Mickey Spillane - The Big Kill

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"You little son of a bitch you, when you put the squeeze on him for your lousy dough he had to pull a robbery to pay off!"

This time his eyes came away from my coat and jerked up to mine. His upper lip pared back from his teeth while his head made funny shaking motions. "I... don't get it. He... didn't get squeezed. He paid up. I give 'im a grand and two days later he pays it back. Honest to God, I..."

"Wait a minute. He paid you back all that dough?"

His head bobbed. "Yeah, yeah. All of it."

"You know what he used it for?"

"I... I think he was playing the ponies."

"He lost. That means he paid you back and his losses too. Where'd he get it?"

"How should I know? He paid me back like I told you."

Dixie started to shake when I grinned at him. "You know what'll happen to you if I find out you're lying?"

He must have known, all right. His buck teeth started showing gums and all. Somehow he got his lips together enough to say, "Christ, I can prove it! He... he paid me off right in Bernie Herman's bar. Ask Bernie, he was there. He saw him pay me and he'll remember because I bought the house a drink. You ask him."

I grinned again and pulled out the .45 and handed it to Ellen under the table. Dixie couldn't seem to swallow his own spit any more. I said, "I will, pal. You better be right. If he tries to scram, put one in his leg, Ellen."

She was a beautiful actress. She never changed her smile except to give it the deadly female touch and it wasn't because she meant it, but because she was having, herself a time and was enjoying every minute of it.

I went out to the phone and looked up Bernie Herman's number and got the guy after a minute or so and he told me the same thing Dixie had. When I got back to the table they were still in the same position only Dixie had run out of spit altogether.

Ellen handed me the rod and I slipped it back under my coat. I nodded for her to get up just as a waiter decided it was about time to take our order. "Your friend cleared you, Dixie. You better stay cleared or you'll get a slug right in those buck teeth of yours. You know that, don't you?"

A drop of sweat rolled down in his eye and he blinked, but that was all.

I said, "Come on, Kitten," and we left him sitting there. When I passed the waiter I jerked my thumb back to the table. "You better bring him a whiskey. Straight. Make it a double."

He jotted it down and went over to the service bar.

Outside a colored pianist was trying hard to play loud enough to be heard over the racket of the crowd that was four deep around the bar. I pushed Ellen behind me and started elbowing a path between the mob and the booths along the side and if I didn't almost trip over a foot stuck out in the aisle' I wouldn't have seen Lou Grindle parked in the booth across from a guy who looked like a Wall Street banker.

Only he wasn't a banker, but the biggest bookie in the business and his name was Ed Teen.

Lou just stopped talking and stared at me with those snake eyes of his. I said, "Your boy's still in the morgue, Lou. Don't you guys go in for big funerals these days?"

Ed Teen smiled and the creases around his mouth turned into deep hollows. "Friends of yours, Lou?"

"Sure, we're real old buddies, we are," I said. "Some day I'm gonna kick his teeth in."

Lou didn't scare a bit. The bastard looked almost anxious for me to try it. Ellen gave me a little push from behind and we got through the crowd to the checkroom where I got my hat, then went outside to the night.

Her face was different this time. The humor had gone out of it and she watched me as though I'd bite her. "Lord, Mike, a joke's a joke, but don't go too far. Do you know who they were?"

"Yeah, scum. You want to hear some dirty words that fit 'em perfectly?"

"But... they're dangerous."

"So I've heard. That makes it more fun. You know them?"

"Of course. My boss would give ten years off his life to get either one of them in court. Please, Mike, just go a little easy on me. I don't mind holding your gun to frighten someone like that little man back there, but those two..."

I slipped my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Kitten, when a couple of punks like that give me the cold shivers I'll hang up. They're big because money and the power and guns that money can buy, but when you take their clothes off and there's no pockets to hold the money or the guns they're just two worms looking for holes to hide in."

"Have it your way, but I need a drink. A big one and right now. My stomach is all squirmy."

She must have been talking about the inside. I felt her stomach and it was nice and flat. She poked me with her elbow for the liberty and made me take her in a bar.

Only this one was nearly empty and the only dangerous character was a drunk arguing with the bartender about who was going to win the series. When we had our drink I asked her if she wanted another and she shook her head. "One's enough on top of what happened tonight. I think I'd like to go home, Mike."

She lived in the upper Sixties on the top floor of the only new building in the block. About a half-dozen brownstones had been razed to clear an area for the new structure and it stood out like a dame in a French bathing suit at an old maids' convention. It was still a pretty good neighborhood, but most of the new convertibles and sleek black sedans were lumped together in front of her place.

I got in line behind the cars at the curb and opened the door for her. "Aren't you coming up for a midnight snack, Mike?"

"I thought I was supposed to ask that, I laughed.

"Times have changed. Especially when you get my age."

So I went up.

There was an automatic elevator, marble-lined corridors under the thick maroon rugs, expensive knickknacks and antique furniture all for free before you even hit the apartment itself. The layout wasn't much different inside, either. For apartment-hungry New York, this was luxury. There were six rooms with the best of everything in each as far as I could see. The living room was one of these ultra modern places with angular furniture that looked like hell until you sat in it. All along the mantle of the imitation fireplace was a collection of genuine Paul Revere pieces that ran into big dough, while the biggest of the pieces, each with its own copper label of historical data, was used beside the front windows as flowerpots.

I kind of squinted at Ellen as I glanced around. "How much do they pay you to do secretarial work?"

Her laugh made a tinkling sound in the room. "Not this much, I'll tell you. Three of us share this apartment, so it's not too hard to manage. The copper work you seem to admire belongs to Patty. She was working for Captain Chambers with me tonight."

"Oh, short and fat."

"She has certain virtues that attract men."

"Money?"

Ellen nodded.

"Then why does she work?"

"So she can meet men, naturally."

"Cripes, are all the babes after all the men?"

"It seems so. Now, if you'll, just stay put I'll whip up a couple of sandwiches. Want something to drink?"

"Beer if you have it."

She said she had it and went back to the kitchen. She fooled around out there for about five minutes and finally managed to get an inch of ham to stay between the bread. A lanky towheaded job in one of those shortie nightgowns must have heard the raid on the icebox, because she came out of the bedroom as Ellen came in and snatched the extra sandwich off the plate. Just as she was going to pop it in her mouth she saw me and said, "Hi."

I said "Hi" back.

She said, "Ummm," but that was before she bit into the sandwich.

Moving her arms jerked the shortie up too far. Ellen blocked the view by handing me my beer and called back over her shoulder, "Either go put some more clothes on or get back in bed."

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