Mickey Spillane - The twisted thing

Briefly, I went over what had happened the past few days. The doctor picked his bag up and followed me inside. “I know the boy,” he said. “Too much excitement is bad for any youngster, particularly one as finely trained as he is.”

“You’ve seen him before? I thought his father was his doctor.”

“Not the boy. However I had occasion to speak to his father several times in town and he spoke rather proudly of his son.”

“I should imagine. Here he is.”

The doctor took his pulse and I winked over his shoulder. Ruston grinned back. While the doctor examined him I sat at the desk and looked at nine-by-twelve photos of popular cowboy actors Ruston had in a folder. He was a genius, but the boy kept coming out around the seams. A few of the books in the lower shelves were current Western novels and some books on American geography in the 1800s. Beside the desk was a used ten-gallon hat and lariat with the crown of the skimmer autographed by Hollywood’s foremost heroic cattle hand. I don’t know why York didn’t let his kid alone to enjoy himself the way boys should. Ruston would rather be a cowboy than a child prodigy any day, I’d bet. He saw me going over his stuff and smiled.

“Were you ever out West, Mike?” he asked.

“I took some training in the desert when I was with Uncle Whiskers.”

“Did you ever see a real cowboy?”

“Nope, but I bunked with one for six months. He used to wear high-heeled boots until the sergeant cracked down on him. Some card. Wanted to wear his hat in the shower. First thing he’d do when he’d get up in the morning was to put on his hat. He couldn’t get used to one without a six-inch brim and was forever wanting to tip his hat to the Lieutenant instead of saluting.”

Ruston chuckled. “Did he carry a six-shooter?”

“Naw, but he was a dead shot. He could pick the eyes out of a beetle at thirty yards.”

The doctor broke up our chitchat by handing the kid some pills. He filled a box with them, printed the time to take them on the side and dashed off a prescription. He handed it to me. “Have this filled. One teaspoonful every two hours for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing wrong with him except a slight nervous condition. I’ll come back tomorrow to see Miss Malcom again. If her wound starts bleeding call me at once. I gave them both a sedative so they should sleep well until morning.”

“Okay, Doctor, thanks.” I gave him over to Harvey, who ushered him to the door.

Roxy forced a smile. “Did you get them, Mike?”

“Forget about it,” I said. “How did you get in the way?”

“I heard a gun go off and turned on the light. I guess I shouldn’t have done that. I ran to the window but with the light on I couldn’t see a thing. The next thing I knew something hit me in the shoulder. I didn’t realize it was a bullet until I saw the hole in the window. That’s when I screamed,” she added sheepishly.

“I don’t blame you, I’d scream too. Did you see the flash of the gun?”

Her head shook on the pillow. “I heard it I think, but it sounded sort of far off. I never dreamed . . .”

“You weren’t hurt badly, that’s one thing.”

“Ruston, how . . .”

“Okay. You scared the hell out of him when you yelled. He’s had too much already. That set him off. He was stiff as a fence post when I went in to him.”

The sedative was beginning to take effect. Roxy’s eyes closed sleepily. I whispered to Billy, “Get me a broom handle or something long and straight, will you?”

He went out and down the corridor. While I waited I looked at the hole the bullet had made, and in my mind pictured where Roxy had stood when she was shot. Billy came in with a long brass tube.

“Couldn’t find a broom, but would this curtain rod do?”

“Fine,” I said softly. Roxy was asleep now. “Stand over here by the window.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Figure out where that shot came from.”

I had him hold the rod under his armpit and I sighted along the length of it, lining the tube up with the hole in the wall and the one in the window. This done I told him to keep it that way then threw the window up. More pieces of glass tinkled to the floor. I moved around behind him and peered down the rod.

I was looking at the base of the wall about where the two assailants had climbed the top. That put Junior out of it by a hundred feet. The picture was changing again, nothing balanced. It was like trying to make a mural with a kaleidoscope. Hell’s bells. Neither of those two had shot at me, yet that was where the bullet came from. A silencer maybe? A wild shot at someone or a shot carefully aimed. With a .32 it would take an expert to hit the window from that range much less Roxy behind it. Or was the shot actually aimed at her?

“Thanks, Billy, that’s all.”

He lowered the rod and I shut the window. I called him to one side, away from the bed. “What is it, Mike?”

“Look, I want to think. How about you staying up here in the kid’s room tonight? We’ll fix some chair cushions up on the floor.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“I think it will be best. Somebody will have to keep an eye on them in case they wake up, and Ruston has to take his medicine,” I looked at the box, “every three hours. I’ll give Harvey the prescription to be filled. Do you mind?”

“No, I think I’ll like it here better’n the room downstairs.”

“Keep the doors locked.”

“And how. I’ll push a chair up against them too.”

I laughed. “I don’t think there will be any more trouble for a while.”

His face grew serious. “You can laugh, you got a rod under your arm.”

“I’ll leave it here for you if you want.”

“Not me, Mike. One more strike and I’m out. If I get caught within ten feet of a heater they’ll toss me in the clink. I’d sooner take my chances.”

He began pulling the cushions from the chairs and I went out. Behind me the lock clicked and a chair went under the knob. Billy wasn’t kidding. Nobody was going to get in there tonight.

Downstairs I dialed the operator and asked for the highway patrol. She connected me with headquarters and a sharp voice crackled at me. “Sergeant Price, please.”

“He’s not here right now, is there a message?”

“Yeah, this is Mike Hammer. Tell him that Miss Malcom, the York kid’s nurse, was shot through the shoulder by a .32 caliber bullet. Her condition isn’t serious and she’ll be able to answer questions in the morning. The shot was fired from somewhere on the grounds but the one who fired it escaped.”

“I got it. Anything else?”

“Yes, but I’ll give it to him in person. Have they found any trace of Grange yet?”

“They picked up her hat along the shore of the inlet. Sergeant Price told me to tell you if you called.”

“Thanks. They still looking for her?”

“A boat’s grappling the mouth of the channel right now.”

“Okay, if I get time I’ll call back later.” The cop thanked me and hung up. Harvey waited to see whether I was going out or not, and when I headed for the door got my hat.

“Will you be back tonight, sir?”

“I don’t know. Lock the door anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

I tooled my car up the drive and honked for Henry to come out and open the gates. Although there was a light on in his cottage, Henry didn’t appear. I climbed out again and walked in the place. The gatekeeper was sound asleep in his chair, a paper folded across his lap.

After I shook him and swore a little his eyes opened, but not the way a waking person’s do. They were heavy and dull, he was barely able to raise his head. The shock of seeing me there did more to put some life in him than the shaking. He blinked a few times and ran his hand over his forehead.