The Mike Hammer Collection - Mickey Spillane [85]
“Okay, Mr. Hammer.” There was no hesitation at all.
“Call me Mike.”
“Sure, Mike.”
“Get her out of here, Velda.”
The sirens converged from both directions. They locked the street in on either end and two more took the street to the front of the house. The floods hit the doorway and the uniformed cops came in with .38’s in their hands.
I had the door open, the lights lit, and both hands in view when the first pair stepped through the doorway. Before they asked I took the position, let them see my .45 on the table beside the other guns, and watched patiently while they flipped open my wallet with the very special ticket in the identification window.
The reaction was slow at first. They weren’t about to take any chances with two dead men on the floor, but they couldn’t go too far the other way either. Finally the older one handed my wallet back. “I knew you back in the old days, Mike.”
“Times haven’t changed much.”
“I wonder.” He nodded toward the two bodies. “I don’t suppose you want to explain about all this now?”
“That’s right.”
“You got a big ticket there. When?”
“Call Captain Chambers. This is his baby.”
“I guess it is.”
“There’s a new Inspector in the division. He might not like the action.”
“No sweat, friend. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worrying. I just remember you and Captain Chambers were friends.”
“No more.”
“I heard that too.” He holstered his gun. Behind him another pair came in cautiously, ready. “This a big one?” he asked.
“Yeah. Can I make a call?”
“Mind if I make it for you?”
“Nope.” I gave him a number that he already knew and watched his face go flat when I handed him the name. He went outside to the car, put the call through, and when he came back there was a subtle touch of deference in his attitude. Whatever he had said to the others took the bull off me and by the time the M.E. got there it was like someone had diplomatic immunity.
Pat came in five minutes later. He waited until the pictures were taken and the bodies removed, then waved everybody else out except the little man in gray whom nobody was big enough to wave out. Then he studiously examined my big fat .45 and said, “The same one, isn’t it?”
“It’s the only one I ever needed.”
“How many men have you killed with it?”
“Nine,” I said. Then added, “With that gun.”
“Good score.”
“I’m still alive.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
I grinned at him. “You hate me, buddy, but you’re glad, aren’t you?”
“That you’re still alive?”
“Uh-huh.”
He turned slowly, his eyes searching for some obscure answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes I can’t tell who is the worse off. Right now I’m not sure. It’s hard to kill friendships. I tried hard enough with you and I almost made it work. Even with a woman between us I can’t be sure anymore. You crazy bastard, I watch what you do, see you get shot and beat to hell and wonder why it has to happen like that, and I’m afraid to tell myself the answer. I know it but I can’t say it.”
“So say it.”
“Later.”
“Okay.”
“Now what happened?” He looked at Art Rickerby sitting in the chair.
I said, “Velda was here. I came for her. These two guys bust in, this one here first. The other came in time to break up the play.”
“Nicely parlayed.”
“Well put, buddy.”
“For an ex-drunk you’re doing all right.” He glanced at Rickerby again.
“Some people have foresight,” I reminded him.
“Do I leave now?” Pat said. “Do I go along with the Federal bit and take off ?”
For the first time Art Rickerby spoke. He was quiet as always and I knew that there were no ends left untied in the past I had just left. He said, “Captain . . . there are times when . . . there are times. It was you who forced Mr. Hammer into circumstances he could hardly cope with. It was a dead man and me who made him stick to it. If he’s anathema out of the past, then it’s our fault. We brought a man back who should have died a long time ago. The present can’t stand a man like that