Mickey Spillane - The Tough Guys

It hit across the thing in the bottom without feeling, a strange and new sensation like being dead, I thought. I could still hear sounds, the yells of men, and twice the hollow reverberations like far off thunder. Then as suddenly as it happened the numbness of that brief half-life was swept away on a sea of pain.

Above me somebody said, "Rocca . . . hey, Rocca . . ." and a shaft of light flooded the grave.

It hurt, but I propped an arm under me and pushed up.

"He's okay. Can you take care of those two, Johnny?"

Another voice said, "They're not going anyplace."

There was a scrambling into the hole, a long drawn-out whistle as the person realized what was there, then hands hooked under my armpits and dragged me to my feet.

"You all right?"

The light swept over me and in its beam I saw Joe Stack, the front of him covered with dirt and blood trickling down one side of his face.

I nodded. "I'm okay." I spit out the taste of mold and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "Lafarge?"

Joe turned the light on the open end of the coffin. It was partially filled now by a sandbag and a man, and there was no difference between either because all both were, was dirt. A bullet had nearly taken the top of Lafarge's head off and the cycle for him was complete.

The .45 was half covered by dirt and I didn't leave it there. I picked it up, and without bothering to clean it, shoved it under my belt out of sight.

Joe said, "Ready to go up?"

"Sure."

He gave me a hoist and I sprawled on the mound of dirt we had thrown up, the sudden, stunning pain in the back of my head tearing down the muscles of my back and into my legs. Another light was going over me, taking in every detail, the reflection of it bouncing off the one who held it, a tall, heavyset guy with blood on his face.

"This is the one?"

I heard Joe answer, "That's him."

"He's got plenty to talk about."

My head was clearing again. I managed to get to my knees, then on my feet. I felt myself grinning foolishly at the big guy. "Who're you?"

"Police. You were lucky, mister."

He flashed the light down beside him. The two motionless shadows I had assumed to be mounds of dirt turned into men, handcuffed back to back.

"There was another one," the cop said. "He got away."

"Put your light back on them."

The beam of the flash traced a path to their heads. "Know them?"

I nodded. "One. He's a hood named Joe Coon who works for Mannie Waller in New York. The other one is new to me."

"He's local. Been here for a couple of years. Tough punk who has a small record but a big reputation. We've always pegged him for a hired gun for the L.A. bunch."

"What about the other one?"

I felt the cop shrug. "We heard his car. He took off."

"That's great."

"Why sweat. These two will talk. We'll pick him up."

Joe Stack said, "Let's not make it easy for him. Suppose I get back to town with Rocca here and get your office to work."

The cop hesitated and I saw him scowl. "I don't like it."

"Listen, Johnny, you wouldn't have tied into this one at all if I didn't steer you to it. I tried to tell you this was different and you should have seen enough to know this is hot. Now throw it through channels and you'll blow the ass right off the bit. Either play it the way I suggested or lose it and look like a fool. I know what Rocca's bumping. Don't louse him up or he won't be telling you or anybody else anything and, as far as I'm concerned, I don't blame him."

"Damn it, Stack, he'll talk too, if I want him to!"

Joe's breath came in with a hiss. "Don't rub me, Johnny. I'm from the Fourth Estate, remember?"

"He's not."

"Like hell. He is as of right now. If he wants, I'm putting him on my staff. How do you like them apples?"

The cop grunted, shook his head, and scowled. "Okay, Chief Bigheart, I'll go along. Sometimes it's better this way. Take the car and send out Aldridge and Garcia. How much time are you going to need?"

Stack glanced in my direction. I said, "What time is it?"

"Almost 10:30."

"We'll have something in the morning."

"It better be something for me, friend."

"You aren't alone," I told him. "This isn't local."

"Okay, I'm a sucker. I'm lucky I have 20 years in without any strikes. This could cost me."

Stack took my arm. "Let's go. Can you make it to the house?"

"If we don't run."

"Jokes yet he tells," the cop said.

Stack made the call to Aldridge and Garcia from his own office.

When he hung up I put down the almost-finished highball he made up for me and took the towel off my head.

"Fine. Now cut me in," I said. "You were there at the grave like gangbusters."

"I gave you the Mermak and the Blue Sky Motel so I could stay with you. Man, I was on your tail ever since you left the building here. Now let's hear your side. Where did the boys come from?"

"I thought about it all the way back. Before I left New York I got creamed in the men's room of the airfield. I thought it was for some loot, but that was a cover. Somebody sapped me, took a look at my airline ticket in time to get on the same plane. That was buddy Joe Coon. He was the one I told you about."

"That Mannie Waller deal?"

I nodded.

"Back in New York the word is going out fast. Rhino Massley isn't dead at all. His grave is empty. Ten to one the lad who got away put in a fast phone call to the office."

"So what's the next step?"

I pointed to his desk. "Can I use the phone?"

"Be my guest."

I picked up the receiver, dialed the operator and gave her the number of the Enfield Hotel, person-to-person to Terry. The hotel PBX rang for a full minute, then gave me a DA. Nobody answered. I cancelled the call and put in another to Dan Litvak, at Rooney's.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Phoenix."

"Oh? What's with Rhino Massley?"

"Rhino's grave was empty. He's not dead."

"It's your deal, kid. Go on."

"Swell! Now do you think you can influence Cal Porter to start some action on this thing?"

"Like how?"

I told him what happened back at Rhino's old place and listened to him let out a long low hiss. I said, "Give it to Porter straight, but don't let him start blowing any whistles. First have him check the State Department and steamship lines for anything on Elena Harris, Rhino's former nurse. The date would be shortly after he supposedly died. Okay. Then see if you can run down the Harris dame wherever she is. The paper ought to foot the phone calls."

"That's it then?"

"Maybe you can lean on Porter a little bit. Make sure he has somebody on Waller from here on in. If there's a political rub, he might want to play it cool."

I hung up. Stack was looking at me with a little grin. "Don't be giving anything away, friend. You're on the staff now, remember?" He handed me a fresh drink across the table and I took it mechanically. Without realizing it I held it in my hand a long minute before raising it to my mouth and when I did it was the full realization that the old compulsion was gone completely.

I said, "Joe, this story has two ends. One in New York and one here. It's an old story and I've been in it since the beginning. I want in on it at the end. The story is big enough for a couple of papers, but I'm not doing it for the sake of a news scoop. I've been a patsy long enough. There are a lot of eyes I'd like to have look my way again. Until now I haven't realized how much I'd like to have my integrity restored and proven."

"I have something to show you." He slid a folder across the desk. "File on Massley. Most of it's local. What was this thing he had about dames?"

"Beats me. He didn't take to anybody except his nurse."

"You're not kidding. You know he had three assault charges brought against him by three different housekeepers?"