Mickey Spillane - The Snake

"There won't be trouble, Sonny."

"No? You think with all the papers down my throat I'd get any peace? You think I'd keep the lease on the shoe shop? It's bad enough I'm a con and a few people know it, but let everybody know it and I get booted right out of the neighborhood. No business, nothin'. Sorry, mister."

"There might be a reward in it."

"No dice. I'd have everybody in the racket chiseling it outa me. I'd wind up a drunk or dead. Somebody'd try to take me for the poke and I'd be out. Not me, Mister Hammer. I'm too old to even worry about it."

Damn, he was tying me up tight and he was right. There had to be a way. I said, "If I wanted to I could put the heat on you for the Howie Green kill. The way things stand I wouldn't be a bit surprised if we got some quick and total cooperation from the police."

Sonny stared a second, then grunted. "What a guest you are. You sure want me to fall bad."

"Not that bad. If you want to push it I'd probably lay back. I'm just trying you, Sonny."

Once again his eyes caught Velda's legs. She had swung them out deliberately and the dress had pulled up over her knee. It was enough to make Sonny giggle again. "Oh, hell, why not? So maybe I can feed you something. What's it they call it? Public duty or some kind of crap like that."

"Quincy Malek, Sonny."

He sat back and squinted his eyes shut. "Now let's see. What would that punk do? He up and died but he never expected to, I bet. He was the kind who'd keep everything for himself if he could. Even if he left something to his family I bet they'd have to dig for it.

"Quincy owned property around town. Tenements, stuff like that. He'd buy cheap and hold. Got plenty in rentals and he seemed to know what was coming down and what was going up. Always had a hot iron in the fire."

"Would he keep any records there?"

"Nope, don't think so. Something might happen to 'em. My guess is he'd leave 'em with somebody."

"Who?"

"Something about old Quincy nobody knew. He kept a pair of sisters in an apartment building he owned. Tricky pair that. Real queer for anything different. I got the word once that he had a double deal with them. They owned the apartment with some papers signed so that he could take it back any time he wanted. He couldn't get screwed that way. Me, I'd look for those sisters. That building would be the only income they had and they couldn't dump it so they were stuck with it, but since it was a good deal all around, why not, eh?"

"Who were they, Sonny?"

"Now you got me, mister. I think if you poke around you'll find out who. I remember the deal, but not the dames. That any help?"

"It's a lead."

"Maybe I'll think of it later. You want me to call if I do?"

I picked a scrap of paper off the table, wrote down the office and home numbers, and gave them to him. "Keep calling these numbers until you get me or Velda here."

"Sure." He tucked the paper in his pants pocket. Then he got an idea. "Hey," he said, "if you find that crumb Blackie, you let me know. Hell, I'd even like a feel of that money. Just a feel. I think I'm entitled. It cost me thirty years."

"Okay, a feel," I said kiddingly.

Then Velda swung her leg out again and he grinned. "You know what I'd really like to feel, don't you?"

With a laugh Velda said, "You're a dirty old man."

"You bet, lady. But I'd sure like to see you with your clothes off just once."

"If you did you'd drop dead," I told him.

"What a way to go," he said.

Pat wasn't bothering to get any sleep either. I reached him at the office and gave him the dope Sonny passed on to me. He thought it had merit enough to start working on and was going to put two men on it right away. Nothing else had paid off yet, although they had come up with a few former properties Malek had owned. They had made a search of the premises, but nothing showed. A team of experts were on a twenty-four-hour detail in the records section digging up old titles, checking possibles, and having no luck at all so far.

Offhand I asked for Quincy's old address and Pat gave me the location of his home and the building the real estate agency was housed in. He had checked them both personally and they were clean.

I hung up the phone and asked Velda if she wanted something to eat. The Automat was right down the street so she settled for a cup of coffee and a sandwich. We waited for the light, cut over, and ducked inside.

Right at the front table Jersey Toby was having coffee and when he saw me he simply got up and left with his coffee practically untouched.

We fed nickels into the slots, got what we wanted, and picked a table.

Outside the damn rain had started again.

Velda said, "What's on your mind?"

"How can you tell?"

"Your poker face slipped. You're trying to think of something."

I slammed the coffee cup down. "One lousy thing. I can feel it. One simple goddamn thing I can't put my finger on and it's right there in front of me. I keep for getting things."

"It'll come back."

"Now is when I need it."

"Will talking about it help?"

"No."

"You're close, aren't you?"

"We're sitting right on top of it, baby. We're riding three million bucks into the ground and have a killer right in front of us someplace. The damn guy is laughing all the way too."

"Suppose the money isn't there?"

"Honey... you don't just lose that kind of capital. You don't misplace it. You put it someplace for a purpose. Somebody is ready to move in this town and that money is going to buy that person a big piece of action. If that one is as smart as all this, the action is going to be rough and expensive."

"Why don't you call Pat again? They might have something."

"I don't want to bug him to death."

"He won't mind."

We pushed away from the table and found a phone booth. Pat was still at his desk and it was three A.M. He hadn't found anything yet. He did have one piece of news for me and I asked what it was.

"We picked up one of the out-of-town boys who came in from Detroit. He was getting ready to mainline one when he got grabbed and lost his fix. He sweated plenty before he talked; now he's flipping because he's in trouble.

The people who sent him here won't have anything to do with a junkie and if they know he's on H he's dead. Now he's yelling for protection."

"Something hot?"

"We know the prime factor behind the move into town. Somebody has spent a lot of time collecting choice items about key men in the Syndicate operation. He's holding it over their heads and won't let go. The payoff is for them to send in the best enforcers who are to be the nucleus of something new and for this they're paying and keeping still about it. None of them wants to be caught in a bind by the Syndicate itself so they go with the demand."

"Funny he'd know that angle."

"Not so funny. Their security isn't that good. Word travels fast in those circles. I bet we'll get the same story if we can put enough pressure on any of the others."

"You said they were clean."

"Maybe we can dirty them up a little. In the interest of justice, that is."

"Sometimes it's the only way. But tell me this, Pat... who could pull a play like that? You'd need to know the in of the whole operation. That takes some big smarts. You'd have to pinpoint your sucker and concentrate on him. This isn't a keyhole game."

"It's been done."

"Blackie Conley could have done it," I suggested. "He could have used a bite of the loot for expenses and he would have had the time and the know-how."

"That's what I think too."

"Anything on Malek's women?"

"Hold it a minute." I heard him put the phone down, speak to somebody, then he picked it up again. "Got a note here from a retired officer who was contacted. He remembers the girls Malek used to run with but can't recall the building. His second wife put in a complaint to have it raided for being a disorderly house at one time and he was on the call. Turned out to be a nuisance complaint and nothing more. He can't place the building any more though."