Mickey Spillane - Kiss Her Goodbye

I felt a frown settle across my face. Back in this concrete purgatory just a few hours, and I find death, murder, waiting for me. But this had nothing to do with me. Right? This was just another goddamn mugging gone tragically wrong.

Right?

Pat said, "Mike—did you hear me?"

I hadn't. "Oh, sorry. What'd you say?"

"Marshall—the assistant D.A.? She doesn't know you, and I don't want her knowing you. Tomorrow, when you don't show, she'll call me and I'll put Peterson on her. The inspector's no friend of hers and he won't let any of his guys get hassled, so everything stays clean."

Now I gave him the grin. "Not with that big kitten."

"Mike—"

"What's her first name?"

"Angela."

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman, Pat ... only that's no angel."

The morgue wagon pulled away and two cruisers followed it. I walked over to where the body had been and stared down at the sand they had poured out over the spilled blood.

I don't know why these simple kills bother me. There was nothing elaborate about it. Just a lousy mugger punching a hole in a young girl's chest to grab what few bucks she had in a cheap handbag. Bing. One life down the drain. Maybe enough in that bag for a fast snort.

I bent down and picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through my fingers until only a pebble was left. Some great headstone. Fingering it, I stood up and absentmindedly stuck the little stone in my pocket. Now I had a souvenir to commemorate my homecoming.

"Let's get you to your hotel, Mike."

I got in Pat's old sedan and slammed the door shut. He put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn it. "You know, kid," he said, "I can't go anyplace with you. Man, sometimes I think a dark cloud does follow you."

"Hey, you're the one invited me back, remember?"

MY EYES OPENED of their own accord to a morning that was purely New York, a shadowed city whose light strained to get in the hotel room. The digital clock read 6:15 A.M. in Frankenstein green, but twenty stories below, Forty-second Street was already snapping and growling at anybody stupid enough to be down there.

I never should have told Pat my attitude was fine. Hell, I had one great big fat attitude problem right now. Three hours from here the sun was a lively hot thing bouncing off waters so blue it took your breath away, shimmering off white sand soft as flour. From here, even the sand spurs didn't seem so bad.

If I could have woken from the nightmare that was New York into the sunshine reality of Florida, I'd have gladly done so. What was keeping me here? Why not get back on a plane today? This morning?

Doolan had been dead before I arrived, and I didn't even know the name of that dead blonde last night. An old copper with cancer ends it all; a cute dumb kid with a nice shape walks into the wrong neighborhood and becomes a mugging fatality.

What were they to me?

Something. I wasn't sure what exactly. Not yet. But something....

A year's habit was too much to break and I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, then went into the exercise routine. It wasn't a vanity kick, rather a medically ordered series that got injured muscle tissue back into working order. But I felt like I needed to be doing more, and would do something about that. When I had a good sweat going, I broke it, jumped in the shower, and when I got out, threw on a robe.

The room-service waiter brought the morning edition of the News up with my coffee, and I thumbed through it page by page, reading every damn line of every damn item like some suburbanite about to go off to work. But I couldn't fool myself too long, and finally just flipped the pages until I caught the squib almost buried among minor items about the night before.

SLAIN GIRL FOUND ON STREET

Apparent victim of mugging. Unidentified at present. Caucasian, age about 25, five feet four inches tall. Investigation continuing.

Relieved the News reporter hadn't recognized me at the scene—I was in no mood to be a sidebar—I tossed the paper and stared out the window, the old juices stirring.

This is a load of crap, I thought, and I had to cut it out. The old days had come to an end a year ago on that pier. There was no profit in getting shot up, and no glory in being made the fall guy.

But at least I got out of it alive. That young girl on the sidewalk was dead. And nobody even knew who she was.

What was it Doolan had said?

" There are some things you just can't walk away from, kid. "

I climbed into sweatshirt and slacks, packed a duffel bag of fresh clothes, went down to the street, and grabbed a cab to Bing's Gym.

Nothing had changed. It was still a nondescript old building with dirty windows, and I wondered why health-conscious athletes would want to train there anyway. The interior had that sweaty jock-strap smell of all locker rooms and floating dust mites kept up a perpetual haze in the main gym.

Bing spotted me before I reached the door of his office and came out and wrapped his arms around me.

"Damn, Mike, it sure is good to see you."

He pushed back and grinned up at me, all fat and happy with his hair a monklike white semicircle. It would be hard to guess he'd been a flyweight champ in the thirties.

"Mike, where the hell you been? Look at you, like a nut, brown like a nut. You don't get that in New York."

"I'm kind of out of season for the city, kid. This is Florida gold you're looking at."

"Whatever it is, you look great, Mike."

"Quit lying."

He shrugged. "So you lost weight, so you look run-down. What's important is, how do you feel?"

"I feel lousy."

"It's a start. This stems from when you got shot?"

I nodded.

Bing looked at me carefully. "You want to work out?"

"The easy stuff," I told him.

"Like easy for who? I remember what you used to handle...."

I let out a short laugh. "Not the big boy weights, pal. Make it a routine for a middle-aged beginner."

"That bad?"

"It's getting better." I glanced around the room. "You got new equipment."

"Sure. Everybody's into bodybuilding now. Don't let it bother you. Tension and weights you can adjust for a kindergartner to a Schwarzenegger. I'll check you out personally on the apparatus."

"Apparatus," I said. "Where did you hear that word?"

"It was in the manual."

"Never too old to learn."

For a full hour I went through the prescribed exercises. My body ached, the sweat poured off me, but there was the satisfying feeling of knowing that I was coming back together again. The one thing I couldn't do was overexert myself. Inside me a lot of healing still needed doing. I put in fifteen minutes of light jogging on the treadmill, then soaked in the shower room a full half hour before I got dressed.

On my way out, Bing asked, "You gonna be a regular again?"

"Long as I'm in town."

"What does that mean? A vacation's one thing, Mike, but you belong in the city."

"Not anymore."

A knowing grin creased his face. "Balls. Guy like you can't escape the city. Hell, you got a blood contract with this place. You're married to the old girl."

I grunted. "I'm about ready to kiss her goodbye."

He just shook his head. "Never happen."

"Think not?"

"Naw, Mike, never. You forgot to sign a prenup."

I laughed, let him have the exit line, went back down to the street, and started walking.

It was a different Forty-second Street at that time of morning, still dirty and noisy, but busy with a freshness that would last until after lunch. I took my time and just before nine reached the official building I wanted. The person I was after had a listing on the directory, and I caught the elevator to the fifth floor.