The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [121]
“Go back to sleep, honey. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Don’t leave, Mike.”
“I’ll be around.”
“Please, Mike.”
I winked and stood up. “Sleep, baby, for me.”
“All right, Mike.”
I left a night-light on and the door partly open and went back downstairs with Geraldine. I sat back on the couch and took the drink she made me, sipping it slowly.
Outside the rain slapped at the windows, massaging them with streaky, wet fingers. She turned on the record player, drew the heavy draperies across the windows, and turned out all the lights except one. Then she sat down beside me.
Only then did she say, “What shall we do, Mike?”
“Nothing yet.”
“There were reporters out there.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That it was accidental. It really wasn’t too important . . . just a small outbuilding. If it weren’t Mr. Torrence’s place it would never draw a mention, but . . . well, you understand.”
“They won’t make much out of it.”
“But if Sue keeps making these accusations . . . it’s an election year, Mike. The campaign for governor of a state is of maximum importance. You know how both parties look at it. This is a key state. From here a governor can go into the White House or at least have a major effect on national policy. If anything . . . anything at all comes up that can be detrimental to a selected candidate it can be disastrous. This . . . this business with Sue is getting out of hand.”
“Your bunch knows about it then?”
She nodded, then took a swallow of her drink. “Yes . . . in a way it’s why I’m here. I’ve been with Sim Torrence on his other campaigns as much as a guardian for Sue as an assistant to Mr. Torrence. She doesn’t realize all this and I’ve made it a point to keep it almost businesslike, but I do manage to find things for Sue to do and distract this antagonistic attitude she has. All her life she’s been trying to emulate her mother . . . trying to be a showgirl. She’s been coached in singing, dancing, the arts . . . given the very best Mr. Torrence can give her. She’s taken advantage of those opportunities, not just to help her into show business but it gets her away from him. Sad, but true.”
“You speculating now?”
She looked at me over her glass. “No, she’s told me that. You can ask her.”
“I believe it.”
“What can we do? It’s critical now.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Will you, Mike? We need help badly.”
“You sure love this political crap, don’t you?”
“My life, Mike. I gave my life to it.”
“Hell, you’re too young to die. Maybe you should have been born a man.”
“There’s a place for women in politics.”
“Bull.”
“You just like them to be women, don’t you?”
“That’s what they are.”
“All right. For you I’ll be a woman.”
She put her drink down on the coffee table, took mine from my hand and put it next to hers, both unfinished. There was a sudden hunger in her eyes and a warmth to her face that made her mouth seem to blossom into a new fullness. Her fingers went to her throat and one by one she unbuttoned her blouse until it lay open, then with the slightest shrug of her shoulders it slid away so that her fingers could work more magic with the soft fabric of the bra. She whisked it away and it floated to the floor where it lay unnoticed.
I looked at her, not touching her, taking in the lovely slope of her breasts that were swelled with emotion and tipped with the firm pinkness of passion. I could smell the fragrant heat of her only inches away, and as I watched, her stomach undulated and moved spasmodically against the waistband of her skirt.
“How am I . . . as a woman, Mike?”
“Lovely,” I told her. I reached for her, turned her around, then lay her as she was, half naked, across my lap, my fingers caught in her hair, touching her gently at first, then with firm insistence that made her shudder.
She raised herself against me, twisting her head, searching for my mouth until she found it, then with a small whimper she was part of me, her lips a ripe, succulent fruit, her tongue an alive, vital organ that was a soul seeking