Mickey Spillane - The Girl Hunters

It took ten minutes of cold wet towels and a lot of shaking to wake him up. His eyes still had a whiskey glassiness and he didn't know what we wanted at all. He was unintelligible for another thirty minutes, then little by little he began to come around, his face going through a succession of emotions. Until he saw Bayliss he seemed scared, but one look at the old man and he tried on a drunken grin, gagged and went into a spasm of dry heaves. Luckily, there was nothing in his stomach, so we didn't have to go through that kind of mess.

Hy brought in a glass of water and I made him sip at it. I said, "What's your name, feller?"

He hiccoughed. "You--cops?"

"No, a friend."

"Oh." His head wobbled, then he looked back to me again. "You play chess?"

"Sorry, Red, but I had a friend who could. Richie Cole."

Markham squinted and nodded solemnly, remembering. "He--pretty damn good. Yessir. Good guy."

I asked him, "Did you know about the girl on the ship?"

Very slowly, he scowled, his lips pursing out, then a bit of clarity returned to him and he leered with a drunken grimace. "Sure. Hell of--joke." He hiccoughed and grinned again. "Joke. Hid--her in--down in--hold."

We were getting close now. His eyes drooped sleepily and I wanted him to hang on. I said, "Where is she now, Red?"

He just looked at me foggily.

"Damn it, think about it!"

For a second he didn't like the way I yelled or my hand on his arm and he was about to balk, then Bayliss said, "Come on, Red, if you know where she is, tell us."

You'd think he was seeing Bayliss for the first time. "Pepper," he said happily, his eyes coming open.

"Come on, Red. The girl on the Vanessa. Richie's girl."

"Sure. Big--joke. You know?"

"We know, but tell us where she is."

His shrug was the elaborate gesture of the sodden drunk. "Dunno. I--got her--on deck."

Bayliss looked at me, not knowing where to go. It was all over his head and he was taking the lead from me. Then he got the pitch and shook Red's shoulder. "Is she on shore?"

Red chuckled and his head weaved. "On--shore. Sure--on shore." He laughed again, the picture coming back to his mind. "Dennis--Wallace packed her--in crate. Very funny."

I pushed Bayliss away and sat on the edge of the cot. "It sure was a good joke all right. Now where did the crate go?"

"Crate?"

"She was packed in the crate. This Dennis Wallace packed her in the crate, right?"

"Right!" he said assuredly, slobbering on himself.

"Then who got the crate?"

"Big joke."

"I know, now let us in on it. Who got the crate?"

He made another one of those shrugs. "I--dunno."

"Somebody picked it up," I reminded him.

Red's smile was real foolish, that of the drunk trying to be secretive. "Richie's--joke. He called--a friend. Dennis gave him--the crate." He laughed again. "Very funny."

Hy said, "Cute."

I nodded. "Yeah. Now we have to find this Dennis guy."

"He's got a place not far from here," Bayliss said.

"You know everybody?"

"I've been around a long time, Mike."

We went to leave Red Markham sitting there, but before we could reach the door he called out, "Hey, you."

Bayliss said, "What, Red?"

"How come--everybody wants--old Dennis?"

"I don't--"

My hand stopped the old guy and I walked back to the cot. "Who else wanted Dennis, Red?"

"Guy--gimme this pint." He reached for the bottle, but was unable to make immediate contact. When he did he sucked at the mouth of it, swallowed as though it was filled and put the bottle down.

"What did he look like, Red?"

"Oh--" he lolled back against the wall. "Big guy. Like you."

"Go on."

"Mean. Son of a--he was mean. You ever see--mean ones? Like a damn Indian. Something like Injun Pete on the Darby Standard --he--"

I didn't bother to hear him finish. I looked straight at Hy and felt cold all over. "The Dragon," I said. "He's one step up."

Hy had a quiet look on his face. "That's what I almost forgot to tell you about, Mike."

"What?"

"The Dragon. I got inside the code name from our people overseas. There may be two guys because The Dragon code breaks down to tooth and nail. When they operate as a team they're simply referred to as The Dragon."

"Great," I said. "Swell. That's all we need for odds." My mouth had a bad taste in it. "Show us Dennis's place, Bayliss. We can't stay here any longer."

"Not me," he said. "You guys go it alone. Whatever it is that's going on, I don't like it. I'll tell you where, but I'm not going in any more dark places with you. Right now I'm going back to Benny Joe Grissi's bar and get stinking drunk where you can't get at me and if anything happens I'll read about it in the papers tomorrow."

"Good enough, old-timer. Now where does Dennis live?"

The rooming house was a brownstone off Ninth Avenue, a firetrap like all the others on the block, a crummy joint filled with cubicles referred to as furnished rooms. The landlady came out of the front floor flat, looked at me and said, "I don't want no cops around here," and when Hy handed her the ten-spot her fat face made a brief smile and she added, "So I made a mistake. Cops don't give away the green. What're you after?"

"Dennis Wallace. He's a seaman and--"

"Top floor front. Go on up. He's got company."

I flashed Hy a nod, took the stairs with him behind me while I yanked the .45 out and reached the top floor in seconds. The old carpet under our feet puffed dust with every step but muffled them effectively and when I reached the door there was no sound from within and a pencil-thin line of light, seeped out at the sill. I tried the knob, pushed the door open and was ready to cut loose at anything that moved wrong.

But there was no need for any shooting, if the little guy on the floor with his hands tied behind him and his throat slit wide open was Dennis Wallace, for his killer was long gone.

The fat landlady screeched when she saw the body and told us it was Dennis all right. She waddled downstairs again and pointed to the wall phone and after trying four different numbers I got Pat and told him I was with another dead man. It wasn't anything startling, he was very proper about getting down the details and told me to stay right there. His voice had a fine tone of satisfaction to it that said he had me where he could make me sweat and maybe even break me like he had promised.

Hy came down as I hung up and tapped my shoulder. "You didn't notice something on the guy up there."

"What's that?"

"All that blood didn't come from his throat. His gut is all carved up and his mouth is taped shut. The blood obscures the tape."

"Tortured?"

"It sure looks that way."

The landlady was in her room taking a quick shot for her nerves and seemed to hate us for causing all the trouble. I asked her when Dennis' guest had arrived and she said a couple of hours ago. She hadn't heard him leave so she assumed he was still there. Her description was brief, but enough. He was a big mean-looking guy who reminded her of an Indian.

There was maybe another minute before a squad car would come along and I didn't want to be here when that happened. I pulled Hy out on the stoop and said, "I'm going to take off."

"Pat won't like it."

"There isn't time to talk about it. You can give him the poop."

"All of it?"

"Every bit. Lay it out for him."

"What about you?"

"Look, you saw what happened. The Dragon put it together the same way I did. He was here when the boat docked and Richie Cole knew it. So Richie called for a friend who knew the ropes, told him to pick up the crate with Velda in it and where to bring it. He left and figured right when he guessed anybody waiting would follow him. He pulled them away from the boat and tried to make contact with Old Dewey at the newsstand and what he had for Dewey was the location of where that friend was to bring the crate."