Mickey Spillane - I, The Jury

“No, why?” She glanced at me curiously.

“Hal Kines is dead.”

Her jaw dropped and wrinkles of amazement appeared in her forehead. “No,” she breathed heavily. I took a tabloid out of my back pocket and showed her the headlines. I could see that she was taken aback. “Oh, Mike, that is terrible! What happened?” -

I pointed toward an empty bench. “Can we sit down a few minutes?”

Charlotte consulted her watch and shook her head. “No,” she told me, “I have to meet Betty in a few minutes. Tell you what, walk me to the gate, then we can drive back to my office for a few drinks after I meet her. You can tell me on the way.”

I went through the entire previous evening without omitting a detail. Charlotte listened carefully without once asking a question. Her mind was trying for the psychological aspect of it. I had to stop near the end. Betty was waiting for her. After the introduction, we had a few minutes’ chat and said good-bye to Betty, who walked off with the baby.

We went in the other direction, following the stone wall of the fence to 67th. I don’t think we had gone more than ten feet, when a car pulled abreast of us. No time to think. I saw the ugly snout of the gun sticking out the window and landed in a heap on Charlotte. The bullet smashed against the wall waist high, throwing rock splinters in our faces. George Kalecki didn’t have time for a second shot. He threw the car into gear and went tearing down Fifth Avenue. If it had worked it would have been perfect. No other cars around to give chase. For the first time, not even a taxi.

I picked Charlotte up and dusted her off. Her face was white and shaken, but her voice was steady enough. Two strollers came hurrying up, thinking we had fallen. Before they reached us, I got the slug from the dirt under the wall where it had dropped. It was a .45. I thanked the two who tried to help us, explaining that we had tripped, and we went on.

Charlotte waited a moment, then said: “You’re getting close, Mike. Somebody wants you out of the way.”

“I know it. And I know who that was—our friend, Kalecki.” I gave a short laugh. “He’s scared. It won’t be long now. That skunk is ready to break any minute. If he weren’t he wouldn’t make a play for me in broad daylight.”

“But, Mike, please don’t laugh about it. It wasn’t that funny.”

I stopped and put my arms around her shoulders. I could feel her trembling a little. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m used to being shot at. You might have gotten hit, too. Let me take you home, you’ll have to change your clothes. That spill didn’t do you much good.”

Charlotte didn’t speak much riding home. She started to, but stopped. Finally I said, “What is it, Charlotte?”

She frowned a little. “Do you think it was because of the rash promise you made to Jack after he was killed that Kalecki wants you out of the way?”

“Maybe. That’s the best reason I know of. Why?”

“Could it be that you know more than anyone else concerning this whole affair?”

I thought that over a moment before I said, “I don’t think so. The police have every bit of information I have except, perhaps, the incentive and the personal insight I picked up.”

We drove on in silence after that. It was nearly ten o’clock when we got to the apartment. We went up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator and rang the bell. No one came to the door and Charlotte fumbled for her key. “Damn,” she said. “I forgot this is the maid’s day off.” We went inside and the bell rang again when we opened the door.

“Make a drink while I shower, Mike.” Charlotte laid a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table and went into the kitchen for some ice and ginger ale.

“Okay. Do you mind if I use your phone first?”

“Not at all. Go right ahead,” she called back.

I dialed Pat’s number and had to wait for the operator to go through a half-dozen extensions before he finally located him. “Pat?”

“Yeah, Mike, go ahead.”

“Get this. Kalecki didn’t take a powder, he’s still in the city.”

“How do you know?”

“He tried to dust me off a little while ago.” Pat listened intently as I gave him the details. When I got through, he asked:

“Did you get the number of the car?”

“Uh-uh. It was a late model Caddy, about a ‘41. Dark blue with lots of chrome. He passed me going toward the city.”

“Swell, Mike, I’ll put it on the air. Have you got the bullet with you?”

“Hell, yes. And it’s a .45, too. Better get ballistics to check it. This one wasn’t a dumdum, though. Just a nice normal slug. Suppose I drive down to see you this afternoon.”

“Do that,” Pat answered. “I’ll be here the rest of the day unless something breaks.

“And one other thing, Mike,” he added.

“Yeah?”

“We checked the slugs that killed Kines and the Vickers woman.”

“They came from the same gun? The one that ...”

“Right, Mike. The killer again.”

“Damn,” I said.

I hung up and took the slug from my pocket. Maybe it would match, maybe not. I was thinking of the rod Kalecki had in his luggage under his bed. And he had a permit for it too, he said. I wished now that I had taken that gun along to compare it in a ballistics box instead of leaving it to my sense of smell and sight to determine whether or not it had been fired recently.

I wrapped the hunk of metal in a wad of paper and stuck it in my pocket, then whipped up a pair of highballs. I called out to Charlotte to come and get it, but she yelled for me to bring it in to her.

Maybe I should have waited a second, or knocked. I did neither. Charlotte was standing beside the bed completely naked. When I saw her beautiful body that way my blood boiled inside me and the drink shook in my hand. She was more beautiful than I imagined. So damned smooth. She was more startled than I. She made a grab for the robe on the bed and held it in front of her, but not before I saw a blush suffuse her entire body.

She was having as hard a time getting her breath as I was. “Mike,” she said. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke, and her eyes never left mine. I turned my back while she slipped into the robe, then turned back and handed her the drink.

Both of us finished them in one draught. It added nothing to the fire that was running through me. I felt like reaching out and squeezing her to pieces. We put the glasses down on the dresser top. We were awfully close then. One of those moments.

She came into my arms with a rush, burying her face in my neck. I tilted her head back and kissed her eyes. Her mouth opened for me and I kissed her, hard. I knew I was hurting her, but she didn’t pull away. She returned that kiss with her lips, her arms and her body. She was on fire too, trying desperately to get close to me through space that wasn’t there any more.

I had my arm around her shoulders and my hands fastened in her hair, crushing her to me. Never before had I felt like this, but then, never before had I been in love. She took her mouth away from mine and lay in my arms, limp, breathing heavily, her eyes closed.

“Mike,” she whispered, “I want you.”

“No,” I said.

“Yes. You must.”

“No.”

“But, Mike, why? Why?”

“No, darling, it’s too beautiful to spoil. Not now. Our time will come, but it must be right.”

I put my arm under her and carried her out of the room. If I stayed in that bedroom any longer I couldn’t have held on to my sanity. I kissed her again as she lay in my arms, then put her down outside the bathroom door and mussed her hair. “Go take your shower,” I said in her ear.

She smiled at me through sleepy eyes and entered, then closed the door softly. I picked up the glasses, and for a brief second eyed the bed, longingly. Maybe I was a damned fool, I don’t know. I went on into the living room.