The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [137]
“Well, if you do get knocked off, let me repeat a favorite old saying of yours, ‘Kismet, buddy.’ ”
He hung up and left me staring at the phone. I grinned, then put it down and started to laugh. Velda said, “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “It’s just funny. Grebb and Charlie Force are going to come at me like tigers when this is over to get my official status changed and if I can make it work they don’t have a chance.”
That big, beautiful thing walked over next to me and slid her arms around my waist and said, “They never did have a chance. You’re the tiger, man.”
I turned around slowly and ran my hands under her sweater, up the warm flesh of her back. She pulled herself closer to me so that every curve of hers matched my own and her breasts became rigid against my chest.
There was a tenderness to her mouth that was only at the beginning, then her lips parted with a gentle searching motion and her tongue flicked at mine with the wordless gestures of love. Somehow the couch was behind us and we sank down on it together. There was no restraint at all, simply the knowledge that it was going to happen here and now at our own time and choosing.
No fumbling motions. Each move was deliberate, inviting, provoking the thing we both wanted so badly. Very slowly there was a release from the clothes that covered us, each in his own way doing what he wanted to do. I kissed her neck, uncovered her shoulders, and ran my mouth along them. When my hands cradled her breasts and caressed them they quivered at my touch, nuzzling my palms for more like a hungry animal.
Her stomach swelled gently against my fingers as I explored her, making her breath come in short, hard gasps. But even then there was no passiveness in her. She was as alive as I was, as demanding and as anxious. Her eyes told me of all the love she had for so long and the dreams she had had of its fulfillment.
The fiery contact of living flesh against living flesh was almost too much to stand and we had gone too far to refuse the demand any longer. She was mine and I was hers and we had to belong to each other.
But it didn’t happen that way.
The doorbell rang like some damn screaming banshee and the suddenness of it wiped the big now right out of existence. I swore under my breath, then grinned at Velda, who swore back the same words and grinned too.
“When will it be, Mike?”
“Someday, kitten.”
Before I could leave she grabbed my hand. “Make it happen.”
“I will. Go get your clothes on.”
The bell rang again, longer this time, and I heard Pat’s voice calling out in the hall.
I yelled, “All right, damn it, hold on a minute.”
He didn’t take his finger off the bell until I had opened the door.
“I was on the phone,” I explained. “Come on in.”
There were four others with him, all men I had seen around the precinct. Two I knew from the old days and nodded to them. The others went through a handshake.
“Velda here?”
“Inside, why?”
“She was down asking questions around the party headquarters. They want an explanation. Charlie Force is pushing everybody around on this.”
“So sit down and I’ll explain.”
Velda came out as they were pulling up chairs, met the officers and perched on the arm of the couch next to me. I laid it out for Pat to save him the time of digging himself, supplied him with Velda’s notes and the names of the persons she spoke to, and wrapped it up with Art’s little speech to me.
When Pat put his book away he said, “That’s one reason why I’m here. We’re going to see what we can get on Howie Green. These officers have been working on it already and have come up with something that might get us started.”
“Like what?”
“The real estate agency Howie Green operated went into the hands of his partner after his death. The guy’s name was Quincy Malek. About a year later he contracted T.B. and died in six months. Now from a nephew we gather that Malek was damn near broke when he kicked off. He had sold out everything and his family picked over what was left. The original records left over from his partnership with Green