Микки Спиллейн - Together We Kill

“Go on.”

“So it figures, Lieutenant. Tucker had planes and an airfield. He had an interest in politics. He’s suddenly dead and the Cuban expert turns up to go through his records. Now let’s tighten things up a little. Let’s go into my office where you two can talk to me. If I like what you say, I won’t throw up any roadblocks. You’re here at my convenience, and I can crowd you out any time I like. Try subpoenaing anything and the story comes out. I don’t think you want that just yet. Okay, now what do we do?”

Trusky looked at Reed. The little man glared at me and nodded.

“Clean up the mess first,” I said, “then meet me in my office.”

Later, over Reed’s objections, Trusky laid it out. He said, “You know the background on the Cuban deal. Right now the ticklish part is that anti-Castro people ready for an armed attack are here in Florida. It’s something that should be dealt with on a national level, but because of the peculiar circumstances and the proximity of Cuba, it’s all centered in the end of one state. Our people have put up with it and are better qualified in most cases to deal with things.

“However, all the anti-Castro bunch aren’t Cubans. Plenty of U.S. types are right there with them. We suspect your former buddy Tuck was one of them.”

“So what?” I said. “I feel the same way. What’s wrong with that?”

Del Reed stood up impatiently. “Wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. If it’s played out politically or economically that’s one thing, but when it comes to any acts of violence it could touch off a hot war. Don’t you realize the Reds are just waiting for us to make a move so they’ll have some excuse to come to the aid of Castro? Don’t you think they’d have a beautiful piece of propaganda going for them if one of our citizens got caught up in an international mess?”

Reed leaned on the desk, his face livid. “Tucker Stacy was reported to have made numerous unauthorized flights out of the country. He was reported seen in the company of several well-known anti-Castro people on several occasions.”

“Reported,” I reminded him, “not proven. And if you do prove it, what can you do? He’s dead.”

“Exactly.” His face was bright with sweat now. “And supposing his death was not accidental and it gets out. Do you realize the stink our own people will make? You realize how much closer that can push us to all-out war?”

“Maybe it’s about time,” I said.

Del rubbed his hands together until he regained his composure. “Don’t be stupid. Nobody wins with a war.”

“Maybe not, but you could still be doing this wrong.”

“Then you tell us, ” Trusky said.

“Let it die. No harm is done.”

Reed’s face showed his contempt for my suggestion. “Unfortunately, the damage might already be done. Tucker Stacy was a brilliant promoter. There’s no way of telling how far he went or what was involved. One thing we’re sure of. Your friend was in the hottest juggling act that’s come up so far. All we know is that something big was underway and he was part of it. We have to know what it was. Do we have your cooperation?”

“Sure,” I said, “only you have a time limit. Three days. That ought to be cooperation enough.”

“Well?” Trusky asked.

Del Reed nodded. “That will do it.”

Before they could leave, there was a rap on the door. It swung open and Charlie Traub poked his head in. “Some broad here for you, Cat.”

“Send her in.”

The request was almost useless. Lois Hays came sweeping past Charlie before he could ask her. I grinned, waiting to see the malice in her face, but there was none. “Well, hello, sugar,” I said. “Meet Mr. Reed and Lieutenant Trusky.”

Something happened to Del’s face. It seemed to freeze up. “We’ve met before, Mr. Fallon.”

“Yes, in a courtroom, wasn’t it?”

“Quite. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Fallon, we’ll get on with things.” He nodded curtly to Lois, and walked to the door with Trusky behind him. The cop’s eyes were half closed, and I could sense his mind working. Halfway out, Reed paused and said over his shoulder, “I can expect a confidence between us, can’t I?”

“I wouldn’t worry,” I told him.

Lois had seated herself behind the desk and was sucking gently on a cigarette. Her eyes were laughing at me now. She answered my question before I could ask it. “No, I’m not mad. In fact, I think you were kind of cute. Anybody else would have gone all the way.”

“I’ve been there, baby, it’s nothing new anymore.”

“But I’m curious, Mr. Fallon...”

“Cat.”

“All right. Cat. You said we had met before.” She blew a cloud of silver smoke toward me. “Where?”

“Uh-uh. I like my advantage. Maybe some other time I’ll tell you. Right now get on with your pitch. What’s it this time?”

She waved one hand toward the closed door. “You had an important visitor. What’s he doing here?”

I shrugged and slid off the desk. “The same thing you’re doing.”

Her eyebrows went up with mock curiosity.

“Come on, quit the games. I wasn’t born yesterday, kid. He’s a state rep engaged in political work dealing with the Cuban situation. You’re a nosy legman for a political reporter. You both want the same thing.”

“And what would that be, Cat?”

“Whatever you think Tucker Stacy was doing for the anti-Castro bunch.”

“It would make a good story. It is my job, you know.”

“Happy landings.”

“Will you help me?”

“What for?”

“I could guarantee you certain rewards.” She grinned impishly.

“Sex isn’t a reward with me, baby. It’s a functional necessity. Like lunch. Got any better offers?”

Lois snubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray, glanced at me and picked up her handbag. She smiled, cocked her head and said, “Give me time. I’ll think of something.”

I waited until she was almost out. “Lois...”

She looked back at me. “Yes?”

“What are you after?”

“Have you gone through your deceased friend’s things yet?”

“Casually.”

“Did he traffic in bananas?”

“Beats me.”

She smiled again. “If you find out, I’m at the Jackson Hotel.”

“Swell. I’ll bring a bottle.”

“Why waste time drinking?”

“Yeah,” I said as she closed the door.

Bananas! Now it was bananas. What was it Tuck’s letter said?... “Don’t choke on a banana.”

I got Charlie Traub, two of his assistants and three girls from the office. We spent the rest of the day going through every piece of paper in the files. There wasn’t a thing mentioning bananas anywhere. I said the hell with it, went back to my motel unit to clean up for supper. The second I stepped inside the darkened room I knew I’d been had. The first solid thwack caught me rolling away but brought me to my knees. The second one did the job and was almost a relief. The sudden swell of unconsciousness blotted out the terribly explosive pain that seemed to be bottled up inside my skull, dulling it little by little until it was only a memory.

There were three of them there: two small dark men in grey business suits and a taller, sardonic type who sat comfortably in a chair, watching me with mild amusement.

I lay on the floor at his feet, my legs drawn up behind me and taped to my wrists behind my back. A piece of the same adhesive had been plastered across my mouth so that the low moan of pain I let out seemed to come through my nose. Each eye was a separate ball of torture, the ache in my head seeming to be concentrated at the pupils. Every pulse beat was an individual torture.

Either the pain moderated or my tolerance to it increased, because I could see and hear again. There was wind, but it came from outside the building, gusts rattling the palm leaves and whistling as they twisted past the corners of the motel.