Mickey Spillane - The twisted thing

He wrapped Ruston in a robe and rang for Harvey. I picked up the wreckage that was my coat and slipped into it. The butler came in and at York’s direction, picked the kid up and they left the room. On the way out Ruston smiled a good-night at me over the butler’s shoulder.

York was back in five minutes. Without a word he pointed at the table and I climbed on. By the time he finished with me I felt like I had been in a battle all over again. The open cuts on my face and back stung from iodine, and with a few layers of six-inch tape around my ribs I could hardly breathe. He told me to get up in a voice shaky from suppressed emotion, swallowed a tablet from a bottle in his kit and sat down in a cold sweat.

When I finished getting dressed I said, “Don’t you think you ought to climb into the sack yourself? It’s nearly daybreak.”

He shook his head. “No. I want to hear about it. Everything. Please, if you don’t mind . . . the living room.”

We went in and sat down together. While I ran over the story he poured me a stiff shot of brandy and I put it away neat.

“I don’t understand it. Mr. Hammer . . . it is beyond me.”

“I know. It doesn’t seem civilized, does it?”

“Hardly.” He got up and walked over to a Sheraton secretary, opened it and took out a book. He wrote briefly and returned waving ten thousand dollars in my face. “Your fee, Mr. Hammer. I scarcely need say how grateful I am.”

I tried not to look too eager when I took that check, but ten G’s is ten G’s. As unconcernedly as I could, I shoved it in my wallet. “Of course, I suppose you want me to put a report in to the state police,” I remarked. “They ought to be able to tie into that crew, especially with the boat. A thing like that can’t be hidden very easily.”

“Yes, yes, they will have to be apprehended. I can’t imagine why they chose to abduct Ruston. It’s incredible.”

“You are rich, Mr. York. That is the primary reason.”

“Yes. Wealth does bring disadvantages sometimes, though I have tried to guard against it.”

I stood up. “I’ll call them then. We have one lead that might mean something. One of the kidnappers was called Mallory. Your boy brought that up.”

“What did you say?”

I repeated it.

His voice was barely audible. “Mallory . . . No!”

As if in a trance he hurried to the side of the fireplace. A pressure on some concealed spring-activated hidden mechanism and the side swung outward. He thrust his hand into the opening. Even at this distance I could see him pale. He withdrew his hand empty. A muscular spasm racked his body. He pressed his hands against his chest and sagged forward. I ran over and eased him into a chair.

“Vest . . . pocket.”

I poked my fingers under his coat and brought out a small envelope of capsules. York picked one out with trembling fingers and put it on his tongue. He swallowed it, stared blankly at the wall. Very slowly a line of muscles along his jaw hardened into knots, his lips curled back in an animal-like snarl. “The bitch,” he said, “the dirty man-hating bitch has sold me out.”

“Who, Mr. York? Who was it?”

He suddenly became aware of me standing there. The snarl faded. A hunted-quarry look replaced it. “I said nothing, you understand? Nothing.”

I dropped my hand from his shoulder. I was starting to get a dirty taste in my mouth again. “Go to hell,” I said, “I’m going to report it.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I? York, old boy, that son of yours pulled me out of a nasty mess. I like him. You hear that? I like him more than I do a lot of people. If you want to expose him to more danger that’s your affair, but I’m not going to have it.”

“No . . . that’s not it. This can’t be made public.”

“Listen, York, why don’t you stow that publicity stuff and think of your kid for a change? Keep this under your hat and you’ll invite another snatch and maybe you won’t be so lucky. Especially,” I added, “since somebody in your household has sold you out.”

York shuddered from head to foot.

“Who was it, York? Who’s got the bull on you?”

“I . . . have nothing to say.”

“No? Who else knows you’re counting your hours because of those radiation burns? What’s going to happen to the kid when you kick off?”

That did it. He turned a sick color. “How did you find out about that?”

“It doesn’t matter. If I know it others probably do. You still didn’t tell me who’s putting the squeeze on you.”

“Sit down, Mr. Hammer. Please.”

I pulled up a chair and parked.

“Could I,” he began, “retain you as sort of a guardian instead of reporting this incident? It would be much simpler for me. You see, there are certain scientific aspects of my son’s training that you, as a layman, would not understand, but if brought to light under the merciless scrutiny of the newspapers and a police investigation might completely ruin the chances of a successful result.

“I’m not asking you to understand, I’m merely asking that you cooperate. You will be well paid, I assure you. I realize that my son is in danger, but it will be better if we can repel any danger rather than prevent it at its source. Will you do this for me?”

Very deliberately I leaned back in my chair and thought it over. Something stunk. It smelled like Rudolph York. But I still owed the kid a debt.

“I’ll take it, York, but if there’s going to be trouble I’d like to know where it will come from. Who’s the man-hating turnip that has you in a brace?”

His lips tightened. “I’m afraid I cannot reveal that, either. You need not do any investigating. Simply protect my interests, and my son.”

“Okay,” I said as I rose. “Have it your own way. I’ll play dummy. But right now I’m going to beat the sheet. It’s been a tough day. You’d better hit it yourself.”

“I’ll call Harvey.”

“Never mind, I’ll find it.” I walked out. In the foyer I pulled the diagram out of my pocket and checked it. The directions were clear enough. I went upstairs, turned left at the landing and followed the hand-carved balustrade to the other side. My room was next to last and my name was on white cardboard, neatly typed, and framed in a small brass holder on the door. I turned the knob, reached for the light and flicked it on.

“You took long enough getting here.”

I grinned. I wondered what Alice Nichols had used as a bribe to get Harvey to put me in next to her. “Hello, kitten.”

Alice smiled through a cloud of smoke. “You were better-looking the last time I saw you.”

“So? Do I need a shave?”

“You need a new face. But I’ll take you like you are.” She shrugged her shoulders and the spiderweb of a negligee fell down to her waist. What she had on under it wasn’t worth mentioning. It looked like spun moonbeams with a weave as big as chicken wire. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Scram, kitten. Get back in your own hive.”

“That’s a corny line, Mike, don’t play hard to get.”

I started to climb out of my clothes. “It’s not a line, kitten, I’m beat.”

“Not that much.”

I draped my shirt and pants over the back of the chair and flopped in the sack. Alice stood up slowly. No, that’s not the word. It was more like a low-pressure spring unwinding. The negligee was all the way off now. She was a concert of savage beauty.

“Still tired?”

“Turn off the light when you go out, honey.” Before I rolled over she gave me a malicious grin. It told me that there were other nights. The lights went out. Before I corked off one thought hit me. It couldn’t have been Alice Nichols he had meant when he called some babe a man-hating bitch.