Mickey Spillane: The Girl Hunters

"I was in the same war, buddy."

I looked at him again. His face was drawn, his eyes searching and serious. "What am I supposed to do?"

"He never told me and I never bothered to push the issue, but since I'm his friend rather than yours, I'm more interested in him personally than you."

"Lousy bedside manner, Doc."

"Maybe so, but he's my friend."

"He used to be mine."

"No more."

"So?"

"What happened?"

"What would you believe coming from an acute alcoholic and a D and D?"

For the first time he laughed and it was for real. "I hear you used to weigh in at two-o-five?"

"Thereabouts."

"You're down to one-sixty-eight, dehydrated, under nourished. A bum, you know?"

"You don't have to remind me."

"That isn't the point. You missed it."

"No I didn't."

"Oh?"

"Medics don't talk seriously to D and D's. I know what I was. Now there is a choice of words if you can figure it out."

He laughed again. "Was. I caught it."

"Then talk."

"Okay. You're a loused-up character. There's nothing to you anymore. Physically, I mean. Something happened and you tried to drink yourself down the drain."

"I'm a weak person."

"Guilt complex. Something you couldn't handle. It happens to the hardest nuts I've seen. They can take care of anything until the irrevocable happens and then they blow. Completely."

"Like me?"

"Like you."

"Keep talking."

"You were a lush."

"So are a lot of people. I even know some doctors who--"

"You came out of it pretty fast."

"At ease, Doc."

"I'm not prying," he reminded me.

"Then talk right."

"Sure," he said. "Tell me about Velda."

Chapter 3

"It was a long time ago," I said.

And when I had said it I wished I hadn't because it was something I never wanted to speak about. It was over. You can't beat time. Let the dead stay dead. If they can. But was she dead? Maybe if I told it just once I could be sure.

"Tell me," Larry asked.

"Pat ever say anything?"

"Nothing."

So I told him.

"It was a routine job," I said.

"Yes?"

"A Mr. Rudolph Civac contacted me. He was from Chicago, had plenty of rocks and married a widow named Marta Singleton who inherited some kind of machine manufacturing fortune. Real social in Chicago. Anyway, they came to New York where she wanted to be social too and introduce her new husband around."

"Typical," Larry said.

"Rich-bitches.

"Don't hold it against them," he told me.

"Not me, kid," I said.

"Then go on."

I said, "She was going to sport all the gems her dead husband gave her which were considerable and a prime target for anybody in the field and her husband wanted protection."

Larry made a motion with his hand. "A natural thought."

"Sure. So he brought me in. Big party. He wanted to cover the gems."

"Any special reason?"

"Don't be a jerk. They were worth a half a million. Most of my business is made of stuff like that."

"Trivialities."

"Sure, Doc, like unnecessary appendectomies."

"Touché."

"Think nothing of it."

He stopped then. He waited seconds and seconds and watched and waited, then: "A peculiar attitude."

"You're the psychologist, Doc, not me."

"Why?"

"You're thinking that frivolity is peculiar for a D and D."

"So go on with the story."

"Doc," I said, "later I'm going to paste you right in the mouth. You know this?"

"Sure."

"That's my word."

"So sure."

"Okay, Doc, ask for it. Anyway, it was a routine job. The target was a dame. At that time a lot of parties were being tapped by a fat squad who saw loot going to waste around the neck of a big broad who never needed it--but this was a classic. At least in our business."

"How?"

"Never mind. At least she called us in. I figured it would be better if we changed our routine. That night I was on a homicide case. Strictly insurance, but the company was paying off and there would be another grand in the kitty. I figured it would be a better move to let Velda cover the affair since she'd be able to stay with the client at all times, even into the ladies' room."

Larry interrupted with a wave of his hand. "Mind a rough question?"

"No."

"Was this angle important or were you thinking, rather, of the profit end--like splitting your team up between two cases."

I knew I had started to shake and pressed my hands against my sides hard. After a few seconds the shakes went away and I could answer him without wanting to tear his head off. "It was an important angle," I said. "I had two heists pulled under my nose when they happened in a powder room."

"And--the woman. How did she feel about it?"

"Velda was a pro. She carried a gun and had her own P.I. ticket."

"And she could handle any situation?"

I nodded. "Any we presumed could happen here."

"You were a little too presumptuous, weren't you?"

The words almost choked me when I said, "You know, Doc, you're asking to get killed."

He shook his head and grinned. "Not you, Mike. You aren't like you used to be. I could take you just as easy as Pat did. Almost anybody could."

I tried to get up, but he laid a hand on my chest and shoved me back and I couldn't fight against him. Every nerve in me started to jangle and my head turned into one big round blob of pain.

Larry said, "You want a drink?"

"No."

"You'd better have one."

"Stuff it."

"All right, suffer. You want to talk some more or shall I take off?"

"I'll finish the story. Then you can work on Pat. When I get out of here I'm going to make a project of rapping you and Pat right in the mouth."

"Good. You have something to look forward to. Now talk."

I waited a minute, thinking back years and putting the pieces in slots so familiar they were worn smooth at the edges. Finally I said, "At eleven o'clock Velda called me at a prearranged number. Everything was going smoothly. There was nothing unusual, the guests were all persons of character and money, there were no suspicious or unknown persons present including the household staff. At that time they were holding dinner awaiting the arrival of Mr. Rudolph Civac. That was my last connection with Velda."

"There was a police report?"

"Sure. At 11:15 Mr. Civac came in and after saying hello to the guests, went upstairs with his wife for a minute to wash up. Velda went along. When they didn't appear an hour and a half later a maid went up to see if anything was wrong and found the place empty. She didn't call the police, thinking that they had argued or something, then went out the private entrance to the rear of the estate. She served dinner with a lame excuse for the host's absence, sent the guests home and cleaned up with the others.

"The next day Marta Civac was found in the river, shot in the head, her jewels gone and neither her husband nor Velda was ever seen again."

I had to stop there. I didn't want to think on the next part anymore. I was hoping it would be enough for him, but when I looked up he was frowning with thought, digesting it a little at a time like he was diagnosing a disease, and I knew it wasn't finished yet.

He said, "They were abducted for the purpose of stealing those gems?"

"It was the only logical way they could do it. There were too many people. One scream would bring them running. They probably threatened the three of them, told them to move on out quietly where the theft could be done without interruption and allow the thieves to get away."

"Would Velda have gone along with them?"

"If they threatened the client that's the best way. It's better to give up insured gems than get killed. Even a rap on the head can kill if it isn't done right and, generally speaking, jewel thieves aren't killers unless they're pushed."