Mickey Spillane - Lady, go die

“Mike… I’m a big girl.”

“And in all the right places. Look, if you really want to help me, just do as I tell you. Maybe what I ask you might seem insignificant, but I promise it won’t be. I can’t be in two places at the same time, and the little details you take care of help out a lot.”

“Okay, Mike,” Velda said softly, through a pouty smile. “You’re the boss.”

We finished our drinks and ordered another round. I tried to think through what I had so far, but there was really nothing to go on except a disappearance and something that smelt like power politics and graft. I needed more.

“Wait here for a minute,” I said to Velda.

She shrugged and went back to her crossword.

I went over to the bartender and got change for a five spot, mostly quarters, and went to a pay phone booth in the back of the room. I stuck a nickel in and asked for the operator.

When I got her, I said, “Police Headquarters in New York City,” then rattled off the number.

The switchboard at HQ knew to put me right through to the man I’d called.

“Captain Chambers, Homicide Bureau, speaking.”

“Hello, kid. This is Mike. Sober and sassy.”

“Well, about time you gave me a buzz. How goes the getaway?”

“About as well as that time Dillinger and Baby Face Nelson went to that lodge in Wisconsin.”

He laughed, but said, “I hope you’re kidding. How’s Sidon look to you?”

“Dead on its feet, but right now the only tourists in town are Velda and me. It’ll get livelier.”

“You mean when the season opens? Or because you’re in town? I can tell that this is no social call. What’s up?”

“Not very much… yet. Do you have any information on Sharron Wesley dating from after the trial? I mean, has she been booked for anything or been connected with anything shady?”

“So why the sudden interest in Sharron Wesley?”

That guy had a hair-trigger mind that could figure angles faster than I could snap my fingers. I was willing to bet that he had already mentally reviewed the Wesley dame’s entire past including the most recent episodes involving the tabloids’ favorite black widow.

“She seems to be Sidon’s most prominent notorious citizen,” I said. “Humor me.”

“Just a minute,” he said, “let me check my files.”

He was back in seconds and I could hear the rustle of paper as he thumbed through. “Yeah, here’s something. Mrs. Wesley was given a ticket for illegal parking on an express street about a month ago.”

“That it?”

“No. No… then she was arrested for disturbing the peace two days later.”

“Interesting.”

“There’s more. She had a catfight with another babe in a night club. Seems like it continued out onto the street after they were put out of the place and a window got broken. She paid for the window and her fine.”

“She can afford to.”

“The last time she was in the custody of the city was two weeks ago. Mrs. Wesley was picked up when the vice squad raided a high-stakes card game in a suite of rooms in a downtown hotel. She was released along with three other women who apparently weren’t in on the game.”

“Pat, you’re not saying this was prostitution. She’s not a damn call girl.”

“I don’t know what she is, other than not a grieving widow. We’ve had some big-time gamblers in town lately, Mike, and she might have been backing somebody’s play. She can afford that, too.”

“Yes, she can.”

“Anyway, pal, that’s all I have.” I heard the file hit his desk like a slap. “Okay, I showed you mine, now you show me yours-what gives on your end?”

I started from the beginning and took it through to the police station visit this morning.

When I finished, he muttered, “Dekkert, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Would it surprise you to hear I’ve had all kinds of bad reports on that bastard since he was kicked off the force?”

“Nope.”

“Seems Dekkert got in a jam in Miami, working for a security outfit that was burgling its own clients. Somehow he managed not to do any time-maybe he ratted his gang out. Then he wasn’t heard from until we got a teletype from San Francisco requesting his history. He landed a private dick’s license there, and during the course of a case beat a guy to death. When they caught up with him, his license got revoked and he was given twenty-four hours to get out of the state.”

“Sounds like he manages to leave dirty smudges on his record when it should be filthy as hell.”

Pat grunted agreement. “Dekkert’s always had a way of finding some mob angel to cover for him. When the trouble hits, he makes a deal, pays off whoever he has to, and starts somewhere else.”

“But how can he wrangle another police job, even in Sidon?”

“Mike, he was asked to resign from the New York force. The administration at that time had too much dirty laundry to risk exposing every lousy racket Dekkert was tied into. Read his jacket and you’ll see medals of valor, between those dirty smudges. This is one very hard case. Be careful of him, chum.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I laughed. “After the two beatings I gave him, he knows what to expect now.”

“Yeah, but do you?”

“Pat, I’m just in Sidon to take the rest cure, remember? Anyway, thanks for the info. If something develops, I’ll ring you.”

“Always glad to help you out. It’s the least I can do, all the times you come through for me. But the truth is, Mike… I ought to forget I even know you, after the Williams case ^*.”

“Pat, I took this trip to forget about all that, remember?”

“I remember. Do you?”

“Pat…”

“You run into a crooked cop you tangled with before, and stumble into a missing persons case, which incidentally hasn’t come over the teletype as such yet. And you tell a very amusing story about shooting up the Sidon police station.”

“I didn’t shoot it up. I just-”

“Shot a gun out of the deputy chief’s hand. What’s your horse in this race, Mike? You got no murdered friend to avenge this time.”

“Back off, Pat.”

“Okay, I will. And I will help you like I always do. Whatever background info you need, buddy, you got it. You just have to convince me of one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That you aren’t down at Sidon trying to get yourself killed.”

“Pat,” I said. “I don’t have that big a conscience.”

After I hung up, the operator came on wanting another quarter to cover the call, and I fed it to her.

I returned to Velda’s booth and she looked up and asked, “Now what?”

“That was Pat. He couldn’t give me any help except to provide a little something on Sharron Wesley.”

“A little something good?”

I shook my head. “She was nabbed on a few minor violations. Dekkert must have picked this podunk as a last resort or else he’s working for something or somebody bigger than the so-called police department.”

“Why last resort?”

“He’s been in a few nasty jams since he was run out of Manhattan. Want another drink?”

“No thanks, Mike.”

“Maybe some lunch?”

“I’m still stuffed from breakfast. There’s a theater down the street with a Saturday matinee double feature.” She scooted out of the booth. “What do you say?”

For the next two and a half hours we sat through a western we’d already seen and a Bowery Boys comedy I wished we never had. I wasn’t really paying any attention to the screen, just sitting there going over everything I’d learned so far, again and again. Finally I fell asleep and Velda punched me in the ribs when it was time to leave.

As we exited, Velda said, “You looked surprised when I woke you.”