Mickey Spillane - The Killing Man

Bradley came back, smiling gently, then raised his eyebrows at Carmody and Ferguson. "You two would make terrible poker players."

Carmody frowned, annoyed. "What?"

"I don't plan to barge right in on this," Bradley told him.

You could see the relief on their faces.

Bradley said, "One car will make the run first. We want the exact location, photos taken of the area, then we'll regroup for a final planning. The Jersey police will be given full authorization to work this under our command and will move on it the minute we call them."

"Who's going in the car?"

"Guess," Candace said.

"You think that's practical?" Ferguson asked her.

"A man and a woman riding together is a natural, gentlemen. Besides, I'm the only one who knows the fine details of the terminal point. Mr. Bradley and I will make a good team."

Bradley gave her a smile and a half bow. "It's settled then."

"And when do Velda and I move out?" I asked.

It was Ferguson who said, "First thing in the morning, buddy. We want to get you out of here at first light and settled in with guards on post before nightfall."

"Velda's going to need clothes."

Candace said, "We're both about the same size. I can outfit her with what she'll need."

I was going to object, but Pat stopped me. "Do it that way, Mike. And you can pick up what you need from any store in the area. I wouldn't suggest your going back to your apartment. You got any cash on you?"

"Enough," I told him.

"How much ammo you got for your forty-five?"

"Two full clips."

"Pick up a box."

"Who am I supposed to kill, Pat?"

For the second that he said nothing, I saw the note in my mind. You die for killing me.

"I'm sure you'll find somebody," Pat said jokingly.

Burke Reedey had changed Velda's bandage and helped her straighten up her hair. Under the makeup the signs of discoloration had almost faded and the swelling around her eye was nearly gone. Her lips were back to their natural shape and fullness, and I sat on the edge of the gurney and laid my palm against her cheek. "How you doing, baby?"

Her smile started before her eyes opened, then she said, "At least I'm not pregnant."

"Clever thought."

"Life around you is never dull, Mike. Dangerous, but never dull."

"Sorry, kitten." My fingers brushed the edges of her hair lightly.

"Burke didn't want to tell me what happened."

"How much do you remember?"

She closed her eyes, thought about it a moment and looked up at me. "I had been asleep. The doctor had given me a sedative. There seemed to be some noise that wakened me, and I knew somebody was in the room, but I thought it was Burke who had come back. Then a needle went into my arm and I was back asleep again. There were shots. I do remember shots, but they were part of my sleep." Her eyes narrowed discernibly. "They were shots, weren't they?"

"Two guys who tried to snatch you were killed."

"You?"

"I hit one in the arm, but Pat knocked him off. Snipers got the other one."

"Mike . . . why me?"

"To hurt me, doll. They still thought they could squeeze me for information I didn't even have, if they had you."

"What's happened?"

"Now we know what they want. That's why we're getting off the scene until this event is over."

"Since when do you cut out, Mike?" Her voice had an angry tone.

"When you need somebody to cover your ass, doll. Now shut up and take it as it comes." I leaned forward, cradling her head in my hands, and kissed her mouth. Then her hands came up and held me too, and our mouths were soft and gentle together, full of warmth that I had missed so badly.

Behind me, Candace coughed softly, and I eased Velda back. Burke had given her another sedative and she was getting sleepy. She had another jumpsuit outfit over her arm. "Let me dress her now," she said. "Then she'll be ready for the trip."

I nodded and went outside, half closing the door. Pat was on the telephone, two new plainclothes cops were in the room, and the other three were bent over the map again.

Five minutes later Candace came out and shut the door gently. "There's a suitcase of casual things and some underwear by the door. My shoes will be a little oversize on her, but it won't matter."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"I saw the way you kissed her."

"We're old friends."

"Bullshit. Why don't you just say you love her?"

"Why do girls always think-"

"Because we're jealous, Mike. When a girl's not in love, she's jealous of anybody else who is."

"You know . . ."

Candace put her finger on my mouth. "Don't say anything silly, big boy. We had a few wild moments and it was good. Crazy, but very good. You realize it never would have lasted for us."

I grinned at her and gave her hip a little pat. "Call me when the screwballs think they have you cornered."

"When will that be?"

"When you're president, kiddo."

Pat turned that sharp look on me when I said the word, and we both remembered we still had Penta in the picture somewhere. He was going to eliminate the vice president of the United States, but first he had to finish a job for himself.

12

The trip upstate started before dawn. It began with a ride in a police cruiser to the local precinct station, a switch to an unmarked car with us stretched out on the floor in the rear, winding up at the Fourth Precinct downtown with a shuffle to another car, indistinguishable in the shuffle of vehicles coming and going in the vicinity.

Now Ferguson was driving and I rode in the backseat with Velda's head on my shoulder, while two other cars hung back a few hundred feet, the occupants from the bureau's local office. Ferguson knew them all and assured me they were good men.

We crossed the bridge, headed north and picked up the New York State Thruway at Suffern and stayed at speed limit while the guard cars played little games to make sure nobody was following us. At our speed nearly everybody passed and kept on going or turned off at the exit ramps.

All the cars had constant radio communication and when we got to Kingston, we all turned off the thruway and gassed up. I found a store to pick up the clothes I needed, got a flashlight, extra batteries and a box of .45s. When we loaded up again, we picked up Route 28 going northwest and practically had the road to ourselves.

Now it was Ferguson's backyard. He knew where he was headed, took us past Mt. Tremper, through Phoenicia, and a few miles farther on he radioed the other cars he was turning off, would continue for a half mile and stop while they did the same thing a quarter mile up. If anybody was doing a delayed-action tailing job, they'd be spotted coming off the main road.

Where he pulled up was a shale-topped drive that had earmarks of having been long in use, but not very often. When we stopped, we waited for a full fifteen minutes before the all clear was given, then we drove ahead at slow speed, took a righthand fork for another half mile, then broke out of the woods that had surrounded us onto a grassy plain, and there ahead was the house and the rock outcroppings that made natural guard-posts.

Velda had slept through most of the trip. Now the sedative had worn off and she was having a rebirth, being in new surroundings, knowing her body was knitting together properly. Ferguson got our luggage and opened the cabin up while I got Velda out of the car and onto her feet. She was shaky and held on to my arm, taking each step carefully.

"Going to make it or do I carry you?"

"Across the threshold?"

I gave her a squeeze. "I think you're strong enough to walk this one."

Her elbow nudged my ribs. "A girl can always hope." Her grin had a pixie twist to it and I knew she was better. She was my girl again, the beautiful doll with the deep auburn page-boy hair that had a piece cut out of it now. The svelte-bodied beauty who still had colorful blue and purple shadows around one eye. The lush-hipped, full-breasted delight of a woman whom I had almost lost.