Mickey Spillane - My Gun Is Quick

"I can imagine what she thought when she realized you were one of them, living your vain life of wealth on money that came from the bodies of the girls, hiding behind the front of respectability. You had it set up nice until she came along. She only had one thing in mind and that was to break the whole racket to pieces.

"Only she had to leave her baggage behind her until she had money to redeem it. Then you got the breaks. Feeney ran across her, looking for a piece on the side, and saw something. What was it, more pictures? Enough to make you get wise? Did he see the ring and know what it meant?"

Berin rolled from side to side. The timber, out of the flame, wasn't burning. It lay across his chest smoking. His eyes were on the ceiling watching the plaster crack and fall. The fire had spread, eating at everything it touched. Only on the floor was there an escape from the intense heat. But not for long. Soon the flames would come up from the floor, and that would be it. I tried to move, drag myself, but the effort was too great, and all I could do was stare at the man under the timber and be glad to know that I wouldn't die alone.

I laughed and Berin turned his head. A hot spark lit on his cheek and he didn't feel it. "Nancy was murdered, wasn't she?" I said. "It wasn't planned to work out so nice, but who could tell that a girl who had been clubbed so hard by an expert that her neck was broken, would get up from where she was thrown out of a car and stagger down the street and out into the path of another car.

"You were Feeney's alibi the night she was killed. You tailed her, forced her into the car, went into your act and heaved her out--and it all very nicely worked into your normal routine!

"Feeney didn't usually miss those shots, but he missed on Nancy and he missed on me. I should have known that sooner, too, when Lola told me Nancy had no vices. No, she didn't drink, but people swore she staggered and assumed she was drunk. I bet you had a big laugh over that.

"Pride! Pride did it to you. In the beginning you were a playboy and spent all your dough, but your pride wouldn't let you become a pauper. The smart operators got hold of you and then you fronted for them until you squeezed them out and had the racket all to yourself. You could work the filthiest racket in the world, but your pride wouldn't let you take back your granddaughter after she made a mistake. Then your pride kept you from letting her interfere with your affairs."

I could hardly talk over the roar of the flames now. Outside the engines were clanging up the streets and far-away voices mingled with crashing walls. Only because the fire had to eat its way down had we stayed alive as long as this.

"But it's all there in that box, mister. You'll die and your fancy hyphenated name will be lost in the mud and slime that'll come out of it."

"It won't, goddamn you! It won't!" Even in pain his eyes grew crafty. "The box will burn and even if it doesn't they'll think I was here with you, Mike. Yes, you're my alibi, and my name won't be lost. Nobody will trace that girl now and the world will never know!"

He was right, too. He was so right that the anger welling up in me drove the numbness out of my leg and the pain from my chest and I pulled myself across the room. I reached the trunk, shoved it, shoved it again, my hands brushing aside the hot embers that fell from the ceiling. Berin saw what I was doing and screamed for me to stop. I grinned at him. He was bald and ugly. He was a killer in hell before he died.

Somehow I got the box on edge and heaved, the effort throwing me back to the floor. But it smashed the window out and fell to the ground and I heard an excited shout and a voice yell. "Somebody is in the room up there!"

The sudden opening of the window created a draft that sucked the flames right out of the wall, sent them blasting into my face. I smelled hair burning and saw the legs of Berin's pants smoulder. His gun was lying under my hand.

He should never have spoken to me that way, but he did and it gave me strength to go it all the way. I reached for the gun, a .38, and fitted the butt into my hand.

"Look at your employee, Berin. See what I'm going to do? Now, listen carefully to what I tell you and think about it hard, because you only have a few minutes left. That tomb of yours won't be empty. No, the redhead will live there. The girl your pride kicked out. She'll be in that tomb. And do you know where you'll be? In potter's field next to Feeney Last, or what's left of you. I'll tell the police what happened. It won't be the truth, but it'll fit. I'll tell them the body up here is that of one of your boys you sent to get me. They'll never find you even though they'll never give up looking, and whenever your name is mentioned it will be with a sneer and a dirty memory. The only clean thing will be the redhead. You'll die the kind of death you feared most... lost, completely lost. Animals walking over your grave. Not even a marker."

The horror of it struck him and his mouth worked.

"But I won't deprive myself of the pleasure of killing you, mister rat. It will make up for the blonde and Lola. I'll kill you so I can live with myself again. I'll tell them we fought it out and I killed you. But you'll know the truth. It hurts, doesn't it?"

The pain in his eyes wasn't physical any longer.

"They'll be up here in a minute. I'll be waiting for them. I'll let them take me down and tell them there's no use going back in again. I'll let you burn until there isn't a thing left to identify you."

A stream of water hit the side of the wall, centered on the window and turned the room into a steaming inferno.

"A ladder will be pushed up here in just a minute now. When it comes I'll pull the trigger. Think about it, think hard."

A truck was being run into position. The shouts below grew louder. I crouched in the protection of the same timber that had him pinned down. The ceiling over the corridor outside fell in with a crash, dragging the front wall with it. I heard the crackling and looked up. Directly overhead the ceiling began to buckle, sagging in the middle with flame lancing through the cracks.

I looked at Berin and laughed. He turned his head and stared right into the muzzle of his own gun. Minutes-seconds-fractions of time. The ceiling was swaying now. The killer's face was a vile mask of hatred, praying for the ceiling to get us both. He was going to go first if it happened that way.

Something banged against the side of the window and slid over the sill: two prongs with a crossbar between them. A ladder bobbed as someone came up it, covered by the stream of water.

Berin had his mouth open, screaming with all the furies of the gods dethroned, but my laugh was even louder.

He was still screaming when I pulled the trigger.