Mickey Spillane - The Big Kill

I let it jell in my head for a minute, twisting it around until it made sense. "Where could he get that kind of dough?"

Vileck grunted and made a shrug I couldn't see. "Beats me. He never borrowed nuthing and it's damn sure he didn't go to no bank."

"Anybody in the neighborhood got it?"

"Not in this neighborhood, pal. Once somebody'll hit a number or a horse, but he ain't lending it out, you can bet. There's plenty of tough guys around here who show up with a roll sometimes, but it's flash money and they're either gone or in jail the next day. Nope, he didn't get it around here."

"Thanks for the dope, John. If you ever need a favor, let me know."

"Sure, pal, glad to let you know about it."

"Look... did you mention this to the cops?"

"Naw. I found out after they left. Besides, they don't hear from me unless they ask. Cops is okay long as they stay outa my joint."

I told him so-long and put the receiver back. There was the reason for murder and it was a good one. Three grands' worth. Now it was coming out right. Decker went into somebody for three grand and he had to bail himself out by stealing it. So he made a mistake when he raids the wrong apartment and his pals didn't believe it. They thought he was holding out. So they bump him figuring to lift a jackpot and all they got was a measly three hundred bucks and a string of pearls.

Damn it, the whole thing made me boil over! Because a guy couldn't wait to get his dough back a kid is made an orphan. My city, yeah. How many places around town was the same thing going on?

I sat down on the edge of the desk to think about it and the whole thing hit me suddenly and sharply and way back in my head I could hear that crazy music start until it was beating through my brain with a maddening frenzy that tried to drive away any sanity I had left. I cursed to myself until it was gone then went back to my desk and pulled out the bottle. This time I had a drink.

It took me all afternoon to find what I wanted. I went down to the docks and let my P.I. ticket and my badge get me inside the gates until I reached the right paymaster who had handled William Decker's card. He was a little guy in his late fifties with an oversize nose built into a face that was streaked with little purple veins.

He made me wait until he finished tallying up his report, then stuck the clipboard on a nail in the wall and swung around in his chair. He said, "What's on your mind, buddy?"

I offered him a smoke and he waved it away to chew on a ratty cigar. "Remember a guy named Decker?"

He grunted a Yes and waited.

"He have any close friends on the docks here?"

"Might have. What'cha want to know for?"

"I heard he died. I owed him a few bucks and I want to see that it goes to his estate."

The guy clucked and sucked his tongue a minute. He opened his desk drawer and riffled through a file of cards until he came to the one he wanted. "Well, here's his address and he's got a kid. Got him down for two dependents, but I think his wife died awhile back."

"I found that out. If I can dig up a pal of his maybe he'll know something more about him."

"Yeah. Well, seems like he always shaped in with a guy named Hooker. Mel Hooker. Tall thin guy with a scar on his face. They got paid off today so they'll be in the joints 'cross the way cashing their checks. Why don'cha go over an' try?"

I stuffed the butt in the ash tray on the desk. "I'll do that. Give me his address in case I miss him."

He scratched something on a pad and handed it over. I said thanks and left.

It wasn't that easy. I thought I hit every saloon on the street until a guy told me about a couple I had missed and then I found him. The place was a rattrap where they'd take the drunks that had been kicked out of other places and make them spend their last buck. You had to go down a couple of steps to reach the door and before you reached it you could smell what you were walking into.

The place was a lot bigger than I expected. They were lined up two deep at the bar and when they couldn't stand any more they sat down at the bench along the wall. One guy had passed out and was propped up against a partition with his pockets turned inside out.

Mel Hooker was down the back watching a shuffleboard game. He had half a bag on and looked it. The yellow glare of the overhead lights brought out the scar that ran from his forehead to his chin in bold relief almost as if it was still an ugly gash. I walked over and pulled out the chair beside him.

He looked at me enough to say, "Beat it."

"You Mel Hooker?"

"Who wants to know?" His voice had a nasty drunken snarl to it.

"How'd you like to get the other side of your face opened up, feller?"

He dropped his glass like it was shot out of his hand and tried to get up off his chair. I shoved him back without any trouble. "Stay put, Mel. I want to talk to you."

His breathing was noisy. "I don't wanna talk to you," he said.

"Tough stuff, Mel. You'll talk if I tell you to. It's about a friend of yours. He's dead. His name was William Decker."

The flesh around the scar seemed to get whiter. Something changed in his eyes and he half twisted his head. One of the guys at the shuffleboard was taking a long time to make his play. Mel unfolded himself and nodded to an empty table over in the corner.

"Over... here. Make it quick."

I got up and went back to the bar for a pair of drinks and brought them back to the table. When Mel took his, his hand wasn't too steady. I let him take half of it down in one gulp before I asked, "Who'd he owe dough to, Mel?"

He almost dropped this glass, too. In time, he recovered it and set it down very deliberately and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You a cop?"

"I'm a private investigator."

"You're gonna be a dead investigator if you don't get the hell outa here."

"I asked you a question."

His tongue flicked out and whipped over his lips. "Get this, I don't know nothing about nothing. Bill was a friend of mine but his business was his own. Now lemme alone."

"He needed three grand, Mel. He borrowed it from somebody. He didn't get it around home so he must have got it someplace around here."

"You're nuts."

"You're a hell of a friend," I said, "one hell of a friend."

Hooker dropped his head and stared at his hands. When he looked up his mouth was drawn back tight. His voice came out barely a whisper. "Listen, Mac, you better quit asking questions. Bill was my friend and I'd help him if I could, but he's dead and that's that. You see this scar I got? I'd sooner have that than be dead. Now blow and lemme alone."

He wouldn't look back at me when he left. He staggered out to the bar and through the mob around it until he reached the door, then disappeared up the stairs. I polished my drink off and waved the waiter over with another. He gave me a frozen look and snatched the buck out of my hand.

The place got too damn quiet. The weights weren't slamming on the shuffleboard and everybody at the bar seemed to have taken a sudden interest in the television set over the bar. I sat there and waited for my change, but I had the drink gone without seeing it.

This I liked. This I was waiting for because the stupid bastards should have known better. My God, did I look like some flunkey from the sticks or did the wise boys lose their memories too?

I pushed the glass back and got up. I found the men's room in the back by the smell and did what I had to do and started to wash my hands. That's how long they gave me.

The guy in the double-breasted suit in the doorway spoke out of the corner of his mouth to somebody behind him. His little pig eyes looked like he was getting ready to enjoy himself. "He's a big one, ain't he?"

"Yeah." The other guy stepped in and seemed to fill up the doorway.