Mickey Spillane - My Gun Is Quick

When the cop called in at a police phone I picked up on him. He turned into a lunchroom, climbed on a stool and I was right beside him. He took off his coat and hat, ordered corn beef and cabbage and I took the same. The plates came and we both ate silently. Half-way through, the two guys next to me paid up and left, which was the chance I waited for.

One had left a tabloid on the stool and I propped it up in front of me, using it as a shield while I took my badge and identification card from my pocket. I only had to nudge the cop once and he looked over, saw the stuff I palmed and frowned.

"Mike Hammer, private cop." I kept my voice low, chewing as I spoke. "Don't watch me."

The cop frowned again and went back to his lunch. "Pat Chambers will vouch for me. I'm working with him on a case." This time the frown deepened and lines of disbelief touched his cheeks.

"I have to find Cobbie Bennett," I said. "Right away. Do you know where he is?"

He took another mouthful of corn beef and threw a dime on the counter. The chef came over and he asked for change. When he had two nickels he got up, still chewing, and walked over to a phone booth up front and shut the door.

About a minute later he was back and working on the corn beef again. He shoved the plate away, drew his coffee to him and seemed to notice me for the first time.

"Done with the paper, feller?"

"Yeah." I handed it to him. He took a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from his pocket and worked them on, holding the paper open to the baseball scores. His lips worked as if he were reading, only he said, "I think Cobbie's hiding out in a rooming house one block west. Brownstone affair with a new stoop. He looks scared."

The counterman came over and took the plates away. I ordered pie and more coffee, ate it slowly, then paid up and left. The cop was still there reading the paper; he never glanced up once and he probably wouldn't for another ten minutes.

I found the stoop first, then the house. Cobbie Bennett found me. He peered out of a second-story window just as I turned up the stairs and for a split second I had a look at a pale, white face that had terror etched deep into the skin.

The door was open and I walked into the hallway. Cobbie called to me from the head of the stairs. "Here, up here, Mike." This time I watched where I was going. There were too many nice places for a guy to hide with a baseball bat in those damn hallways. Before I reached the landing Cobbie had me by the lapels of my coat and was dragging me into a room.

"Christ, Mike, how'd ya find me? I never told nobody where I was! Who said I was here?"

I shoved him away. "You're not hard to find, Cobbie. Nobody is when they're wanted badly enough."

"Don't say that, Mike, will ya? Christ, it's bad enough having you find me. Suppose..."

"Stop jabbering like an idiot. You wanted me, so I'm here."

He shoved a bolt in the door and paced across the room, running his fingers through his hair and down his face. He couldn't stand still and the fact that I parked myself in the only chair in the place and seemed completely at ease made him jumpier still.

"They're after me, Mike. I just got away in time."

"Who's they?"

"Look, ya gotta help me out. Jeez, you got me inta this, now ya gotta help me out. They're after me, see? I can't stick around. I gotta get outa town." He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and tried to light it. He made it with the fourth match.

"Who's they?" I asked again.

Cobbie licked his lips. His shoulder had a nervous twitch and he kept turning his head towards the door as if he were listening for something. "Mike, somebody saw you with me that night. They passed the word and the heat's on. I-I gotta blow."

I just sat there and watched him. He took a drag on the cigarette before he threw it on the worn-out carpet and ground it in with his heel. "Damn it, Mike, don't just sit there. Say something!"

"Who's they?"

For the first time it sank in. He got white around the corners of his mouth. "I dunno, I dunno. It's somebody big. Something's popping in this town and I don't know what it is. All I know is the heat's on me because I got seen messing around with you. What'll I do, Mike? I can't stay here. You don't know them guys. When they're out to get ya they don't miss!"

I stood up and stretched, trying to look bored. "I can't tell you a damn thing, Cobbie, not unless you sound off first. If you don't want to speak, then the hell with you. Let 'em get you."

He grabbed my sleeve and hung on for dear life. "No, Mike, don't... I'd tell you what I know only I don't know nothing. I just got the sign, then I heard some things. It was about that redhead. Because of you I'm getting the works. I saw some big boys down the street last night. They wasn't locals. They was here before when there was some trouble, and a couple guys disappeared. I know why they're there... they're after me... and you maybe."

He was doing better now. "Go on, Cobbie."

"Th' racket's organized, see? We pay for protection and we pay plenty. I don't know where it goes, but as long as we pay there's no trouble. As long as we make like clams there's still no trouble. But, damn it, you came around and somebody saw me shooting my mouth off, now there's plenty of trouble again and it's all for me."

"How do they know what you said?"

His face grew livid. "Who cares? Think they worry about what I said? Some guys is poison and you're one, because you was on that redhead! Why didn't she drop dead sooner!"

I reached out and grabbed his arm and brought him up to my face. "Shut up," I said through my teeth.

"Aw, Mike, I didn't mean nothin', honest. I'm just trying to tell ya."

I let him go and he backed off a step, wiping his forehead with a sleeve. The light glistened on a tear that rolled down his cheek. "I don't know what it's about, Mike. I don't wanna get knocked off. Can't you do something?"

"Maybe."

Cobbie looked up, hopefully. His tongue passed over his parched lips. "Yeah?"

"Think, Cobbie. Think of the boys you saw. Who were they?"

The lines in his face grew deeper. "Hard boys. They were carrying rods. I think they came outa Detroit."

"Who do they work for?"

"The same guy what gets the pay-off jack, I guess."

"Names, Cobbie?"

He shook his head, the hope gone. "I'm only a little guy. Mike. How would I know? Every week I give a quarter of my take to a guy who passes it along in a chain until it reaches the top. I don't even want to know. I'm... I'm scared, Mike, scared silly. You're the only one I knew to call. Nobody'll look at me now because they know the heat's on, that's why I wanted to see you."

"Anybody know you're here?"

"No. Just you."

"What about the landlady?"

"She don't know me. She don't care, neither. How'd you find me, Mike?"

"A way your pals won't try. Don't worry about it. Here's what I want you to do. Sit tight, don't leave this room, not even to go downstairs. Keep away from the window and be sure your door is locked."

His eyes widened and his hands went to my arms. "You got an out figgered? You think maybe I can get outa town?"

"Could be. We'll have to do this carefully. You got anything to eat in the place?"

"Some canned stuff and two bottles of beer."

"It'll hold you. Now remember this. Tomorrow night at exactly nine-thirty I want you to walk out of this place. Go down the street, turn right one block, then head west again. Keep walking as if you didn't know a thing was up. Take a turn around your neighborhood and say hullo to anyone you want to. Only keep walking. Got that?"

Little beads of sweat were standing out on his forehead. "Christ, ya want me to get killed? I can't leave here and..."

"Maybe you'd sooner get bumped off here... if you don't starve to death first."