Микки Спиллейн - The Long Wait

“That leaves forty-five G’s to go, kid.”

“I know. Most of it was deposited to the account of Troy Avalard a few days later.”

“She sure must have a lot to offer,” I said. “Maybe I better look in on her again.”

“Damn it, Johnny, you...”

“Logan,” I laughed, “you ought to see her with an ice cube. It’s really something.”

I hung up while he was sputtering into the receiver and got back out on the street again. I kept wondering whether two hundred grand was worth a double try for a kill and decided that it was well worth it if the guy you were trying to kill was important enough.

About two blocks over I picked up a cruising cab and climbed in the back without giving the driver any kind of a chance to get a look at me. I said, “Pontiel Road. Drop me off on the corner.”

“Right, Jack.”

He looked like the kind of cabby who liked to gab, so I turned on the radio that was built into the side and picked up a network news commentator who did all the talking for the both of us.

I got out on the corner of Pontiel Road, paid off the cab and started walking. It was a long walk. The road started off as a residential street, kept on going with more and more spaces between the houses, passed a few acres of empty lots, wound into a wooded grove and came out in a gentle upgrade where a few more houses were in the early construction stage.

The white house on the crest of the hill had the choicest location of all. Evidently it had been built some time ago with an eye to the future, the builder expecting an expansion of the suburb in this direction. You could look down and see the whole city at a glance, yet be far enough away to enjoy some of the advantages of the country.

I walked up the flagstone path, took the steps to the porch that had 4014 in brass numbers tacked over W. Miller and looked around for a flowerpot. It was in back of the pillar and the key was there where Wendy said it would be.

There was an amber night light in the foyer that was enough to show me the stairs. I went up, found the bathroom with the light switch beside the door jamb, stripped off my clothes and climbed into the shower. The patch on my head got wet, so I took it off after I dried down and made a new one out of the bandage and tape in the closet, then hung my clothes up in the closet.

There were two doors leading off the bathroom. I opened one and it smelled of perfume and powder like every other woman’s bedroom in the civilized world, so I closed it softly and tried the other. That was better.

I tossed the towel in the hamper, walked over to the window and opened it and stood there breathing in the fresh air. The moon was just coming up behind the town, a mellow, peaceful moon all red around the edges.

A benevolent moon, I thought, smiling down on a malevolent city.

I let it douse me with its yellow light a minute longer, grinned back at it, then felt around for the bed and perched on the edge for a last cigarette. The breeze felt good on my bare skin, cool and comfortable. I stuck the butt in my mouth and snapped the match on the folder.

Her voice was a gentle whisper coming out of the darkness. “You look nice without anything on, Johnny.”

The match froze there in my fingers, dropped and went out on the floor. But not before I saw her on the other side of the bed, her body a naked splash of white before it dipped under the covers.

My benevolent moon smiled again and its light made a play of shadows over the firm sweep of her breasts, wavering gently with her breathing.

“Sorry, kid,” I said hoarsely, “I... thought... this room was... empty.”

She stretched her arms out in a lithe, lazy motion, her mouth a dark oval that barely moved. It usually is, Johnny.”

I would have left, but her hand reached out and touched me, the tips of her fingers inviting little feathers against my skin and there was something animal-like in the way she moved under the covers.

Then she was all animal and so was I, a warm, fragrant animal who made whimpering noises until I stopped her with my mouth and who clawed and clung in a mad frenzy of motion until her breath hung in her throat and it was over.

She was still asleep when I got up in the morning, curled up on her side with her face buried against my shoulder. I tucked the cover under her chin, got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. I had the coffee done and breakfast on the stove when I heard her come through the door. Her hair looked like yellow hay blowing in a wind, her mouth a scarlet smile that said, “Good morning.”

She was wrapped up in a red quilted housecoat that didn’t hide a thing. “Nice,” I grinned, “very, very nice. Sit down and eat.”

Wendy pulled out a chair with her toe and parked. “I wanted to make breakfast, Johnny.”

“You were domestic enough last night, girl. Besides, I’m in a hurry.”

Her eyes were curious. “Going somewhere?”

“Yeah. I’m going looking for the somebody who wants me dead.”

Her eyebrows made two little arcs.

“I got taken for a little ride last night. That makes twice they tried.”

“Who...”

“I’d like to know that myself. Ever hear of a girl named Vera West?”

“Why, certainly! Wasn’t she...”

“The one I was in love with. She worked in the bank,” I finished.

Wendy frowned and sipped her coffee. “She was Lenny Servo’s girl too.”

“Uh-huh. And now she’s missing. I want to find that babe.” I tapped a cigarette on the table and lit it. “How easy is it to disappear right here in town?”

“Not very easy, but it has been done. Do you think she’s here?”

“Maybe. I heard something about where the girlies wind up in Lyncastle. You know anything about it?”

“There are... houses. It is possible, though it doesn’t seem logical. Why would she want to disappear?”

“That goddamn tart framed me. She...” I stopped in the middle of the sentence. “How good are you at keeping your mouth closed?”

The coffee cup made a faint clink against the saucer. She read the expression on my face and stiffened. “That isn’t very nice.”

“I don’t do nice things, Wendy. But I want you to know. I may shoot off my mouth because you and Pop did me a favor, but if you sound off to anybody you’ll never be able to do it again. You understand that, don’t you?”

Her face was white with anger. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she snapped.

“No, I don’t have to, but I can think better when I talk. Listen all you want to, but keep it to yourself. Like I said about Vera West, she told Gardiner I was using a set of books I had no business seeing. She had it all arranged so in case she was caught she’d be able to shove everything on me. Well, that’s just what happened. She was the one pulling the fancy stuff. She was dummying the books and I took the rap for it!”

“You... went to the bank?”

“Yeah, and saw Gardiner. He’s going to look for her too.”

“You’re sure about this?” she asked seriously.

“As sure as I can be without any proof. If I knew more about how the hell a bank runs its books I could have put the questions right.”

The eyebrows went up again. Higher this time. “But you...”

“I never worked in a bank,” I said, “because I’m not Johnny McBride. You’re the second person I’ve told this to and you’re going to be the last, but Johnny McBride is dead. I’m just a guy who looks like him.”

I gave it to her with as few words as possible and she sat there with her mouth open trying to absorb it all. I motioned to her to eat while she was listening and finished about the same time she did.

She took the cigarette I offered her, dragged in a light and let the smoke curl out with her words. “It’s incredible, really. Nobody has thought different so far?”