Mickey Spillane - The Girl Hunters

In gold, the letters said, HY GARDNER. I knocked, opened the door and there he was, staring until recognition came, and with a subtle restraint he said, "Mike-" It was almost a question.

"A long time, Hy."

But always the nice guy, this one. Never picking, never choosing. He said, "Been too long. I've been wondering."

"So have a lot of people."

"But not for the same reasons."

We shook hands, a couple of old friends saying hello from a long while back; we had both been big, but while he had gone ahead and I had faded, yet still friends and good ones.

He tried to cover the grand hiatus of so many years with a cigar stuck in the middle of a smile and made it all the way, without words telling me that nothing had really changed at all since the first time we had played bullets in a bar and he had made a column out of it the next day.

Hell, you've read his stuff. You know us.

I sat down, waved the crazy blonde bouffant he used as a secretary now out of the room and leaned back enjoying myself. After seven years it was a long time to enjoy anything. Friends.

I still had them.

"You look lousy," Hy said.

"So I've been told."

"True what I hear about you and Pat?"

"Word gets around fast."

"You know this business, Mike."

"Sure, so don't bother being kind."

"You're a nut," he laughed.

"Aren't we all. One kind or another."

"Sure, but you're on top. You know the word that's out right now?"

"I can imagine."

"The hell you can. You don't even know. What comes in this office you couldn't imagine. When they picked you up I heard about it. When you were in Pat's house I knew where you were. If you really want to know, whenever you were in the drunk tank, unidentified, I knew about it."

"Cripes, why didn't you get me out?"

"Mike," he laughed around the stogie, "I got problems of my own. When you can't solve yours, who can solve anything? Besides, I thought it would be a good experience for you."

"Thanks."

"No bother." He shifted the cigar from one side to the other. "But I was worried."

"Well, that's nice anyway," I said.

"Now it's worse."

Hy took the cigar away, studied me intently, stuffed the smoke out in a tray and pulled his eyes up to mine.

"Mike--"

"Say it, Hy."

He was honest. He pulled no punches. It was like time had never been at all and we were squaring away for the first time. "You're poison, Mike. The word's out."

"To you?"

"No." He shook his head. "They don't touch the Fourth Estate, you know that. They tried it with Joe Ungermach and Victor Reisel and look what happened to them. So don't worry about me."

"You worried about me?"

Hy grunted, lit another cigar and grinned at me. He had his glasses up on his head and you'd never think he could be anything but an innocuous slob, but then you'd be wrong. When he had it lit, he said, "I gave up worrying about you a long time ago. Now what did you want from me? It has to be big after seven years."

"Senator Knapp," I said.

Sure, he was thinking, after seven years who the hell would think you'd come back with a little one? Mike Hammer chasing ambulances? Mike Hammer suddenly a reformer or coming up with a civic problem? Hell, anybody would have guessed. The Mike doesn't come back without a big one going. This a kill, Mike? What's the scoop? Story there, isn't there? You have a killer lined up just like in the old days and don't lie to me because I've seen those tiger eyes before. If they were blue or brown like anybody else's maybe I couldn't tell, but you got tiger eyes, friend, and they glint. So tell me. Tell me hard. Tell me now.

He didn't have to say it. Every word was there in his face, like when he had read it out to me before. I didn't have to hear it now. Just looking at him was enough.

I said, "Senator Knapp. He died when I was--away."

Quietly, Hy reminded me, "He didn't die. He was killed."

"Okay. The libraries were closed and besides, I forgot my card."

"He's been dead three years."

"More."

"First why?"

"Because."

"You come on strong, man."

"You know another way?"

"Not for you."

"So how about the Senator?"

"Are we square?" he asked me. "It can be my story?"

"All yours, Hy. I don't make a buck telling columns."

"Got a few minutes?"

"All right," I said.

He didn't even have to consult the files. All he had to do was light that damn cigar again and sit back in his chair, then he sucked his mouth full of smoke and said, "Leo Knapp was another McCarthy. He was a Commie-hunter but he had more prestige and more power. He was on the right committee and, to top it off, he was this country's missile man."

"That's what they called him, the Missile Man. Mr. America. He pulled hard against the crap we put up with like the Cape Canaveral strikes when the entire program was held up by stupid jerks who went all that way for unionism and--hell, read True or the factual accounts and see what happened. The Reds are running us blind. Anyway, Knapp was the missile pusher."

"Big," I said.

Hy nodded. "Then some louse shoots him. A simple burglary and he gets killed in the process."

"You sure?"

Hy looked at me, the cigar hard in his teeth. "You know me, Mike, I'm a reporter. I'm a Commie-hater. You think I didn't take this one right into the ground?"

"I can imagine what you did."

"Now fill me in."

"Can you keep your mouth shut?"

He took the cigar away and frowned, like I had hurt him "Mike--"

"Look," I said, "I know, I know. But I may feed you a hot one and I have to be sure. Until it's ended, it can't come out. There's something here too big to mess with and I won't even take a little chance on it."

"So tell me. I know what you're angling for. Your old contacts are gone or poisoned and you want me to shill for you.

"Natch."

"So I'll shill. Hell, we've done it before. It won't be like it's a new experience."

"And keep Marilyn out of it. To her you're a new husband and a father and she doesn't want you going down bullet alley anymore."

"Aw, shut up and tell me what's on your mind."

I did.

I sat back and told it all out and let somebody else help carry the big lid. I gave it to him in detail from seven years ago and left out nothing. I watched his face go through all the changes, watched him let the cigar burn itself out against the lip of the ashtray, watched him come alive with the crazy possibilities that were inherent in this one impossibility and when I finished I watched him sit back, light another cigar and regain his usual composure.

When he had it back again he said, "What do you want from me?"

"I don't know. It could be anything."

Like always, Hy nodded. "Okay, Mike. When it's ready to blow let me light the fuse. Hell, maybe we can do an interview with the about-to-be-deceased on the TV show ahead of time."

"No jokes, kid."

"Ah, cheer up. Things could be worse."

"I know," I quoted, "'So I cheered up and sure enough things got worse.'"

Hy grinned and knocked the ash off the stogie. "Right now--anything--you need?"

"Senator Knapp--"

"Right now his widow is at her summer place upstate in Phoenicia. That's where the Senator was shot."

"You'd think she'd move out."

Hy shrugged gently. "That's foolishness, in a way. It was the Senator's favorite home and she keeps it up. The rest of the year she stays at the residence in Washington. In fact, Laura is still one of the capital's favorite hostesses. Quite a doll."

"Oh?"

He nodded sagely, the cigar at an authoritative tilt. "The Senator was all man and what he picked was all woman. They were a great combination. It'll be a long time before you see one like that again."