The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [107]
She caught my eyes, let me look a moment longer, and smiled gently. “Stickler for convention?”
“Not me, honey.”
“Women should be like pictures . . . nice to look at.”
“Not if you haven’t got the price to afford to take them home.”
“Sometimes you don’t have to buy. There are always free gifts.”
“Thanks,” I grunted. Then I laughed at her. “You sure must be one hell of a political advantage to have around.”
“It helps.” She held the door open. “Come on in. Mr. Torrence is in the study.”
When I went in Sim pushed some papers aside, stood up, and shook hands. “Glad to see you again, Mike. What can I do for you?”
“Some gal you got there.”
“What?” He frowned behind his glasses. “Oh . . . oh, yes, indeed. Now . . .”
“I’ve been checking out your enemies, Mr. Torrence. Those who wanted to kill you.”
“Oh?”
“You said you knew of a dozen persons who threatened to kill you. Would Arnold Goodwin be one?”
“The sex offender?”
“Among other things.”
“Yes . . . he made threats. Since he was so young I paid no attention to them. Why?”
“Because he’s out and is in violation of his parole. He hasn’t reported in for some time.”
“He was quite an emotionally disturbed young man. Do you think . . .?”
I shrugged. “Those guys can do anything. They’d hurt anybody to get to the primary object of their hate. I haven’t followed through on him, but I will.”
“Well, the police should be informed immediately . . .”
“They will be. His parole officer has him listed already. The thing is, he can cut a wide path before they nail him. Meantime, any protection for Sue or yourself should be direct and personal. I’d suggest an armed guard.”
“Mr. Hammer . . . we’re coming into an election year. If this kind of thing gets out do you know what it means?”
“So take your chances then.”
“I’ll have to. Nevertheless, it may be sensible to keep somebody here in the house with me. I think Geraldine can arrange for someone.”
“You want me to?”
“No, we’ll take care of it.”
“Okay then. Incidentally, I saw Sonny Motley.”
“Sonny Motley?” He tugged at his glasses and pulled them off. “He was given a life sentence.”
“Life ends at thirty years in the pen. He’s out. You remember him then?”
“I certainly do! It was that case that made me a public figure. You don’t think . . .”
“He’s an old guy who runs a shoe shop uptown now. No, he’s safe enough. You don’t play tough when you’re over seventy. Those brick walls took too much out of him. It was a pretty interesting case. Neither Blackie Conley or the loot ever showed up, did it?”
“Mike, we covered every avenue possible looking for that money. We alerted every state, every foreign government . . . but whatever happened to Conley or the money has never come to light.”
“What do you think happened?” I asked him. Torrence made a vague gesture with his hands. “If he could have gotten out of the country, affected a successful new identity, and didn’t try to make too much of a splash so as to attract attention he could have made it. Others have done it on a smaller scale. So might he. That job was well engineered. Whether or not Conley actually planned a double cross or took off when he saw how the fighting was going, we’ll never know, but he got away.”
“There was the cab.”
“He could have killed the driver and dumped the cab somewhere. He was a ruthless man.”
“Sonny seemed to think somebody else got to him.”
Torrence shook his head, thinking. “I doubt it. There was still the cab and driver, still the money whose serial numbers were recorded. No, I think Conley made a successful escape. If he did, he’s probably dead by now. He was eight years older than Sonny, if I remember right. That would put him in his eighties at the end of this time.” He looked at me steadily. “Funny you should bring that up.”
“Something’s come out of the past, buddy. There’s trouble. I’m in the middle of it.”
“Yes,” he nodded, “you are. Now, how can I be of further help?”
“Look