The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [55]
But my love, my love, how could you look at me, me after seven years? You knew what I had been and called for me at last, but I wasn’t what you expected at all. That big one you knew and loved is gone, kid, long gone, and you can’t come back that big anymore. Hell, Velda, you know that. You can’t come back . . . you should have known what would happen to me. Damn, you knew me well enough. And it happened. So how can you yell for me now? I know you knew what I’d be like, and you asked for me anyway.
I let out a little laugh and only the rain could enjoy it with me. She knew, all right. You can’t come back just as big. Either lesser or bigger. There was no other answer. She just didn’t know the odds against the right choice.
There was a new man on the elevator now. I signed the night book, nodded to him and gave him my floor. I got off at eight and went down the hall, watching my shadow grow longer and longer from the single light behind me.
I had my keys in my hand, but I didn’t need them at all. The door to 808 stood wide open invitingly, the lights inside throwing a warm glow over the dust and the furniture and when I closed it behind me I went through the anteroom to my office where Art Rickerby was sitting and picked up the sandwich and Blue Ribbon beer he had waiting for me and sat down on the edge of the couch and didn’t say a word until I had finished both.
Art said, “Your friend Nat Drutman gave me the key.”
“It’s okay.”
“I pushed him a little.”
“He’s been pushed before. If he couldn’t read you right you wouldn’t have gotten the key. Don’t sell him short.”
“I figured as much.”
I got up, took off the soggy coat and hat and threw them across a chair. “What’s with the visit? I hope you’re not getting too impatient.”
“No. Patience is something inbred. Nothing I can do will bring Richie back. All I can do is play the angles, the curves, float along the stream of time, then, my friend, something will bite, even on an unbaited hook.”
“Shit.”
“You know it’s like that. You’re a cop.”
“A long time ago.”
He watched me, a funny smile on his face. “No. Now. I know the signs. I’ve been in this business too long.”
“So what do you want here?”
Rickerby’s smile broadened. “I told you once. I’ll do anything to get Richie’s killer.”
“Oh?”
He reached in his pocket and brought out an envelope. I took it from him, tore it open and read the folded card it contained on all four of its sides, then slid it into my wallet and tucked it away.
“Now I can carry a gun,” I said.
“Legally. In any state.”
“Thanks. What did you give up to get it?”
“Not a thing. Favors were owed me too. Our department is very—wise.”
“They think it’s smart to let me carry a rod again?”
“There aren’t any complaints. You have your—ticket.”
“It’s a little different from the last one this state gave me.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, my friend.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“No trouble. I’m being smug.”
“Why?”
He took off his glasses again, wiped them and put them back on. “Because I have found out all about you a person could find. You’re going to do something I can’t possibly do because you have the key to it all and won’t let it go. Whatever your motives are, they aren’t mine, but they encompass what I want and that’s enough for me. Sooner or later you’re going to name Richie’s killer and that’s all I want. In the meantime, rather than interfere with your operation, I’ll do everything I can to supplement it. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Good. Then I’ll wait you out.” He smiled, but there was nothing pleasant in his expression. “Some people are different from others. You’re a killer, Mike. You’ve always been a killer. Somehow your actions have been justified and I think righteously so, but