The Mike Hammer Collection Part 29

"What are you thinking of ?"

"Something he said, d.a.m.n it." I wiped my face with my hand and grimaced. "I've been away too long. I'm not clicking."

"It will come."

"Sure, honey," I said. I touched her face lightly. "Later?"

"I'll be waiting."

"Put the kid to bed."

She made a face at me, grinned and nodded.

It was like there had never been those seven years at all.

There wasn't much trouble getting background material on Simpson Torrence. He had been making headlines since the '30s, was featured in several of the latest magazines, and was the subject of three editorials in opposition newspapers. I took two hours to go over the bits and pieces and what I came up with made him a likely candidate for governor. In fact, several of his high-ranking const.i.tuents were looking past the mansion at Albany to the White House in Washington.

But good points I wasn't looking for. If there was anything to the kid's story at all, then something would have to point to another side of the guy's character. People just don't come all good.

I called Hy Gardner and asked him to meet me at the Blue Ribbon with anything he might have on Torrence. All he said was, "Now what?" But it meant he'd be there.

He showed up with Pete Ladero, who did legwork for a political columnist, and over lunch I picked out all the information on Torrence I could get. Substantially, it was the same as the better magazines had reported. Sim Torrence was a product of New York schools, had graduated magna c.u.m laude and gone into public service immediately afterward. He had a small inheritance that made him independent enough to be able to afford the work and a determination that took him from an a.s.sistant D.A. through the main office into the State Legislature and Senate, and now he was standing at the threshold of the governorship. I said, "What's wrong with the guy?"

"Nothing," Pete told me. "Find out something and I'll peddle it to the opposition for a million bucks."

"Didn't they try?"

"You kidding?"

Hy shoved his gla.s.ses up on his forehead. "So what's the business then, Mike? What are you laying into Torrence for?"

"Curiosity right now. His name came up in a little deal a while back."

"This for publication?"

"No. It's strictly for curiosity value."

"I wish to h.e.l.l you'd say what you're going to say."

"Okay," I agreed. "What about his marriage?"

Pete and Hy looked at each other, shrugged, and Pete said, "His wife died years ago. He never remarried."

"Who was she?"

Pete thought a moment, then: "Her name was Devon, Sally Devon. If I remember right she was a fairly pretty showgirl when it was fashionable to marry showgirls. But h.e.l.l, she died not long after the war. There was never any scandal connected with his marriage."

"What about the kid?" I asked.

Pete shook his head. "Nothing. I've met her several times. Torrence adopted her when her mother died, sent her to pretty good schools, and she's lived with him since."

"She ran away."

"You don't run away when you're over twenty-one," he reminded me. "Sim probably has given her a checking account that will keep her provided for wherever she goes." He paused a moment. "I don't get the angle there."

"Because I haven't got one," I said. "In my business names and people get dropped into funny places and no matter who they are they get checked out. h.e.l.l, it never hurts to prove a clean man clean."

Pete agreed with a nod, finished his coffee, and told us so-long. Hy said, "Satisfied?"

"I'm getting there."

"Do I get a hint at least?"

"Sure. The two dead men the night I found Velda."

Hy frowned and pulled his gla.s.ses off, his cigar working across his mouth. "The ones who followed you and tried to nail Velda at the last minute?"

"That's the story the papers got, friend."

He waited, staring at me.

I said, "They had nothing to do with the espionage bit. They were part of another story."

"Brother!" Hy poked the cigar out in the ashtray and reached for his pencil and scratch sheets.

"No story yet, Hy. Hold it back. I'll tell you when."

Reluctantly, he put them back. "Okay, I'll wait."

"Velda had Torrence's kid with her. She took her in like a stray cat. Strictly coincidence, but there we are. The kid said she was hiding out from her old man, but whether she's lying or not, we know one thing: two dead men and a possible third say trouble's there."

"How the h.e.l.l can you suppress stuff like that!" Hy exploded.

"Angles, buddy."

"Boy, you sure come on like gangbusters. I hope you're protecting yourself."

"Don't worry about me."

"Don't worry, I won't."

Hy had to get back to his desk at the Tribune Tribune building so I dropped him off and went ahead to Pat's office. The uniformed sergeant at the desk waved to me, said Pat was upstairs in new quarters and to go ahead up. building so I dropped him off and went ahead to Pat's office. The uniformed sergeant at the desk waved to me, said Pat was upstairs in new quarters and to go ahead up.

He was eating at his desk as usual, too crammed with work to take time out at a lunch counter. But he wasn't too busy to talk to me. I was part of his work. He grinned and said, "How is Velda?"

"Fine, but not for you."

"Who knows?" He reached for the coffee container. "What's up?"

"What did you get on Levitt and the other guy?"

"Nothing new on Levitt. He'd been sporting some fresh money lately without saying where it came from. It was a.s.sumed that he picked up his old blackmail operations."

"And the other one?"

"Kid Hand. You knew him, didn't you?"

"I've seen him around. Small-time muscle."

"Then you haven't seen him lately. He's gone up in the world. Word has it that he's been handling all the bookie operations on the Upper West Side."

"Tillson's old run?"

"h.e.l.l, Tillson was knocked off a year ago."

"So who's Hand working for?"

"I wish I knew. Mr. Big has been given the innocuous-sounding name of Mr. d.i.c.kerson, but n.o.body seems to know any more about him."

"Somebody's going to be taking over Hand's end. There'll be a shake-up somewhere."

"Mike . . . you just don't know the rackets anymore. It's all I.B.M.-style now. Business, purely business, and they're not being caught without a chain of command. No, there won't be a shake-up. It'll all happen nice and normally. Somebody else will be appointed to Kid Hand's job and that will be that."

"You guessed the bug, though, didn't you?"

Pat nodded. "Certainly. What's a wheel like Hand taking on a muscle job for anyway? You know the answer?"

"Sure. I'd say he was doing somebody a favor. Like somebody big."

"Yeah," Pat said sourly. "Now the question is, who was killing who? You nailed Hand, Levitt fired two shots, and we recovered one out of the ceiling."

"Another one got Hand's friend in the gut. You might check the hospitals."

"Now you tell me." you tell me."

"Nuts, Pat. You figured it right after it happened."

He swung around idly in his chair, sipping at the coffee container. When he was ready he said, "What were they really after, Mike?"

I took my time too. "I don't know. Not yet I don't. But I'll find out."

"Great. And with all that top cover you got I have to sweat you out."

"Something like that."

"Let me clue you, Mike. We have a new Inspector. He's a tough nut and a smart one. Between him and the D.A., you're liable to find your tail in a jam. Right now they're trying hard to bust you loose for them to work over, so you'd better have pretty powerful friends in that office you seem to be working for."

I put my hat on and stood up. "Anything I come up with you'll get."

"Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically, then grinned.

Sim Torrence lived inside a walled estate in Westchester that reflected the quiet dignity of real wealth and importance. A pair of ornate iron gates were opened wide, welcoming visitors, and I turned my rented Ford up the drive.

The house, a brick colonial type, was surrounded by blue spruces that reached to the eaves. Two black Caddies were parked in front of one wing and I pulled up behind them, got out, touched the doorbell, and waited.

I had expected a maid or a butler, but not a stunning brunette with electric blue eyes that seemed to spark at you. She had an early season tan that made her eyes and the red of her mouth jump right at you and when she smiled and said quizzically, "Yes? " it was like touching a hot line.

I grinned crookedly. "My name is Hammer. I'm looking for Mr. Torrence."

"Is he expecting you?"

"No, but I think he'll see me. It's about his daughter."

The eyes sparked again with some peculiar fear. "Is she . . . all right?"

"Fine."

Then relief took over and she held out her hand to me. "Please come in, Mr. Hammer. I'm Geraldine King, Mr. Torrence's secretary. He's going to be awfully glad to see you. Since Sue ran off again he's been so upset he can't do a thing."

"Again?"

She glanced up at me and nodded. "She's gone off several times before. If she only knew what she does to Mr. Torrence when she gets in one of her peeves she'd be more considerate. In here, Mr. Hammer." She pointed into a large study that smelled of cigars and old leather. "Make yourself at home, please."

There wasn't much time for that. Before I had a chance to make a circuit of the room I heard the sound of hurried feet and Big Sim Torrence, the Man-Most-Likely-To-Succeed, came in looking not at all like a politician, but with the genuine worry of any distraught father.

He held out his hand, grabbed mine, and said, "Thanks for coming, Mr. Hammer." He paused, offered me a chair, and sat down. "Now, where is Sue? Is she all right?"

"Sure. Right now she's with a friend of mine."

"Where, Mr. Hammer?"

"In the city."

He perched on the edge of the chair and frowned. "She . . . does does intend to come back here?" intend to come back here?"

"Maybe."

His face hardened then. It was a face that had an expression I had seen a thousand times in courtrooms. It became a prosecuting attorney's face who suddenly found himself with a hostile witness and was determined to drag out the right answers the hard way.

Torrence said, "Perhaps I don't understand your concern in this matter."