeah, I'm kidding so hard it hurts. You know who I am, Mac? My name is Mike Hammer. The cops want me. The killer wants me. Everybody wants my skin and I'm still walking around loose. Now answer my question, who was in here tonight?”

This time he gulped audibly. “Some ... a guy from the first ... floor. He came back and worked. A few people from the insurance came in. Some others were with Roy Carmichael when he came in. They got some likker out of the office and left. I saw some others standing around the register later. Maybe if you looked there ...”

“Sure, he wrote his name down. Take me upstairs, pop. I want to get in the Anton Lipsek Agency.”

“Oh, say now. Young girl went in there while back. Nice kid. Sure I let her in there. Don't remember seeing her come back. Must've been making my rounds.”

“Take me upstairs.”

“You better use the self-service elevator ...”

I shoved him in one of the main cars and he dropped his time clock. He glared at me once and shut the door. We got out and walked down the hall to the office and my gun was in my hand. This time there wouldn't be anybody coming up behind me.

The light was on and the doors were open, wide open. I went in running with my gun waist-high and covered the room. The watchman was wheezing in the doorway, bug-eyed with fright. I combed the rooms until the place was lit up like it was a working day. There were dressing rooms and minor offices, closets for supplies and closets for clothes. There were three neat darkrooms and one not so neat. I found the room I was looking for branching off a layout studio.

I found it and I opened the door and stood there with my mouth open to let me breathe up all the insane hatred that was stored up in my chest.

Connie was lying in the middle of the room with her eyes wide open. Her back had been bent to form aV and she was dead.

The room was ceiling-high with storage cabinets, covered with dust that revealed its infrequent use. The drawer of one of those cabinets gaped wide open and a whole section of folders had been removed.

I was too late again.

The watchman had to hold on to me to keep from fainting. He worked his mouth, trying to keep his eyes from the body. He made slobbering noises and shouted his fear and he held on tighter. He was still holding my arm when I kneeled down to look at Connie.

No marks, just that look of incredible pain on her face. The whole thing had been done with one swift, clean stroke. I opened her fingers gently and lifted out the piece of shipping tag she had clutched so tightly. The part that was left said, “To attach magnifier to screen ...” the rest had been torn off. In the dust of the floor was the outline of where a crate had stood. Another fine line in the dust showed where the same crate had been tipped on end and dragged out in the hall. There were no marks after that and no crate either.

I left the door open and went back to the foyer, the little watchman blubbering behind me. After I tried a half-dozen combinations in the switchboard I got an outside wire. I said, “Give me the police.” The watchman sat down and trembled while I told the desk man at the precinct station where to look for a body. When I hung up I steered the little guy back to the elevator and made him run me down to the basement.

It was just what I had expected. The door that was supposed to have been bolted so tightly to keep people out was swinging wide where a killer had gotten out.

The watchman didn't want to be left alone, and begged me not to go. I shoved him away and walked up the stairs and around the building.

I knew where the killer was hiding now.

CHAPTER 13

T
he snow that had tried so hard to block me wasn't something to be fought any longer. I leaned back against the cushions of the car in complete relaxation and had the first enjoyable cigarette I'd had in a long time. I sucked the smoke down deep into my lungs and let it go reluctantly. Even the smoke looked pretty as it drifted out the window into the night.

Everything was so white, covering up so much filth. Nature doing its best to hide its own. I drove slowly, carefully, staying in the tracks of the cars ahead. When I turned on the radio I heard my name mentioned on the police broadcast band and turned the dial until I had some late music.