Mickey Spillane - The Snake

"Pretty angle, Pat."

"Spell it out."

"If Conley did get hideout property from Green, paid for it, made the transaction, and accepted the papers in a phony name and took possession, then killed him before Green knew what he wanted it for, who could say where he was? Chances were that nobody but Conley and Green ever saw each other and Green wasn't around to talk any more."

Pat closed the folder and shoved it in his desk. "We could check all the transactions Green made in the few weeks prior to his death."

"Time, buddy. We haven't got the time."

"But I have one thing you don't have."

I knew what he was going to say.

"Men. We can put enough troops on it to shorten the time."

"It'll still be a long job."

"You know a better way?"

The phone rang before I could answer and although I could hear the hurried chatter at the other end I couldn't make it out. When he cradled the phone Pat said, "One of my squad in Brooklyn on that Levitt rundown."

"Oh?"

"He was eating with one of the men from the precinct over there when a call came in about a body. He went along with his friend and apparently the dead guy is one of the ones he showed Basil Levitt's picture to."

"A starter," I said.

"Could be. Want to take a run over?"

"Why not?"

Pat got his car from the lot and we hopped in, cutting over the bridge into the Brooklyn section. The address was in the heart of Flatbush, one block off the Avenue, a neighborhood bar and grill that was squeezed in between a grocery and a dry-cleaning place.

A squad car was at the curb and a uniformed patrolman stood by the door. Two more, obviously detectives from the local precinct, were in the doorway talking. Pat knew the Lieutenant in charge, shook hands with him, introduced him to me as Joe Cavello, then went inside.

Squatting nervously on a stool, the bartender watched us, trying to be casual, about the whole thing. Lieutenant Cavello nodded toward him and said, "He found the body."

"When?"

"About an hour ago. He had to go down to hook into some fresh beer kegs and found the guy on the floor. He'd been shot once in the head with a small-caliber gun... I'd say about a .32."

"The M.E. set the time of death?" I asked him.

"About twelve to fifteen hours. He'll be more specific after an autopsy."

"Who was he?" Pat said.

"The owner of the place."

"You know him?"

"Somewhat," Cavello said. "We've had him down to the precinct a few times. Twice on wife beating and another when he was picked up in a raid on a card game. This is kind of a chintzy joint. Local bums hang out here because the drinks are cheap. But that's all they sell anyway, cheap booze. We've had a few complaints about some fights in here but nothing ever happened. You know, the usual garbage that goes with these slop chutes."

Pat said, "I had Nelson and Kiley over here doing a rundown on Basil Levitt. You hear about it?"

"Yeah, Lew Nelson checked in with me right after it happened. He saw the body. It was the guy he spoke to all right. I asked around but nobody here seemed to know Levitt."

"How about the bartender?" I said.

Cavello shook his head. "Nothing there. He does the day work and nothing more. When the boss came on, he went off. He doesn't know the night crowd at all."

"He live around here?"

"Red Hook. Not his neighborhood here and he couldn't care less."

While Pat went over the details of what the police picked up I wandered back to the end of the bar. There was a back room used as a storeroom and a place for the food locker with a doorway to one side that opened into the cellar. The lights were on downstairs and I went down to the spot behind the stairs where the chalk marks outlined the position of the body. They were half on the floor and half on the wall, so the guy was found in a sitting position.

Back upstairs Cavello had taken Pat to the end of the bar and I got back in on the conversation. Cavello said, "Near as we could figure it out, this guy Thomas Kline closed the bar earlier than usual, making the few customers he had leave. It was something he had never done before apparently. He'd stick it out if there was a dime in the joint left to be spent. This time he bitched about a headache, closed up, and shut off the lights. That was it. We spoke to the ones who were here then, but they all went off to another place and closed it down much later, then went home. Clean alibis. All working men for a change. No records.

"We think he met somebody here for some purpose. Come here." He led the way to a table in one corner and pointed to the floor. A small stain showed against the oiled wood. "Blood. It matched the victim's. Here's where he was shot. The killer took the body downstairs, dumped it behind the staircase where it couldn't be seen very easily, then left. The door locks by simply closing it so it was simple enough to do. One block down he's in traffic, and anyplace along the Avenue he could have picked up a cab if he didn't have his own car. We're checking all the cabbies' sheets now."

But I had stopped listening to him about then. I was looking at the back corner of the wall. I tapped Pat on the arm and pointed. "You remember the call you got from someone inquiring about Levitt?"

"Yeah," he said.

There was an open pay phone on the wall about four feet away from a jukebox.

Pat walked over to it, looked at the records on the juke, but who could tell rock-and-roll from the titles? He said to Cavello, "Many places got these open phones?"

"Sure," Cavello told him, "most of the spots that haven't got room for a booth. Mean anything?"

"I don't know. It could."

"Anything I could help with?"

Pat explained the situation and Cavello said he'd try to find anyone who, saw Kline making a phone call about that time. He didn't expect much luck though. People in that neighborhood didn't talk too freely to the police. It was more likely that they wouldn't remember anything rather than get themselves involved.

Another plainclothes officer came in then, said hello to Pat, and he introduced me to Lew Nelson. He didn't have anything to add to the story and so far that day hadn't found anybody who knew much about Levitt at all.

I tapped his shoulder and said, "How did Kline react when you showed him Levitt's photo?"

"Well, he jumped a little. He said he couldn't be sure and I figured he was lying. I got the same reaction from others beside him. That Levitt was a mean son and I don't think anybody wanted to mess around with him. He wanted to know what he was wanted for and I wouldn't say anything except that he was dead and he seemed pretty satisfied at that.

"Tell you one thing. That guy was thinking of something. He studied that photo until he was sure he knew him and then told me he never saw him before. Maybe he thought he had an angle somewhere."

There wasn't much left there for us. Pat left a few instructions, sent Nelson back on the streets again, and started outside. He stopped for a final word to Cavello so I went on alone and stood on the sidewalk beside the cop on guard there. It wasn't until he went to answer the radio in the squad car that I saw the thing his position had obscured.

In the window of the bar was a campaign poster and on it a full-face picture of a smiling Torrence who was running in the primaries for governor and under it was the slogan, WIN WITH SIM.

Chapter Nine

I made the call from the drugstore on the corner. I dialed the Torrence estate and waited while the phone rang a half-dozen times, each time feeling the cold go through me deeper and deeper.

Damn, it couldn't be too late!

Then a sleepy voice said, "Yes?" and there was no worry in it at all.

"Geraldine?"

"Mike, you thing you."