Микки Спиллейн - The Erection Set

“Perfect. Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming the last time.”

“I understand.”

“My buddy was a little upset.”

“He didn’t understand.”

“Your merchandising attitude is a little rough, my friend.”

“It’s an attitude that affords me the pleasure of doing what I do. Now, let’s back to you.”

He took my arm and we drifted back toward the fitting rooms. I said, “Something’s getting scratchy on the Continent.”

His shrug was eloquent. “One leaves, another one comes in.”

“Somebody wants me tapped out. They tried through The Turk.”

“Tried,” he repeated. “A word that says everything. I’m surprised that it would be The Turk. One would think he’d be glad to leave well enough alone.”

“That’s what I figured. He could be fronting for somebody.”

“Likely, but he is crass enough to try something on his own. The last episode was quite detrimental to his stature... and his little empire. Don’t forget, it was The Turk who personally wiped out Louis Albo and took over his operation.”

“He was a younger gun then. He didn’t have anything to lose.”

“Does he have now?”

“I’m retired, my friend. The event sent shock waves throughout the troops.”

“But you’re alive,” he said. “Speculation persists that you have something that can guarantee your living.”

“Maybe.”

“Then you’d better decide which way you’ll go.”

“Sure. Meanwhile, send out a probe and see who’s doing the pushing. If there’s going to be an advantage, I want it on my end.”

“Very well, I’ll try.” He held out his hand and I took it. “I hope I don’t open up old sores.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

I went to leave and he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Mr. Kelly...”

“Yes?”,

“Just why did you... discontinue your activities? You knew what would happen.”

“Yeah, but I hoped it wouldn’t. Just let’s say I got tired of the whole fucking shooting match.”

Lee had made a pair of drinks and brought one into the bedroom for me. I had my coat off and was hanging it up when he said, “What’s that for?” He was looking at the gun on my belt.

The weight of the .45 was so natural I had forgotten about it. “You counted the money,” I said. “Millions make for targets.”

His voice was shaky. “It’s all in the bank.”

“Only you know that.”

“Dog...” Before he could finish the buzzer went off, a long, insistent growl from the other room. Lee put his glass down and went to answer the door. I took the gun off my belt, stuck it on the closet shelf along with the box of shells and went out to join him.

This time he was pasty white, his eyes wide, darting back and forth between the two standing there before reaching out to me. One was in his middle forties, built like a heavyweight fighter, the other a few years younger, slim and angular, but with all the earmarks of a terrier. They didn’t have to flash their ID’s; the cop sign was all over them. No matter where you are, that look never changes.

“Evening, gentlemen,” I said.

The older one stared, frowned a second, then asked, “Mr. Kelly?”

Lee stepped between us, the old wingman moving up to cover his partner. “Listen, they haven’t got a search warrant...”

“At ease, kid. They were invited in.” I looked at the cop. “Weren’t you?”

“After a fashion.”

I tasted my drink, liked it and took another pull. “What can I do for you?”

It threw them a little off base. That and something else they hadn’t put their finger on yet. The one who identified himself as Sergeant Tobano said, “Can you account for your whereabouts today?”

“Every minute.”

“Witnesses?”

“All the way. Why?”

He held out his hand and the other one handed him a manila envelope. He tapped the package against his thigh and watched me. “How about, let’s say, eleven thirty this morning.”

“We had just gotten back into the city.”

“We?”

“Two friends of mine and the driver of the car.”

“Go on.”

I took another pull of the drink and put the glass down so I could get a cigarette out. “We dropped my lawyer friend off... his name is Leyland Hunter, by the way, then my other friend, female Caucasian named Sharon Cass, and I got out at the garage and I walked her home.”

“What garage?”

“Beats me. It’s in the East Fifties.”

“Denier Garage?”

“Now that you mention it, yes.”

He opened the envelope and drew out two eight by ten photos and handed them to me. I held them out in front of me and looked at them. Beside me Lee’s breath gagged in his throat. Bridey-the-Greek and Markham were enough to make anybody gag. They both looked dead as hell with all the blood around Markham’s face and the ice pick still stuck through the Greek’s balls.

“Messy,” I said.

“Recognize them?” the cop asked me.

“Am I supposed to?”

“That’s not the question, Mr. Kelly. Look at them again.”

“So it’s two guys laid out in a public john.”

“How do you know it’s a public john?”

“Who has urinals in their house anymore?” I said without taking my eyes off the photos. I was beginning to enjoy myself. “Where do I fit in?”

“That’s the toilet in the Denier Garage. You were in that toilet when you were there.”

“That’s right. I asked the attendant for directions, had my friend wait for me and went to take a leak. I finished, buttoned up my fly and left.”

“Did you see these two?”

“Not when I went in.” I handed the photos back and he stuck them in the envelope. “How did I come into this?”

“The attendant remembered the limousine you came in. We checked the license out, contacted your friend Leyland Hunter and he gave us you.”

“I can give you my other friend’s address too if you want.”

“Never mind. We have that.”

“So?”

The two cops glanced at each other, not quite decided whether to be puzzled or aggravated. The younger one said, “We thought you might have seen something. They came in right after you. One wanted to know if that alcove went out to the street. The attendant said it went to the john and they headed in that direction.”

“There wasn’t anybody around when I came out,” I told him. “There were plenty of parked cars, though. Somebody could have been behind them.”

Sergeant Tobano’s mouth was in a taut smile. “You didn’t seem very shook up over those pictures. Not like your friend here.”

“I’ve seen dead men before, Sergeant.”

“These aren’t dead, Mr. Kelly.”

Lee breathed a quiet Damn!

They both moved toward the door. “Okay, thanks. We may check back.”

Tobano was reaching for the doorknob when I asked him, “Who took those pictures, Sergeant?”

“A free-lance photographer who happened on the scene right after you left. He ought to make himself a buck from them.”

“He a suspect?”

“Nope. One of the boys who parked cars happened to go in with him at the same time. The other guy fainted.”

“Queasy stomach,” I said, and picked up my drink.

“Some people are like that,” the sergeant told me.

When they left, Lee half ran to the bar and poured himself another drink. He finished that one and made another before he turned around. A shudder ran across his shoulders and he swirled the ice around in his glass. Finally he raised his head and stared at me. “You lied to them, Dog, didn’t you?”,

I finished my drink too and joined him at the bar for another.

“Yes.”

“You actually saw them there... that guy with his face all mashed in and the other one...”