The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [144]
It was like having a tub of ice water dumped over you. Velda sat there, the knuckles of her hand white around the teacup.
“Who did you give it to, Mrs. Malek?”
“A delivery boy. He left me an envelope with one hundred dollars in it.”
“You know the boy?”
“Oh dear no. He was just . . . a boy. Spanish, I think. His English was very bad.”
“Damn,” I said.
“Another cup of tea, Mr. Hammer?”
“No, thanks.” Another cup of tea would just make me sick. I looked at Velda and shook my head.
“The box was returned, of course,” she said suddenly.
“What!”
“With another hundred dollars. Another boy brought it to me.”
“Look, Mrs. Malek . . . if we can take a look at that box and find what we’re looking for, I’ll make a cash grant of five hundred bucks. How does that sound to you?”
“Lovely. More tea?”
I took another cup of tea. This one didn’t make me sick. But she almost did. She sat there until I finished the cup, then excused herself and disappeared a few minutes. When she came back she was carrying a large cardboard carton with the top folded down and wrapped in coarse twine.
“Here you are, Mr. Hammer.”
Velda and I opened the carton carefully, flipped open the top, and looked down at the stacked sheafs of notations that filled the entire thing. Each one was an independent sales record that listed prices, names, and descriptions and there were hundreds of them. I checked the dates and they were spread through the months I wanted.
“Are you satisfied, sir?”
I reached for my wallet and took out five bills. There were three singles left. I laid them on the table but she didn’t touch them.
She said, “One of those pieces of paper is missing, I must tell you.”
All of a sudden I had that sick feeling again. I looked at the five hundred bucks lying on the table and so did Mrs. Malek.
“How do you know?” I asked her.
“Because I counted them. Gracious, when Quincy trusted me with them I wanted to be sure they were always there. Twice a year I used to go through them to make sure the tally was identical with the original one. Then when I got them back I counted them again and one was missing.” She looked at me and nodded firmly. “I’m positive. I counted twice.”
“That was the one we wanted, Mrs. Malek.”
“I may still be of help.” She was smiling at some private secret. “Some years back I was sick. Quite sick. I was here in bed for some months and for lack of something to do I decided to make my own record of Quincy’s papers. I listed each and every piece much as he did.”
She reached into the folds of her wrapper and brought out a thick, cheap note pad and laid it down on the table. “You’ll have to go through them all one by one and find the piece that’s missing, but it’s here, Mr. Hammer.”
I picked up the pad, hefted it, and stuck it in my pocket. “One question, Mrs. Malek. Why are you going so far with us?”
“Because I don’t like to be stolen from. That other party deliberately stole something of value from me. That person was dishonest. Therefore I assume you are honest. Am I wrong?”
“You aren’t wrong, Mrs. Malek. You may get more out of this than you think.”
“This is sufficient for my needs, sir.”
I picked up the box and put on my hat. “You’ll get them all back this time. The police may want to hold them for a while, but eventually they’ll be returned.”
“I’m sure they will. And I thank you, sir.”
I grinned at her. “I could kiss you.”
“That would be a pleasure.” She glanced at Velda. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest,” Velda said.
So I kissed her.
Damn if the blush didn’t make the rouge spots fade right out. The last three bucks bought a cab ride back to the apartment and two hamburgers apiece. We dumped the contents of the box on the floor, spread them out into piles, opened the notebook, and started to go through them.
At dawn I called Pat without telling him what I had. So far he had nothing. Then we went back to