The Mike Hammer Collection Part 62

Alice came back with two highb.a.l.l.s in her hand. "Take one," she offered. I picked the big one. We toasted silently, she with the devil in her eyes, and drank.

"Good?"

I bobbed my head. "Old stuff, isn't it?"

"Over twenty years. Uncle Rudy gave it to me." She put her drink down and turned off the overhead lights, switching on a shaded table lamp instead. From a cabinet she selected an a.s.sortment of records and put them in the player. "Atmosphere," she explained impishly.

I didn't see why we needed it. When she had the lamp at her back the robe became transparent enough to create its own atmosphere. She was all woman, this one, bigger than I thought. Her carriage was seduction itself and she knew it. The needle came down and soft Oriental music filled the room. I closed my eyes and visualized women in scarlet veils dancing for the sultan. The sultan was me. Alice said something I didn't catch and left.

When she came back she was wearing the cobwebs. Nothing else.

"You aren't too tired tonight?"

"Not tonight," I said.

She sat down beside me. "I think you were faking the last time, and after all my trouble."

Her skin was soft and velvety-looking under the cobwebs, a vein in her throat pulsed steadily. I let my eyes follow the contours of her shoulders and down her body. Impertinent b.r.e.a.s.t.s that mocked my former hesitance, a flat stomach waiting for the touch to set off the fuse, thighs that wanted no part of shielding cloth.

I had difficulty getting it out. "I had had to be tired." to be tired."

She crossed her legs, the cobwebs parted. "Or crazy," she added.

I finished the drink off in a hurry and held out the gla.s.s for another. I needed something to steady my nerves.

Ice clinked, gla.s.s rang against gla.s.s. She measured the whiskey and poured it in. This time she pulled the coffee table over so she wouldn't have to get up again. The record changed and the gentle strains of a violin ran through the Hungarian Rhapsody Hungarian Rhapsody. Alice moved closer to me. I could feel the warmth of her body through my clothes. The drinks went down. When the record changed again she had her head on my shoulder.

"Have you been working hard, Mike?"

"No, just legwork."

Her hair brushed my face; soft, lovely hair that smelled of jasmine. "Do you think they'll find her?"

I stroked her neck, letting my fingers bite in just a little. "I think so. Sidon is too small a town to try to hide in. Did you know her well?"

"Ummm. What? Oh, no. She was very distant to all of us."

More jasmine. She buried her face in my shoulder. "You're a thing yourself," I grinned. "Shouldn't you be wearing black?"

"No. It doesn't become me."

I blew in her ear. "No respect for the dead."

"Uncle never liked all those post-funeral displays anyway."

"Well, you should do something since you were his favorite niece. He left you a nice lump of cash."

She ran her fingers through my hair, bending my head close to hers. "Did he?" Lightly, her tongue ran over her lips, a pink, darting temptation.

"Uh-huh." We rubbed noses, getting closer all the time. "I saw his will. He must have liked you."

"Just you like me, Mike, that's all I want." Her mouth opened slightly. I couldn't take any more. I grabbed her in my arms and crushed her lips against mine. She was a living heartbeat, an endless fire that burned hot and deep. Her arms went about me, holding tightly. Once, out of sheer pa.s.sion, she bit me like a cat would bite.

She tore her mouth away and pressed it against my neck, then rubbed her shoulders from side to side against my chest until the cobwebs slipped down her arms and pinioned them there. I touched her flesh, bruised her until she moaned in painful ecstasy, demanding more. Her fingers fumbled with the b.u.t.tons of my coat. Somehow I got it off and draped it over a chair, then she started on my tie. "So many clothes, Mike, you have so many clothes." She kissed me again.

"Carry me inside." I scooped her off the couch, cradling her in my arms, the cobwebs trailing beneath her. She pointed with her finger, her eyes almost closed. "In there."

No lights. The comforter was cool and fluffy. She told me to stay there and kissed my eyes shut. I felt her leave the bed and go into the living room. The record changed and a louder piece sent notes of triumph cascading into the room. Agonizing minutes pa.s.sed waiting until she returned, bearing two half-full gla.s.ses on a tray like a gorgeous slave girl. Gone now were even the cobwebs.

"To us, Mike, and this night." We drank. She came to me with arms outstretched. The music came and went, piece after piece, but we heard nothing nor cared. Then there was no sound at all except the breathing.

It was well into morning before we stirred. Alice said no, but I had to leave. She coaxed, but now the sight of her meant less and I could refuse. I found my shoes, laced them, and tucked the covers under her chin.

"Kiss me." She held her mouth up.

"No."

"Just one?"

"All right, just one." She wasn't making it any too easy. I pushed her back against the pillows and said good night.

"You're so ugly, Mike. So ugly you're beautiful."

"Thanks, so are you." I waved and left her. In the living room I picked my coat up from the floor and dusted it off. My aim was getting worse, I thought I had it on the chair.

On the way out I dropped the night latch and shut the door softly. Alice, lovely, lovely Alice. She had a body out of this world. I ran down the stairs pulling on my slicker. Outside the sheen of the rain glimmered from the streets. I gave the brim of my hat a final tug and stepped out.

There were no flashes of light, no final moments of distortion. Simply that one sickening, hollow-sounding smash on the back of the head and the sidewalk came up and hit me in the face.

I was sick. It ran down my chin and wet my shirt. The smell of it made me sicker. My head was a huge balloon that kept getting bigger and bigger until it was taut and ready to burst into a thousand fragments. Something cold and metallic jarred my face repeatedly. I was cramped, horribly cramped. Even when I tried to move I stayed cramped. Ropes bit into my wrists leaving hempen splinters imbedded under the skin, burning like darts. Whenever the car hit a b.u.mp the jack on the floor would slam into my nose.

No one else was with me back there. The empty shoulder holster bit into my side. Nice going, I thought, you walked into that with your mouth open and your eyes shut. I tried to see over the back of the seat, but I couldn't raise myself that far. We turned off the smooth concrete of the highway and the roadway became sloshy and irregular. The jack bounced around more often. First I tried to hold it down with my forehead, but it didn't work, then I drew back from it. That was worse. The muscles in my back ached with the torture of the rack.

I got mad as h.e.l.l. Sucker. That's what I was. Sucker. Someone was taking me for a d.a.m.n newcomer at this racket. Working me over with a billy then tossing me in the back of a car. Just like the prohibition days, going for a ride. What the h.e.l.l did I look like? I had been tied up before and I had been in the back of a car before, but I didn't stay there long. After the first time I learned my lesson. Boy Scout stuff, be prepared. Some son of a b.i.t.c.h was going to get his brains kicked out.

The car skidded to a stop. The driver got out and opened the door. His hands went under my armpits and I was thrown into the mud. Feet straddled me, feet that merged into a dark overcoat and a masked face, and a hand holding my own gun so that I was looking down the muzzle.

"Where is it?" the guy said. His voice carried an obvious attempt at disguise.

"What are you talking about?"

"d.a.m.n you anyway, what did you do with it? Don't try to stall me, what did you do with it? You hid it somewhere, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, it wasn't in your pocket. Start talking or I'll shoot your head off!"

The guy was working himself up into a kill-crazy mood. "How do I know where it is if you won't tell me what you want?" I snarled.

"All right, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, get smart. You stuck your neck out once too often. I'll show you." He stuck the gun in his pocket and bent over, his hands fastening in my coat collar and under my arm. I didn't help him any. I gave him d.a.m.n near two hundred pounds of dead weight to drag into the trees.

Twice the guy snagged himself in the brush and half fell. He took it out on me with a slap in the head and a nasty boot in the ribs. Every once in a while he'd curse and get a better grip on my coat, muttering under his breath what was going to happen to me. Fifty yards into the woods was enough. He dropped me in a heap and dragged the rod out again, fighting for his breath. The guy knew guns. The safety was off and the rod was ready to spit.

"Say it. Say it now, d.a.m.n you, or you'll never say it. What did you do with them . . . or should I work you over first?"

"Go to h.e.l.l, you pig."

His hand went up quickly. The gun described a chopping arc toward my jaw. That was what I was waiting for. I grabbed the gun with both hands and yanked, twisting at the same time. He screamed when his shoulder jumped out of the socket, screamed again when I clubbed the edge of my palm against his neck.

Feet jabbed out and ripped into my side, he scrambled to get up. In the middle of it I lost the gun. I held on with one arm and sank my fist into him, but the power of the blow was lost in that awkward position.

But it was enough. He wrenched away, regained his feet and went scrambling through the underbrush. By the time I found the gun he was gone. Time again. If I had had only a minute more I could have chased him, but I hadn't had time to cut my feet loose. Yeah, I'd been on the floor of a car before with my hands tied behind my back. After that first time I have always carried a safety razor blade slipped through the open seam into the double layer of cloth under my belt. It works nice, very handy. Someday I'd get tied up with my hands in front and I'd be stuck.

The knots were soft. A few minutes with them and I was on my feet. I tried to follow his tracks a few yards, but gave it up as a bad job. He had fallen into a couple of soft spots and left hunks of his clothes hanging on some tree limbs. He didn't know where he was going and didn't care. All he knew was that if he stopped and I caught him he'd die in that swamp as sure as he was born. It was almost funny. I turned around and waded back through the tangled underbrush, dodging snaky low-hanging branches that tried to whip my eyes out.

At least I had the car. My erstwhile friend was going to have to hoof it back to camp. I walked around the job, a late Chevy sedan. The glove compartment was empty, the interior in need of a cleaning. Wrapped around the steering post was the ownership card with the owner's name: Mrs. Margaret Murphy, age fifty-two, address in Wooster, occupation, cook. A h.e.l.l of a note, lifting some poor servant's buggy. I started it up. It would be back in town before it was missed.

When I turned around I plowed through the ruts of a country road for five minutes before reaching the main highway. My lights. .h.i.t a sign pointing north to Wooster. I must have been out some time, it was over fifteen miles to the city. Once on the concrete I stepped on the gas. More pieces of the puzzle. I had something. I felt in my pocket; the later will was still there. Then what the h.e.l.l was it? What was so almighty important that I'd been taken for a ride and threatened to make me talk?

Ordinarily I'm not stupid, on the contrary, my mind can pick up threads and weave them into whole cloth, but now I felt like putting on the dunce cap and sitting in the corner.

Nuts.

Twenty minutes to nine I was on the outskirts of Wooster. I turned down the first side street I came to, parked and got out of the car after wiping off any prints I might have made. I didn't know just how the local police operated, but I wasn't in the mood to do any explaining. I picked up the main road again and strode uphill toward Alice's. If she was up there was no indication of it. I recovered my hat from the foyer, cast one look up to the shuttered window and got in my own car. Things were breaking all around my head and I couldn't make any sense out of anything. It was like taking an exam with the answer sheet in front of you and failing because you forgot your gla.s.ses.

Going back to Sidon I had time to think. No traffic, just the steady hum of the engine and the sharp whirr of the tires. I was supposed to have something. I didn't have it. Yet certain parties were so sure I did have it they put the buzz on me. It, it It, it, for Pete's sake, why don't they name the name? I had two wills and some ideas. They didn't want the wills and they didn't know about the ideas. Something else I might have picked up . . . or didn't pick up.

Of course. Of all the potted, tin-headed fools, I took the cake. Junior Ghent got more than the one will. That was all he had left after the two boys got done with him. They took something else, but whatever it was Junior didn't want me messing in his plans by telling me about it. They took it all right, but somewhere between me and the wall they dropped that important something, and figuring me to be smarter than I should have been, thought I must have found it.

I grinned at myself in the rearview mirror. I'm thick sometimes, but hit me often enough and I get the idea. I didn't even have to worry about Junior beating me to it. He knew knew they had it . . . he wouldn't plan on them dropping it. My curiosity was getting tired of thinking in terms of they had it . . . he wouldn't plan on them dropping it. My curiosity was getting tired of thinking in terms of its its. This had better be good or I was going to be pretty teed off.

Nice, sweet little case. Two hostile camps. Both fighting each other, both fighting me. In between a lot of people getting shot at and Ruston kidnapped to boot. Instead of a logical starting place it traveled in circles. I kicked the gas pedal a little harder.

Harvey was waiting with the door open when I turned up the drive. I waved him inside and followed the gravel drive to the spot where Junior had taken his sh.e.l.lacking. After a few false starts, I picked out the trail the two had taken across the yard and began tracking. Here and there a footprint was still visible in the soft sod, a twig broken off, flower stalks bent, a stone kicked aside. I let my eyes read over every inch of the path and six feet to the sides, too. If I knew what I was looking for it wouldn't have been so bad. As it was, it took me a good twenty minutes to reach the wall.

That was where it was. Lying face up in full view of anybody who cared to look. A glaring white patch against the shrubbery, a slightly crinkled, but still sealed envelope.

The IT.

Under my fingers I felt a handful of what felt like postcards. With a shrug I shoved the envelope unopened into my pocket. Item one. I poked around in the gra.s.s and held the shrubs aside with my feet. Nothing. I got down on the ground and looked across the gra.s.s at a low angle, hoping to catch the sunlight glinting off metal. The rough calculations I took from Roxy's room showed this to be the point of origin of the bullet, but nowhere could I see an empty sh.e.l.l. h.e.l.l, it could have been a revolver, then there would be no ejected sh.e.l.l. Or it could have been another gun instead of York's. Nuts there. A .32 is a defensive weapon. Anybody who wants to kill uses a .38 or better, especially at that range. I checked the distance to Roxy's window again. Just to hit the house would mean an elevation of thirty degrees. The lad who made the window was good. Better than that, he was perfect. Only he must have fired from a hole in the ground, because there was no place he could have hidden in this area. That is, if it wasn't one of the two who went over the wall.

I gave up and went back to the car and drove around to the front of the house.

Dutiful Harvey stared at the dirt on my clothes and said, "There's been an accident, sir?"

"You might call it that," I agreed pleasantly. "How is Miss Malcom?"

"Fine, sir. The doctor was here this morning and said she was not in any danger at all."

"The boy?"

"Still quite agitated after his experience. The doctor gave him another sedative. Parks has remained with them all this while. He hasn't set foot out of the room since you left."

"Good. Has anyone been here at all?"

"No, sir. Sergeant Price called several times and wants you to call him back."

"Okay, Harvey, thanks. Think you can find me something to eat? I'm starved."

"Certainly, sir."

I trotted upstairs and knocked on the door. Billy's voice cautiously inquired who it was, and when I answered he pulled a chair away from the door and unlocked it.

"Hi, Billy."

"h.e.l.lo, Mike . . . what the h.e.l.l happened?"

"Somebody took me for a ride."

"Cripes, don't be so calm about it."

"Why not? The other guy has to walk back."

"Who?"

"I don't know yet."

Roxy was grinning at me from the bed. "Come over and kiss me, Mike." I gave her a playful tap on the jaw.

"You heal fast."

"I'll do better if you kiss me." I did. Her mouth was a field of burning poppies.

"Okay?"

"I want more."

"When you get better." I squeezed her hand. Before I went into Ruston's room I dusted myself off in front of the mirror. He had heard me come in and was all smiles.

"h.e.l.lo, Mike. Can you stay here awhile this time?"

"Oh, maybe. Feeling good?"

"I feel all right, but I've been in bed too long. My back is tired."