Mickey Spillane - The Girl Hunters

And now the picture was coming out a little clearer. It hadn't been a tired driver on the Thruway at all. The bastard had picked me up at Duck's stand, figured he had given me something when he had handed me the paper, probably hired a car the same time I did with plenty of time to do it in since I wasn't hurrying at all. He followed me until he was sure he knew where I was headed and waited me out.

Damn. It was too close. But what got me was, how many silenced shots had he fired before hitting that radio? He had been too far away for accurate shooting apparently, but he could have been plunking them all around us hoping for a hit until he got the radio. Damn!

And I was really important. He knew where I was heading. Even since I had started to operate I had had a tail on me and it had almost paid off for him. But if I were important dead, so was Laura, because now that killer could never be sure I hadn't let her in on the whole business. Another damn.

She stood over the wreckage of the portable she had fished from the pool, white showing at the corners of her mouth. Her hands trembled so that she clasped them in front of her and she breathed as though she had done the running, not me. Breathlessly, she said, "Mike--what was it? Please, Mike--"

I put my arm around her shoulder and with a queer sob she buried her face against me. When she looked up she had herself under control. "It was a shot, wasn't it?"

"That's right. A silenced gun."

"But--"

"It's the second time he's tried for me."

"Do you think--"

"He's gone for now," I said.

"But who was he?"

"I think he was The Dragon, sugar."

For a few seconds she didn't answer, then she turned her face up toward mine. "Who?"

"Nobody you know. He's an assassin. Up until now his record has been pretty good. He must be getting the jumps."

"My gracious, Mike, this is crazy! It's absolutely crazy."

I nodded in agreement. "You'll never know, but now we have a real problem. You're going to need protection."

"Me!"

"Anybody I'm close to is in trouble. The best thing we can do is call the local cops."

She gave me a dismayed glance. "But I can't--I have to be in Washington--Oh, Mike!"

"It won't be too bad in the city, kid, but out here you're too alone."

Laura thought about it, then shrugged. "I suppose you're right. After Leo was killed the police made me keep several guns handy. In fact, there's one in each room."

"Can you use them?"

Her smile was wan. "The policeman you met the last time showed me."

"Swell, but what about out here?"

"There's a shotgun in the corner of the bathhouse."

"Loaded?"

"Yes."

"A shotgun isn't exactly a handgun."

"Leo showed me how to use it. We used to shoot skeet together at the other end of the property."

"Police protection would still be your best bet."

"Can it be avoided?"

"Why stick your neck out?"

"Because from now on I'm going to be a very busy girl, Mike. Congress convenes this week and the race is on for hostess of the year."

"That stuff is a lot of crap."

"Maybe, but that's what Leo wanted."

"So he's leaving a dead hand around."

There was a hurt expression on her face. "Mike--I did love him. Please...?"

"Sorry, kid. I don't have much class. We bat in different leagues."

She touched me lightly, her fingers cool. "Perhaps not. I think we are really closer than you realize."

I grinned and squeezed her hand, then ran my palm along the soft swell of her flanks.

Laura smiled and said, "Are you going to--do anything about that shot?"

"Shall I?"

"It's up to you. This isn't my league now."

I made the decision quickly. "All right, we'll keep it quiet. If that slob has any sense he'll know we won't be stationary targets again. From now on I'll be doing some hunting myself."

"You sure, Mike?"

"I'm sure."

"Good. Then let's go through Leo's effects."

Inside she led me upstairs past the bedrooms to the end of the hall, opened a closet and pulled out a small trunk. I took it from her, carried it into the first bedroom and dumped the contents out on the dresser.

When you thought about it, it was funny how little a man actually accumulated during the most important years of his life. He could go through a whole war, live in foreign places with strange people, be called upon to do difficult and unnatural work, yet come away from those years with no more than he could put in a very small trunk.

Leo Knapp's 201 file was thick, proper and as military as could be. There was an attempt at a diary that ran into fifty pages, but the last third showed an obvious effort being made to overcome boredom, then the thing dwindled out. I went through every piece of paperwork there was, uncovering nothing, saving the photos until last.

Laura left me alone to work uninterruptedly, but the smell of her perfume was there in the room and from somewhere downstairs I could hear her talking on the phone. She was still tense from the experience outside and although I couldn't hear her conversation I could sense the strain in her voice. She came back in ten minutes later and sat on the edge of the bed, quiet, content just to be there, then she sighed and I knew the tension had gone out of her.

I don't know what I expected, but the results were a total negative. Of the hundreds of photos, half were taken by G.I. staff photogs and the rest an accumulation of camp and tourist shots that every soldier who ever came home had tucked away in his gear. When you were old and fat you could take them out, reminisce over the days when you were young and thin and wonder what had happened to all the rest in the picture before putting them back in storage for another decade.

Behind me Laura watched while I began putting things back in the trunk and I heard her ask, "Anything, Mike?"

"No." I half threw his medals in the pile. "Everything's as mundane as a mud pie."

"I'm sorry, Mike."

"Don't be sorry. Sometimes the mundane can hide some peculiar things. There's still a thread left to pull. If Leo had anything to do with Erlich I have a Fed for a friend who just might come up with the answer." I snapped the lock shut on the trunk. "It just gives me a pain to have everything come up so damn hard."

"Really?" Her voice laughed.

I glanced up into the mirror on the dresser and felt that wild warmth steal into my stomach like an ebullient catalyst that pulled me taut as a bowstring and left my breath hanging in my throat.

"Something should be made easy for you then," she said.

Laura was standing there now, tall and lovely, the sun still with her in the rich loamy color of her skin, the nearly bleached white tone of her hair.

At her feet the bikini made a small puddle of black like a shadow, then she walked away from it to me and I was waiting for her.

Chapter 9

Night and the rain had come back to New York, the air musty with dust driven up by the sudden surge of the downpour. The bars were filled, the sheltered areas under marquees crowded and an empty taxi a rare treasure to be fought over.

But it was a night to think in. There is a peculiar anonymity you can enjoy in the city on a rainy night. You're alone, yet not alone. The other people around you are merely motion and sound and the sign of life whose presence averts the panic of being truly alone, yet who observe the rules of the city and stay withdrawn and far away when they are close.

How many times had Velda and I walked in the rain? She was big and our shoulders almost touched. We'd deliberately walk out of step so that our inside legs would touch rhythmically and if her arm wasn't tucked underneath mine we'd hold hands. There was a ring I had given her. I'd feel it under my fingers and she'd look at me and smile because she knew what that ring meant.