Микки Спиллейн - The Long Wait

She was going to say something, but Pop beat her to it. “He’s crazy.”

I pulled my hands back and picked up the butt. “You’d be surprised how sane I am.” My voice had a hard edge to it.

Pop caught it the first time. “What do ya mean?”

“Why’d you bring me here, Pop? There were plenty of places to eat in town.”

He didn’t answer.

“Before you left you made a phone call. It was to blondie here. Why?”

It caught him with his mouth open. He let it hang that way for a second before closing it sheepishly. “You was listening,” he accused me.

“Listening nuts. I’m guessing and I’m guessing right.”

“You’re right, Johnny. He called me.” I grinned at the blonde and let her throw the ball to the old duffer.

“Okay, Johnny,” he said, “I called her. Now I’ll tell you why. I think you’re a plain damn fool for sticking around, but that’s your business and I’m not butting in there. Just the same, you park right out where everybody can see you and you’re asking for trouble. Wendy here owns a pretty big house and she’s going to take you in.”

“That all?” I asked.

“That’s all, Johnny.” He stopped and stared at his plate. “Can’t you tell me what’s biting you?”

“No. Nothing’s biting me.”

“Ah, I don’t know. A guy’s not much help when he’s old, I guess. When you was a little kid and used to hang around the station I was the guy who fixed your kites and took the knots outa your fishing line. Ever since you got into trouble I’ve worried myself sick over you. Come on, let’s get outta here.”

And there it was, another piece of history that went back twenty years. Like most kids, I was supposed to have made the station a regular hangout. I bet I even used to know the schedules by heart. Now I could quit worrying about why the old guy was so damn friendly. It was nice to know those things, especially when I had never seen him before in my life.

Wendy picked up her hat and purse, said so-long to Louie and the bar crowd, then joined us outside. There was only room for two in the front of the Ford, so I got in back and took it easy awhile. Nobody said anything until the car rolled in against the platform, then the old boy got out and told me to get up front.

I said, “Sure, Pop.”

He gave a tug at his mustache and glared at me. “And damnit, stop calling me ‘Pop’! You know my name as well as I do!”

“Okay, Mr. Henderson.”

“You sure got fresh in five years, Johnny.” He stamped away, but got over his mad soon enough to turn around and wave.

We waved back and he disappeared inside.

The station was still empty.

“Where you staying, Johnny?”

“Hathaway House.”

The blonde nodded, made a turn and cut down to the main drag. “We’ll go right to my place and you can send for your baggage in the morning.”

“I don’t have any baggage. I’m not going to your place yet either. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight.”

She didn’t argue about it. “That’s your affair. I’m only doing it as a favor for Nick.”

I waited until she was stopped for a red light and grinned so she could see it. “Look, Wendy, you’re a nice little mouse and all that, but you’re strictly the kind of sex I can’t afford to have around right now. I got things to do.”

Her eyebrows slid up disdainfully. “Don’t worry, you won’t get raped.”

“It’s been known to happen,” I said.

“God, what an ego!” The light changed and the car shot forward with the gears mashing noisily.

“Don’t fool yourself, baby. I’m as much man as you are woman and like Freud says, it’s sex that motivates everything.”

“You’re an educated bastard.”

“Yeah.”

A smile played around in the comer of her mouth. “Perhaps I should change that song routine of mine.”

“Do that. Either let ’em see it or keep it hidden altogether. I hate to be teased.”

She threw back her head, laughed and I laughed with her. Then we both shut up until we were a block from the hotel. I saw the sign up ahead and told her to stop. I got out, shut the door and leaned on the window. “If the invitation is still good, where do I find your place?”

Her face was a pale oval in the gloom of the car. “4014 Pontiel Road, Johnny. It’s a white house on the crest of a hill. I’ll leave a key in the big flowerpot on the porch.”

There was something in her voice that was all honey and butter like when she sang that song and I could see her in the green dress with all the light tan skin showing. I reached out and pulled her halfway across the seat until her mouth was there, full and ripe, and I tasted it hungrily, feeling the hot lance of her tongue before she stiffened and jerked away.

“Damn you. That was a nice line about not fighting for it!”

“Hell, that was just sparring around,” I said. Then I laughed and she let the clutch out so fast I almost went on my neck. I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face because she was a hot little mouse who liked to tease and couldn’t take any teasing back. She didn’t know it, but she was due for some lessons in Freud at that Pontiel Road address.

Instead of going in the main entrance of the Hathaway House, I used the side door and saw the big cop before he saw me. He was slouched in a chair trying to read and watch the exit at the same time without doing a good job of either.

I tapped him on the shoulder and if he wasn’t so big he wouldn’t have gotten stuck in the chair trying to get up. I said, “Oh, sit there, junior. I’ve already been so I’m not going anyplace. If you should want me, just ring my room.”

He sat back and gave me a dirty look and made sure I got on the elevator. Then he picked up the paper again and started reading. I stepped out on my floor, walked down the corridor and poked the key in the lock.

Before I had my clothes off I knew somebody had been through the room. There was a smell that shouldn’t have been there and it was a newly familiar smell I couldn’t miss. It took awhile but I got it. The stuff was an antiseptic. Like hospitals. Like Tucker’s beat-up face under a bandage.

Whatever he was looking for he didn’t find because there wasn’t anything there to find in the first place. I tossed my new jacket in the handbag with the other junk and took a shower. The shock of cold water started my head aching again, so I warmed it up until I turned pink in spots and the ache went away.

I was drying off when knuckles rapped the door. I yelled to come in and wrapped the towel around my middle. Jack, the bellhop, stood there in a listening attitude, one ear cocked toward the door. Apparently he was satisfied with what he heard. “You know there’s a bull downstairs.”

“Uh-huh. He tried following me awhile.”

“Slip ’im, huh?”

“Ran away from him. He’s not very fast.”

“That true stuff about you being the guy who knocked off the D. A.?”

“A lot of people seem to think so.”

“What do you think?”

I gave him a hurt look and climbed into my shorts. “Now what would I want to knock off a D.A. for?”

He grinned at me slyly as if I had spilled the whole thing. “You had a visitor before. A mummy.”

“Yeah, I know. I could smell him.”

“That was Tucker. He’s a son of a bitch. You and him tangled, hah?”

“In a minor sort of a way I belted the crap out of him. Why you handing out all that nice information?”

The grin came back. “You give me a fin. He didn’t. Besides, he’s been on my neck a long time. The bastard wants his cut of everything that goes on and he gets it. Not from me though,” he added. “Anybody who takes him is a pal of mine.”

“Hi, pal. What’s your racket? Everybody else in town seems to have one, so what’s yours?”