Микки Спиллейн - The Last Cop Out

“Sure,” Gill smiled. He looked at Helen in the big leather chair. “But why do it myself when I have somebody else to help?”

“Out,” Long snapped. “We’re straining our friendship.”

“How about that?” Gill told him.

In the cab, Helen reached over and took his hand. “I can’t stay there any longer, Gill. I guess you know that.”

“I wasn’t going to let you anyway.” He yanked the cigarette pack from his pocket, found it empty and tossed it out the window with an angry gesture. “That slob was just a little too cute.”

“Gill... he didn’t tell me to use those tickets.”

“No?” He turned and studied her face a moment. “Figure it this way. He probably knew his office staff pretty well and you were the only one uncommitted. Women don’t generally change their plans at the last second even for good seats at a prime show. You were a natural, baby.”

“But why would he want to have you killed?” she asked him.

“I’m in their way.”

“So are all the rest of the policemen.”

“Not like I am. They got trouble enough without me.”

“That’s an awfully big chance they were taking then.”

“And that’s how they live. With the odds. They got rid of me once before and I didn’t stay down so they had to rig the game again.”

“Captain Long still thinks I had something to do with it.”

“Not really. He’s grabbing at straws. He knows the whole story.”

Her hand tightened around his and her teeth nibbled at her lip. “I don’t know, Gill. I think I’m beginning to get scared.”

“Forget it.”

“Gill...” She looked at him anxiously again. “It’ll happen again, like last night, won’t it?”

He shrugged, his face unmoving. “Maybe. But it can end the same way too.”

“Oh, Gill, isn’t there any way out... just for a little while?” There was a strange note of pathos in her voice. “Everything is going too fast. I... I have to get away from this!”

He ran his hand up her arm and cradled it around her shoulders. “Sorry as hell you were caught in the middle, Helen. I know that session with Bill was rough, but he had to have your statement. Look, you’re finished with that damn job and all the rest of the crap. Get it out of your mind.”

“Fine, but what will I do now?”

“You’re going to sit back and let me take care of you.”

For a second she didn’t move, then she turned and looked up at him, her eyes soft. “Gill...?”

He fought with himself a full minute, telling himself all the things that were barriers, reminding himself of what could go wrong. He wasn’t a kid any more and she had had enough of a cop’s life years before. He still had something big to do that could get him killed and the whole business could expose her to something worse than she had ever known.

But that other feeling he had, the one he didn’t think would ever come to him, was even stronger and he looked at her and grinned. “It’s a hell of a way to put it, sugar, but that’s the way it is.”

She laid her head on his shoulder very gently and said, “I love you.”

Gill kissed her hair, saying the same thing without words.

“Gill?.”

“What?”

“It’s Saturday night.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Can we go somewhere for the weekend?”

He looked at his watch and frowned. “It’s nine-thirty now.”

“There’s an awfully nice place in Jersey where it’s quiet and the food is good. All the rooms have patios that look out at the hills.”

“Honey...”

“Please?”

His arm squeezed her gently. “Okay, pest.” He glanced at his watch again. “I’ll drop you off, go pack some of my own things and pick you up in half an hour.”

She came off his shoulder and shook her head pathetically at his ignorance. “Lover,” she said, “... and if that’s what you want to be, you had better understand women just a little better. It has been a rather harrowing experience and I would like to look my best for this particular assignation, so please, please give me an hour and a half at least.”

Burke laughed because she was so damn right and he was so damn stupid. They were almost at her apartment and he leaned over to kiss her softly on her mouth. “I’ll learn, kid.”

She patted his cheek. “I hope so.”

“But you’d better learn something too.”

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t thinking of this as an assignation. My suggestion of keeping you was motivated by a more permanent and basic reason.”

She felt her face flush and wondered when she had ever been more happy. Never, she concluded, and went upstairs to her apartment feeling tingly all over.

Papa Menes didn’t know whether to feel good or bad. All he knew was that the Big Board knew he was in the area where the trouble was and now they had to speculate about him turning the pot over. Miami was where the trouble was, he was only an hour’s drive away, and if he weren’t the instigator, then he could be the stopper in the drain. He was on the Big Board, but not present when the decisions were made because he had a nose for blood and he didn’t want his to be part of the smell. It was much nicer to screw a tender broad up the ass and enjoy himself than to have to go through all the mayhem that had been part of his formative period and on into the chairman’s seat of power where torture and murder were only spoken words you never saw executed at all.

He was there through accidental choice and now he had to take care of a jerk German who thought he could buck the power of the organization and since he knew the odds and the way, they were asking him to complete a totally menial task. The dames were on the way down and he could take care of Herman the German any time he wanted to. His soldiers had arrived, were ready to operate, and even though the Miami police were covering the whole area, his people were the only ones capable of going inside to make the hits. They were completely equipped, excellently skilled and totally dedicated.

Why the Big Board wanted Herman the German rubbed, he didn’t know. That was an operation for any local capo, not the boss. But, if they wanted him to handle the deal, it was fine, fine. Very fine.

Up in New York that bastard cop Burke was giving the Frenchman all kinds of hell and he liked that too. Every time the Board brought in a sex creep like the Frenchman they always had trouble. Shit, just let him have his own button men and he could do it alone, but no. They brought in Frank Verdun and ever since, the trouble got worse.

Well, they couldn’t blame him. Two days, a week from now, that bum the German, would be dead and the trouble would be over. A whole fucking month of trouble over a stupid German and that dead Moe Piel. Assholes.

The word brought him back to the present because Artie Meeker was driving up with the two broads from Miami and now that he knew she really liked it, he was really going to lay it to her. No more baby oil to lubricate the thrust. This time he’d use spit and if it hurt, so much the better.

Frank Verdun had an animal instinct. He knew when he was being stalked. He could feel it in his bones and even as he walked his hand was on the gun in his pocket. The feel of it used to quiet him, but this time it didn’t. It felt cold and inadequate, and no matter where his eyes went or his mind turned, there was never anybody there. He remembered Vic Petrocinni and the others, suddenly knowing how they had felt, and his stomach turned sour.

When he reached the safety of his apartment he vomited again, kneeling on the shag rug in front of the toilet bowl so as not to get any of the slop on his person. Not much came up because he hadn’t eaten anything, but the terrible retching was there in his bowels and he had to let the spasms take their course. When they were over he took his clothes off and stepped into the shower.