Mickey Spillane - The Killing Man

"What are you thinking, Mike?"

"No way I'm going to tell you that," I said, and gave her a little laugh. I didn't have to tell her anyway. She already knew. I moved her to a big, soft La-Z-Boy chair, got her comfortable and went to help Ferguson and the others get the place ready.

Two of the agency men who never seemed to have anything to say got their gear together, large thermos bottles of coffee, water canteens, packages of food, and rolled everything up in their watertight ponchos. Each one carried a holstered sidearm and a Colt AR-15A2 rifle chambered for a .223 cartridge, a fast-firing, accurate rifle with deadly capabilities. Each one was equipped with a night scope. A metal case held the spare clips. When they were satisfied, they strode off to the rock outcroppings. Neither one had said anything at all.

Ferguson came in from the kitchen and handed me a set of keys. "I'm leaving my car around the back in case you need it. It's out of sight, got plenty of gas and is facing forward in case you have to make a quick getaway."

"Why would I do that?"

"Just a precaution." He took a compact walkie-talkie from his pocket, thumbed the button and said, "Number one, check."

The radio said, "One, check."

"Number two, check."

"Two, check," the radio repeated.

He thumbed the switch off and laid the walkie-talkie on the table. "You have emergency contact with both guard positions. And for Pete's sake, keep radio silence as much as possible. Let them alert you if possible. When their radios are receiving, other ears as well as theirs can hear them."

"Got it," I said. "The phone working here?"

"Yeah, but the damn thing's on a party line, so stay off it."

"How about television?"

"You lucked in. They ran cable in here last year, so amuse yourself on thirty channels. Everything else is in working order, you got groceries, beer and plenty of toilet paper. You want any smokes?"

"I quit."

"Then enjoy yourself, pardnuh. Be nice to the lady."

"Do me a favor, Ferguson."

"Like what?"

"Have Pat call me when the bust goes down."

Ferguson held out his hand and I took it. He said, "Sure thing, Mike," then went outside with the others. The engines of two cars came to life, then slowly faded out of earshot down the road.

The sun had gone down behind the mountain and the shadow threw an early veil of darkness around the house. I made the rounds, locking the windows and doors, familiarizing myself with the place. The living room was a good size , the fireplace functional as well as ornamental. Both bedrooms were done in rugged Early American style, a bathroom opening off each one. The kitchen was a cook's dream and whoever spent time here was in the country without losing any of the benefits of modern civilization.

I checked out the porches, all the closets, and in the hallway I spotted an almost hidden ceiling hatch. I pulled a chair over, stepped up onto it, pushed the hatch cover up and stuck my head into the opening, probing the darkness with my flashlight.

Batts of insulation ran between the floor beams and most of the area was covered with sheets of plywood to provide storage space, but now there was nothing there but the roof supports and the hand-laid brickwork of the massive fireplace chimney. I pulled the hatch cover back in place and got down off the chair.

The windows had curtains that were nearly opaque and I closed them before I snapped on the TV set and let it give us all the light we needed. I brought over two egg salad sandwiches, opened the coffee thermos, poured out two cups and sat down beside Velda.

She said, "Tell me about it. From the beginning. Don't leave anything out."

So I told her from the beginning, but I did leave some things out. She asked questions and had me repeat events several times, putting the pieces of the picture in a framework that would contain something recognizable. Inside there she was looking for Penta too, searching for the killer who had almost killed her. There was no anger in the way she was thinking, simply a purposeful, quiet deliberateness that poked and prodded at the pieces, trying to get them to fit. I talked to her, held hands while she pondered, and when she came to the same blank stone wall that somebody had scrawled the name Penta on, she said, "I'm tired, Mike."

I got her into the bedroom and she turned around, put her arms around my neck and said in a tired voice, "Do me."

My fingers unzipped the jumpsuit, let it fall, then unsnapped her bra. She shrugged out of that too, letting herself sink to the edge of the bed. I pushed her back gently and pulled the covers up round her. "Good night, Tiger," I said.

There was no answer. She was already asleep.

I went back to the living room and sat in a wooden rocker. The news on TV was nothing spectacular. I tried CNN and caught a flurry of national stuff and the day's sports. There was nothing about a billion-dollar drug bust. I pulled a blanket off the other bed, turned off the TV, stretched out in the La-Z-Boy recliner and went to sleep with the .45 in my hand.

The sun came up the east slope, and I threw the window curtains open. The whole area was clear outside, and I picked up the walkie-talkie and said, "Either of you guys want breakfast?"

One said, "You go first, Eddie. I still have some coffee left."

There was no answer, but I saw some movement beside the clump of rocks and the one called Eddie started to trot toward the house, the rifle slung over his shoulder. Everything was real military double time with those two.

I held the door open, let him through and locked it behind him.

"You got hot water? I need a quick shower."

"Try the bathroom. They told me it all works."

I went to the kitchen and started the coffee going. There were eggs, bacon and precooked biscuits in the refrigerator, and I got them all out, cooked them up just as Eddie came out of the bathroom dressed, with damp hair, and still carrying the rifle. He ate, said thanks and went to the door. "I'll send Tunney down," he told me over his shoulder.

Tunney needed a shower too. He ate, had a second cup of coffee and said it had been a quiet night. During the day he and Eddie would each grab some sleep while the other stood guard. At suppertime they would come up one at a time, grab a bite before dark, refill their thermoses and canteens and get set for the night's watch.

The phone rang. I picked it up and Ferguson's voice said, "Everything all right?"

I said, "Great."

He said, "Fine," and hung up.

From Velda's bedroom I heard the sound of a shower running. I went back to the stove again. This morning I had the feeling Velda was going to have her old appetite back. The bacon strips were almost done. I made a square of them in the pan and cracked two eggs into the opening. I basted the eggs the way she liked them and they were done just as she came to the table. I laid out the biscuits and poured us coffee."

"Don't say it," I told her.

"You'll make a great wife, Mike."

"I told you not to say it."

"So punch me in the mouth with your lips," she told me.

"Wait till you swallow your egg," I told her.

We sat through another day and watched a steady stream of television block out hours and half hours. The news had nothing at all. The weather channel said a cold front was moving into our area and we could expect an early frost this year.

At ten minutes to four the phone rang again. Pat said, "The front car was confirmed."

"How soon you going in?"

"On the way, pal."

"Any problems?"

"Only political. B. B. will smooth things out."

I heard a click and a small lessening in the volume of Pat's voice. "Fine," I said, "see you," and hung up. I wanted to say something else to the party on the line, but I didn't bother.