Микки Спиллейн - Killer Mine

Mary was looking at me with raised eyebrows, waiting. I said, “He sure was thinking big, that’s for sure.”

She nodded. “This night he leave thees things, he pay his bill.”

“How much?”

“T’ree hundred fifty somethin’.”

“That’s pretty steep to go, isn’t it?”

“You know Tony,” she said. “Most of that thees René drink. Tony, he buy him plenty booze and bring it to his room just before that.”

“Oh?” I didn’t want to push her.

“Tells me bunch of guys up there. They don’t let him in. Just take the stuff and tell him pay later. You know Tony.”

“So they were playing cards maybe,” I said.

“Sure, maybe,” she said and all her curiosity left.

I paid the bill, said so-long to Mary and Tony and took Marta out of there. She was all primed for a big talk, but inside, couldn’t say anything that might have official sounding overtones. Now she wanted to talk and I wouldn’t tell her anything. I just walked beside her grinning to see how much she could take.

We hit a couple of bars then, saying hello here and there, finding some of the old bunch still around. I made no bones about being a cop, but by then the news had preceded us anyway so it didn’t make much difference. But one look at Marta and they knew I had a good reason to be around without wanting to get involved in police work. The winks were big and broad and I accepted them with a wink back.

It was a great cover. She spiked me with her damn heels a few times for pulling that stuff, but it was still real great cover.

At eleven-thirty I took her home, closed the door behind us and ducked the backhand she threw at me. I said, “You’re supposed to use Judo.”

“Oh, Joe!” But she had to smile. “I’m never going to ever be able to hold my head up around here any more.”

“Why? You knew all those people.”

“But I’m not a saloon jumper. Golly...”

“So we’ll teach the old dog new tricks.” This time the backhand got me before I could move out of reach.

Marta laughed, shook her head and said, “I’ll go make coffee and you can tell me how we’re doing. That is, if I’m allowed to know.”

I said okay and sat down.

“Now tell me,” she said.

“Not tell, sugar. Speculate. All we did was get seen around. All we speculate on is René Mills. Apparently he had some loot or was expecting some.”

“He always looked the part. I never saw him in anything other than the latest styles.”

“Sure,” I agreed, “and he paid his bills. Those guys could always go that far rolling drunks. What gets me were those auto ads. Who needs a car around here? The kids would make a playground out of it in one day. Taxis and subways are too easy.”

“He could have been just looking.”

“Those folders were worn. He did a whole lot of looking.”

“Somebody else could have had them first.”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed, “so we find out.”

It took ten minutes. With a half a dozen calls I found the Caddie and the Imperial dealer who remembered Mills.

Marta said, “Well?”

“He did the asking himself. He sounded serious.”

“René had something going for him then.” She walked over with coffee and a plate of Danish and held them out.

“Who knows? He could still be playing the big shot.”

We finished the snack and I looked at my watch. It was a quarter after twelve and I was beginning to drag. I got up, stretched and reached for my hat. Marta said, “Joe... it’s been fun, really.”

I grinned at her. “Work isn’t supposed to be fun.”

Her eyebrows went up. “You unhappy?”

“No. Come here.” She came into my arms with a smile and a soft little sound and a way of doing it that was as if we had been doing it all our lives. We seemed to touch all over at once, then when the hot fire of her mouth engulfed mine, the touch became a demanding, writhing pressure and when I pushed her away she shuddered briefly, then opened her eyes.

“Little Giggie,” I said.

“Big Giggie,” she reminded me. “Don’t do me like that or you’ll get bitten.”

“Never bite your superior officer,” I said.

“Then watch yourself,” she smiled. “Tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon. I have to go downtown first.”

“You know you’re leaving me in an awful mess,” she said with a sultry grimace. Then she looked at me and grinned broadly when I stepped back.

I opened the door. “That makes two of us,” I said.

On the way to the corner I saw Benny Loefert across the street talking to some chippy. I walked over and they stopped talking while I was still in the middle of the street. I said, “Turn around and put your hands against the wall, punk. You know the pose.”

The arrogance in his eyes turned to little snakes of hate and he spit, then turned slowly. I made it faster with a shove of my hand. A handful of up-laters stopped to watch and you could hear the whispers and sense the heads in darkened windows of the tenements.

I patted him down to his shoes, made him show his identification then gave him at ease. He said, “What’s that for? You know I don’t go loaded.”

“Ex-cons still in the punk business are always suspicious characters, punk. What’re you doing here?”

“I got a broad.”

“Who?”

He waved his thumb at the gum chewer and her eyes darted back and forth between us. “Let’s see you shake her down, copper.”

“Sure.” But first I slapped him one across the mouth then gave him another across the ear. “That’s for the smart mouth, punk. Try it again.”

Some of the people watching grumbled, but just as many laughed. They didn’t like punks either. I turned to the broad and pointed to the purse in her hand. “Get it out, kid, let’s see it all. Who you are, where you live, the works.”

“Listen...!”

“You ever do time, kid?”

Her eyes said yes. Her eyes said they didn’t want to do any more, either. She opened the purse and showed me her Social Security card that gave her name as Paula Lees and a receipted bill for a room a block over. I knew what she was and the business she was in but didn’t push it at all. When I told her okay and to put it away her eyes said thanks and gave Loefert a dirty look.

By tomorrow everybody would have the story. Loefert was part of big time moving downtown, but they weren’t snot nosing this badge. When I moved them on I stood there a minute, said to hell with the subway and grabbed a cab cruising by.

It only took fifteen minutes to change the sight and sound and smells. I opened the door of my apartment and it was like being in a different world.

After breakfast in the cafeteria near headquarters, I went up to my desk and started clearing out details that had been laying over. In a way it was good to be on a single assignment. You had a chance to shove unfinished business on somebody else for a change, and for once you could devote yourself to thinking along a straight line.

Close to noon Mack Brissom gave his usual rap and opened the door. He had two containers of coffee, put them on the desk and settled down with a tired sigh.

I said, “What’re you doing in on Sunday?”

“That Canadian business. It’s in Homicide now.”

I frowned, shook my head, but couldn’t remember it.

“That armored car stickup in Montreal. One and half million.”

“Why have we got it?”

Mack grunted and reached for his coffee. “Not we. Me. You’re the fair-haired boy who don’t have to work. The two guards are dead. Both the hoods who hit the truck were tracked to the Falls, crossed over into Buffalo and are supposedly heading toward New York.”

“So catch ’em. You know who they are?”