Микки Спиллейн - Together We Kill

He was breathing too heavily, and down the neck of the woman in front of him. She almost turned around, when he caught himself and forced his breath to come easier.

It was because he was getting close to his business arrangement again. It was like that lately. He tasted the fruits of success before the actual planting. But the conclusion was foregone anyway. Success was not problematical any longer. It was a certainty. That was why he could ask for so much to do so little.

Sometimes he wondered about those who lingered a few moments. What did they think? Who was he? What had they done to him that he should snuff out their lives? Oh, there were those who knew. He remembered that two even seemed relieved. For years they had lived in fear of this day and now it had come. There was no more fear for them. Actuality had arrived as a medium-sized man with a friendly smile and it was over very quickly without much pain at ail because he was an expert at his work. He was quite sure that one man even whispered a quiet “Thank you” before he died.

Well, that was one thing about his method. There was no flight involved, no loud histrionics. They didn’t know him, there was nothing fearful about his appearance and if anything registered at all, generally it was surprise.

Someday, maybe, he thought he might like to change his method. If he could get his assignment in the proper place he would like to try a few experiments. Like extensions of the things he had done with Lulu who had some savage blood and liked to be beaten in certain ways. Pain peculiarly indicted with her fullest cooperation was her delight and she had taught him things his mind had begun to dwell on lately. He shrugged off the thought impatiently and looked up at the indicator over the operator’s head. The car had stopped and the doors opened.

Sixteen.

He remembered his number 16.

She was a showgirl named Cindy Valentine who knew too much about the operations of another group through an already dead boyfriend. The District Attorney had her secretly marked for investigation, but money, being able to buy anything, bought the tip and now Cindy was being canceled out.

Cindy Valentine, number 16, had been somewhat of a pleasure. In fact, it had been Cindy who had showed him the ultimate use to which he could put the many dollars he had accumulated. So far he merely rented an office from which he sold, and profitably, trinkets and novelties via pages of certain magazines. One employee really did all the work but it gave him a sense of well being, a place in society. Daily, he commuted from his house. It wasn’t much, but it was secluded. There was nothing he couldn’t do there at his pleasure and he was so situated that there were no prying eyes at all. To the world outside, he lived a simple and secluded life. Sort of a friendly recluse, he thought.

Yes, Cindy had brought new meaning into his life. He had called ahead and said he was a jeweler who was instructed to let Miss Valentine have a single pick from his collection. She had been overjoyed at the thought and although she tried to cajole the name of his sponsor from him, he said he was sworn not to tell. Hers was a secret admirer. No doubt she had had many. She believed everything he told her. She squealed with delight when she admitted him to her apartment, seeing the flat sample case under his arm.

At first she didn’t notice the flush in his face. She was too excited, then, in the living room, she saw his consternation and smiled. The filmy nylon negligee was all Cindy had on. Her smile grew impish and she had said, “Since you’re going to give me something, I’m going to give you something.” Then she let the negligee fall to the floor and when she was done he was a shaken but strangely elated man. She said, “Now you give me something,” and looked at the case on the table. Well, he gave her something, all right. Very quickly and there was hardly any blood and he picked up his case and went out. They all called it a passion kill and in a way it had been.

Cindy certainly had introduced something new to his life. Now, rather than merely having the satisfaction of a job well done, he had an end result that was far greater than anything he had ever dreamed of. The satisfaction he would gel tonight would be far greater than the satisfaction of job perfection he used to consider enough. Perfection was quite a word. It gnawed at him like a little mouse. If only he could have been sure of that first one. Buddy, the one with the hole in his ear.

Well, the one upstairs would merely add to his list of accomplishments. This was a curious one. Different insofar as he never had time to study the man. He would be alone in his office counting the weekly take, a secret office he used solely for bookkeeping and accounting purposes. He rented it under an assumed name and made a deliberate point to go there disguised. His operation was illegal and deftly concealed. Only after long and arduous investigation did Rudolph Less’s client discover his whereabouts. Since his connection with the dead man would be obvious, it was necessary for his client to have an airtight alibi at the time of the kill, making Rudolph’s talents necessary.

Ordinarily he wouldn’t have gone for the second part of the arrangement, but lately he was beginning to enjoy new facets of an old thrill. The client said he could keep whatever money he found there in addition to his regular pay. Thousands extra! Enough to buy... well, if that man was right about that one down in Cuba he could bring her here at once. Complete muscular control, he had said. Think of it! He swallowed hard and dimmed the mental picture. Not yet. Later he could sit in his room savoring the anticipation when the job was done, but first the job.

He got out at 20 with two others but before the doors shut a giddy young girl ran up and grabbed his sleeve and said too loudly, “Mr. Brisson? Are you Mr. Brisson... they just called from downstairs and said...”

“I’m not Mr. Brisson,” he smiled. Inwardly he swore, something he hadn’t done in years. He saw the elevator boy grinning at the girl’s stammer of embarrassment before the doors closed. An incident like that could cause that boy to remember his face. But nevertheless, he’d never be back again, never see the boy again, and if he described anyone at all, or did the girl, it would be the average man of the street.

The girl walked off, her buttocks in violent motion. Ordinarily he would feel a warm glow at such a sight, but the momentary pleasure of another sort ahead that could be completely consummated overrode such a simple delight of watching a girl from behind.

Yet the sight introduced a new thought, something that had been on his mind for months now, something that touched him whenever he saw a young and pretty girl on the street. So far he had bought his pleasures. Oh, they had been expensive, but worth every bit of it. But the thrills and sensations they provided finally reached a limit. Repetition turned original wonders into almost commonplace boredom and it was getting more difficult all the time to find something really different.

There was one thing. Supposing, and it shouldn’t be difficult, that he could lure some unsuspecting girl... on the promise of a job, perhaps... or really, if one was honest about it, by actual force... that would take a car, maybe drugs; there would be untold risks but that would only add to the delicacy... yes, it was something to think about. Maybe after the one from Cuba. He would like to experience one with complete muscular control first.

Annoyed at himself he stopped and adjusted his coat, although there was no one in the corridor to see him. He held the leather folio more securely under his arm, feeling in it the flat contours of the Browning and the extended length of the silencer he had gotten from that odd man in Germany. Silencers were fine. Why didn’t they fight wars with silencers? It shouldn’t be expensive and think of how quietly and efficiently the war could be fought. Ah, the advantage of the bow and arrow. Too bad it was such a clumsy weapon.