The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [228]
Mallory opened the catch and pushed. Outside the steel railings of the fire escape were waiting. I thanked the good fathers who passed the law making them compulsory for all three-story buildings. We went out together, then down the metal stairs without trying to conceal our steps. If I had a cowbell around my neck I couldn’t have made more noise. Mallory kept spitting blood over the side, trying to keep his eyes on me and the steps at the same time. Above us heavy bodies were ramming the door. The lock splintered and someone tripped over the mug on the floor, but before they could get to the window we were on the ground.
“The boathouse. Shake it, Mallory, they won’t care who they hit,” I said.
Mallory was panting heavily, but he knew there was wisdom in my words. A shot snapped out that was drowned in a sudden blast from the orchestra, but I saw the gravel kick up almost at my feet. We skirted the edge of cars and out in between the fenders, then picked an opening and went through it to the boathouse. The back of it was padlocked.
“Open it.”
“I . . . I don’t have the key.”
“That’s a quick way to get yourself killed,” I reminded him.
He fumbled for a key in his pocket, brought it out and inserted it in the padlock. His hands were shaking so hard that he couldn’t get it off the hasp. I shoved him away and ripped it loose myself. The door slid sideways, and I thumbed him in, closing the door behind us. With the gun in the small of his back I flicked a match with my fingernail.
Grange and Cook were lying side by side in a pile of dirt at the far end of the boathouse. Both were tied up like Thanksgiving turkeys with a wad of cloth clamped between their jaws. They were out cold. Mallory’s mouth dropped to his chin and he pointed a trembling finger at Cook. “She’s here!”
“What the hell did you expect?”
His face grew livid until blood flowed afresh from his mouth. Mallory might have said something in anger if the match had not scorched my finger. I dropped it and cursed. He pulled away from the gun at the same time and ran for it. I took four steps toward the door, my arms outstretched to grab him, but he wasn’t there. At the other end of the room one of the girls started to moan through her gag. A knob turned and for a second I saw stars in the sky at the side of the wall. My first shot got him in the leg and he fell to the floor screaming. In the half-light of the match I hadn’t seen that side door, but he knew it was there. I ran over and yanked him back by the foot, mad enough to send a bullet into his gut.
I never had the chance. There was a blast of gunfire and my rod was torn from my grasp. The beam of a spotlight hit me in the eyes as Dilwick’s voice said, “Freeze, Hammer. You make one move and I’ll shoot hell out of you.”
The light moved over to the side, never leaving me. Dilwick snapped on the overhead: one dim bulb that barely threw enough light to reach both ends. He was standing there beside the switch with as foul a look as I ever hope to see on a human face and murder in his hands. He was going to kill me.
It might have ended then if Mallory hadn’t said, “You lousy rat. You stinking, lousy rat. You’re the one who’s been bleeding me. You son of a bitch.”
Dilwick grinned at me, showing his teeth. “He’s a wise guy, Hammer. Listen to him bawl.”
I didn’t say a word.
Dilwick went over and got my gun from the floor, using his handkerchief on the butt, never taking his eyes from either of us. He looked at me, then Mallory, and before either of us could move sent a shot smashing into Mallory’s chest from my .45. The guy folded over in a quarter roll and was still. Dilwick tossed the still-smoking gun down. “It was nice while it lasted,” he said, “but now it will be even better.”
I waited.
“The boss had a swell racket here. A perfect racket. He paid us off well, but I’m going to take over now. The hell with being a cop. It’ll make a pretty story, don’t you think? I come in here and