The Mike Hammer Collection Part 37

"He ever have any trouble before?"

"Like what?"

"Something from his past coming out to shake him. Any blackmail attempts or threats against his personal life. He says no, but sometimes these things go through the party rather than the individual."

She sat back, frowning, then shook her head. "I think I'd know of anything like that. The organization is well knit and knows the implications of these things and I would have been told, but as far as I know nothing can interfere with his career. He's exceptionally clean. That's why we were so concerned about Sue's running off. Even a thing like that can affect voting. A man who can't run his own house can hardly be expected to run a state."

"You know he's in a position to be hurt now."

"I realize that." She got up, pushed her chair back and walked toward me with a swaying stride, not conscious at all of the subtle undulations beneath the tight-fitting sweater and skirt. "Do you think Sue will be all right?"

"She's a big girl. She may not look it, but don't be fooled."

"This business . . . about Mr. Torrence killing her mother."

"That's an idea she'll have to get out of her mind."

Geraldine said, "She dreams it. Dreams can be pretty real sometimes. Her very early childhood couldn't have been very nice. I don't think she ever knew who her father was. If she makes open accusations it can damage Mr. Torrence."

"I'll speak to her. She around?"

"There's a summer house on the south side where she practices. She practically lives there."

She was standing in front of me now, concern deep inside those wild blue eyes. I said, "I'll see what I can do."

Geraldine smiled, reached up slowly, and put her arms around my neck. With the same deliberate slowness she pulled herself on her toes, wet her lips with her tongue, and brought my mouth down to hers. It was a soft teasing, tasting kiss, as if she were sampling the juice from a plum before buying the lot. Her mouth was a warm cavern filled with life and promise, then just as slowly she drew away, smiling.

"Thank you," she said.

I grinned at her. "Thank you you."

"I could hate you easier than I could like you."

"Which is worse?"

"That you'll have to find out for yourself."

"Maybe I will, baby."

At first I didn't think she was there, then I heard the sounds of a cabinet opening and I knocked on the door. Her smile was like the sun breaking open a cloud and she reached for my hand. "h.e.l.lo, Mike. Gee I'm glad to see you." She looked past me. "Isn't Velda with you?"

"Not this time. Can I come in?"

She made a face at me and stepped aside, then closed the door.

It was a funny little place, apparently done over to her specifications. One wall was all mirror with a dancer's practice bar against it. Opposite was a record player with a shelf of LP's, a shoe rack with all the implements of the trade, a standup microphone attached to a record player, a spinet piano covered with lead sheets of popular music and Broadway hits, with a few stuffed animals keeping them in place.

The rest of the room was a girl-style den with a studio couch, dresser, cabinets, and a small conference table. Cardboard boxes, books, and a few old-fas.h.i.+oned paper files covered the table and it was these she was going through when I found her.

"What're you up to, Sue?"

"Going through my mother's things."

"She's a long time dead. Face it."

"I know. Would you like to see what she looked like?"

"Sure."

There were a few clippings from the trade papers of the time and some framed nightclub shots taken by the usual club photographers and they all showed a well-built blonde with a slightly vacuous expression. Whether it was intended or built-in I couldn't tell, but she almost typified the beautiful but dumb showgirl. There were four photos, all taken in night spots long since gone. In two of them she was with a party of six. In the other two there were four people, and in those she was with the same man, a lanky darkhaired guy with deep-set eyes who almost seemed like a h.e.l.l-fire preacher touring the sin spots for material for a sermon.

"She was pretty," I said.

"She was beautiful," Sue said softly. "I can still remember her face."

"These were taken before you were born." I pointed to the dates on the back of the photos.

"I know. But I can remember her. I remember her talking to me. I remember her talking about him him."

"Come on, kid."

Her hair swirled as she made a small negative gesture. "I mean it. She hated him."

"Sue . . . they were married."

"I don't care."

I looked at her sharply. "Want me to be blunt?"

She shrugged and bit into her lip.

"Your mother was an alcoholic. Sim tried everything to dry her out. Alcoholics hate that. If she hated him it was because he wanted to help. Get it out of your mind that he killed her."

"She told me the snake killed her."

"Drunks see snakes and elephants and everything else. Don't go getting wrapped up in an obsession."

"She told me to look for a letter. Someday I'll find it."

"You were three years old. How could you remember those things?"

"I just do."

"Okay, you look for it then. Meanwhile, I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Don't cause trouble. You stay out of his hair until we clear this thing up. Promise me?"

"Maybe." She was smiling at me.

"What do you want?"

"Kiss me."

I grunted. "I just got done kissing Geraldine King."

"You're nasty, but I don't care." She sidled around the desk and stood there with her hands behind her back. "I'll take seconds," she said.

So I kissed her.

"Not like that."

"How?" The d.a.m.n game was getting out of hand. The big broads I could handle, but how do you get the kids off your back?

Then she showed me how in a moment of sudden violence that was all soft and tender yet filled with some latent fury I couldn't understand. The contact was brief, but it shook me and left her trembling, her eyes darkly languid and her face flushed.

"I hope you like seconds best."

"By far, kid, only don't do it again." I faked a laugh and held her away. "Stay cool, okay?"

"Okay, Mike."

Then I got out of there and back into the taxi where I gave the driver Pat's address.

CHAPTER 6.

The new Inspector was a transfer from another division, a hard apple I had seen around years ago. His name was Spencer Grebb and one of his pa.s.sionate hatreds was personnel from other fields poking around in his domain, with first cut going to private investigators and police reporters. From the look he gave me, I seemed to have a special place in his book and was target one on his big S list.

Charles Force was a D.A. out for Charlie Force. He was young, talented, on the way up, and nothing was going to deter his ambition. He was a nice-looking guy, but you couldn't tell what was going on behind his face. He had made it the hard way, in the courtrooms, and was a pro at the game right down the line.

Now they both sat at one side of the room with Pat in the middle, looking at me like I was game they were going to let out of the box long enough to get a running start so that hunting me down would be a pleasure.

After the introductions I said, "You check those slugs out, Pat?"

"Both from the same gun that killed Basil Levitt. You mentioned Marv Kania. Could you identify the guy, the guy who pulled the trigger?"

"If he's Kania I could."

"Try this." Pat flipped a four-by-five photo across the desk and I picked it up.

I looked at it and tossed it back. "That's the one."

"Positive?"

"Positive. He's made two pa.s.ses at me, once in the office building and today with a truck. It rammed a taxi I was in."

Inspector Grebb had a hard, low voice. "This you reported right away."

"Now I'm doing it. At the moment it could have been a simple traffic accident. I ducked out because I had something to do. Now I'm tying it all in."

His smile was a twisted thing. "You know, it wouldn't be too hard to find a charge to press there, would it, Mr. Force?"

Charlie Force smiled too, but pleasantly. A courtroom smile. "I don't think so, Inspector."

As insolently as I could make it, I perched on the edge of Pat's desk and faced them. "Let's get something straight. I know what you guys would like to see, but I'm not going to fall easily. The agency I represent is federal. It's obscure, but pulls a lot of weight, and if you want to see just how much weight is there, push me a little. I'm operating in an official capacity whether you like it or not, which gives me certain lat.i.tudes. I've been around long enough to know the score on both ends so play it straight, friends. I'm cooperating with all departments as Captain Chambers will tell you. Just don't push. You'd be surprised what kind of a stink I can raise if I want to."

I looked at Charlie Force deliberately. "Especially in the publicity circuit, buddy."

His eyebrows pulled together. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Hammer?"

I nodded and grinned at him. "That I am, buster. That's one edge I have on you. A bad schmear and you can go down a notch and never hit the big-time. So play ball."

They didn't like it, but they had to take it. In a way, I couldn't blame them a bit. An ex private jingle coming in with a big ticket isn't easy to take. Especially not one with a reputation like mine.

The D.A. seemed to relax. He was still stalling, but it wasn't for real. "We've been advised to cooperate."

Thanks, Rickerby, I thought. You're still paying for The Dragon. You're still paying for The Dragon.

Pat said, "We ran a pretty thorough check on Basil Levitt."

"Anything?"

"We located a girl he used to shack up with. She told us he was on a job but wouldn't say what it was. He said he was getting paid well for it but there would be more later and he was already making big plans. Outside of a few others who knew he had fresh money on him, nothing."

"What about the rifle?"

"Stolen from a sporting goods store upstate about a month ago. We had the numbers on file. He must have worn gloves in the room where he had the gun set up, but got careless when he loaded the clip. There was a single print that tied him in with it."

Before I could answer, Charlie Force said, "Now what we are interested in knowing is who he was shooting at."

I looked at my watch and then at his face. "Art Rickerby clued you in. You know what Velda was involved with."

"Yes," he agreed pleasantly. "We know. But I'm beginning to wonder about it all."

"Well, stop wondering."

"You were there too. Right in the middle."