The Mike Hammer Collection (63 page)

“Going smoothly, Mike.”

“Oh, too bad.”

He set his coffee cup down again. His face was absolutely blank. “Don't start anything, Mike.”

I acted indignant. “Who, me? What could I start that's not already started?”

The waiter brought my coffee and some Danish and I dunked and ate two of them before either of us spoke again. Curiosity got the best of Pat. He said, “Let's hear it, Mike.”

“Are you going to be stupid about it, Pat?”

His face was still frozen. “Let's hear it, Mike.”

I didn't make any bones about trying to keep it out of my eyes or the set of my jaw. My voice came up from my chest with a nasty rumble and I could feel my lip working into a snarl that pulled the corners of my mouth down.

“You're a smart cop, Pat. Everybody knows it but most of all I know it and you know it yourself. You know something else besides. I'm just as smart. I said Wheeler was murdered and you patted me on the head and told me to behave.

“I'm saying it again, Pat. Wheeler was murdered. You can get in this thing or I can do it alone. I told you I wanted that ticket back and I'm going to get it. If I do a lot of reputations are going to fall by the way-side including yours and I don't want that to happen.

“You know me and you know I don't kid around. I'm beginning to get ideas, Pat. They think good. I've seen some things that look good. Things that put more taste in the flavor of murder. I'm going to have me another killer before long and a certain D.A. is going to get his nose blown for him.”

I don't know what I expected Pat to do. Maybe I expected him to blow his top or start writing me off as a has-been in the brain department. I certainly didn't expect to see his face go cold and hear him say, “I gave you the benefit of the doubt a long time ago, Mike. I think Wheeler was murdered too.”

He grinned a little at my expression and went on, “There's a catch. Word reached the D.A. and he looked into it and passed his professional opinion in conjunction with the Medical Examiner. Wheeler was, beyond doubt, a suicide. I have been told to concentrate my efforts on more recent developments in the wide field of crime.”

“Our boy doesn't like you either now, eh?”

“Ha.”

“So?”

“What do you know, Mike?”

“Just a little, pal. I'll know more before long and I'll drop it in your lap when there's enough of it to get your teeth in. I don't suppose your prestige suffered from the D.A.'s tirade.”

“It went up if anything.”

“Good. Tonight I'll buzz you with all the details. Meanwhile you can look up the whereabouts of one former torpedo called Rainey”

“I know him.”

“Yeah?”

“We had him on an assault and battery charge a while back. The complainant failed to complain and he was dismissed. He called himself a fight promoter.”

“Street brawls,” I said sourly

“Probably. He was loaded with jack but he had a room in the Bowery.”

“Where,
Pat?” My eyes lit up and Pat went grim.

“The Bowery Why?”

“Interesting word. I've been hearing a lot about it these days. See if you can get a line on him, will you?”

Pat tapped a cigarette on the table. “This is all on the table, isn't it?”

“Every bit of it, chum. I won't hold back. I'm curious about one thing, though. What changed your mind from suicide to murder?”

Pat grinned through his teeth. “You. I didn't think you'd chase shadows. I said I wouldn't get excited this time but I couldn't help myself. By the time I reached the office I was shaking like a punk on his first holdup and I went down to take a look at the body I called in a couple of experts and though there were few marks on the body it was the general opinion that our lad Wheeler had been through some sort of a scuffle prior to taking a bullet in the head.”

“It couldn't have been much of a fuss. He was pretty damn drunk.”

“It wasn't,” he said, “Just enough to leave indications. By the way, Mike ... about that slug and shell we found in the hall. Was that your work?”

I let out a short, sour laugh. “I told you that once. No. Somebody had a hole in his pocket.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I'll check the hotel again. It had to be either a resident or a visitor then. It's too bad you didn't lock the door.”

“A lock won't stop a killer,” I said. “He had all the time in the world and could make as much noise as he wanted. Most of the guests were either half deaf or dead to the world when the gun went off. It's an old building with thick walls that do a nice job of muffling sound.”

Pat picked up the check and laid a dollar on top of it. “You'll contact me tonight then?”

“You bet. See you later and tell the D.A. I was asking for him.”

 

It took fifteen minutes to get to the Chadwick Hotel. It was another side-street affair with an essence of dignity that stopped as soon as you entered the lobby. The desk clerk was the Mom type until she spoke then what came out made you think of other things. I told her I wanted to see a certain Marion Lester and she didn't bother to question or announce me. She said, “Room 312 and go up the stairs easy. They squeak.”

I went up the stairs easy and they squeaked anyway. I knocked on the door of 312, waited and knocked again. The third time I heard feet shuffling across the floor and the door opened just far enough to show wide blue eyes, hair curlers and a satin negligee clutched tightly at the throat. I jumped the gun before she could ask questions with “Hello, Marion, Juno told me to see you.”

The wide eyes got wider and the door opened the rest of the way. I closed it behind me and made like a gentleman by sweeping off my hat. Marion licked her lips and cleared her throat. “I ... just got up.”

“So I see. Rough night?”

“... No.”

She took me through the miniature hall into a more miniature living room and waved for me to sit down. I sat. She said, “It's so early ... if you don't mind, I'll get dressed.”

I told her I didn't mind and she shuffled into the bedroom and began pulling drawers out and opening closets. She wasn't like the other girls I knew. She was back in five minutes. This time she had a suit on and the curlers were out of her hair. A little make-up and her eyes didn't look so wide either.

She sat down gracefully in a straight-backed chair and reached for a cigarette in a silver box. “Now, what did you want to see me about, Mr....”

“Mike Hammer. Just plain Mike.” I snapped a match on my thumbnail and held it out to her. “Did Juno tell you about me?”

Marion nodded, twin streams of smoke sifting out through her nostrils. Her voice had a tremor in it and she licked her lips again. “Yes. You ... were with Mr. Wheeler when he ... he died.”

“That's right. It happened under my nose and I was too drunk to know it.”

“I'm afraid there's little I can ... tell you, Mike.”

“Tell me about that night. That's enough.”

“Didn't Juno tell you?”

“Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”

She took a deep drag on the butt and squashed it in a tray. “He took me home. I had a few too many drinks, and ... well, I was feeling a little giddy. I think he rode around in a cab with me for a while. Really, I can't remember everything exactly...”

“Go on.”

“I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I woke up in my bed fully clothed and with an awful hangover. Later I learned that he had committed suicide, and frankly, I was very much upset.”

“And that's all?”

“That's all.”

It's too bad, I thought. She's the type to show a guy a time if she wanted to. It was just too damn bad. She waited to see what I'd say next, and since it was still early I asked, “Tell me about it from the beginning. The show and all, I mean.”

Marion smoothed out her hair with the flat of her hand and looked up at the ceiling. “The Calway Merchandising Company made the booking through Miss Reeves ... Juno. She ...”

“Does Juno always handle those details?”

“No, not always. Sometimes they go through Anton. You see, Juno is really the important one. She makes all the contacts and is persuasive enough to throw quite a few accounts to the agency.”

“I can see why,” I admitted with a grin.

She smiled back. “Our agency is perhaps the most exclusive in town. The models get paid more, are more in demand than any others, and all through Miss Reeves. A call from her is equal to a call from the biggest movie studio. In fact, she's managed to promote several of the agency models right into pictures.”

“But to get back to the show ...” I prompted.

“Yes ... the call came in and Juno notified us at once. We had to report to Calway Merchandising to pick up the dresses we had to show and be fitted. That took better than two hours. One of the managers took us to the dinner where we sat through the speeches and what have you, and about an hour beforehand we left to get dressed. The show lasted for fifteen minutes or so, we changed back to our street clothes and joined the crowd. By that time drinks were being served and I managed to have a couple too many.”

“About meeting Wheeler, how'd you manage that?”

“I think it was when I left. I couldn't make the elevator any too well. We got on together and he helped me down and into a cab. I told you the rest.”

There it was again. Nothing.

I pushed myself out of the chair and fiddled with my hat. “Thanks, kid. That cooks it for me, but thanks anyway. You can go back to bed now.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't help you.”

“Oh, it helps a little. At least I know what not to look for. Maybe I'll be seeing you around.”

She walked ahead of me to the door and held it open. “Perhaps,” she said. “I hope the next time is under more pleasant circumstances.” We shook hands briefly and her forehead wrinkled. “Incidentally, Juno mentioned reporters. I hope...”

“They can't make anything out of it as long as things stand that way. You can practically forget about it.”

“I feel better now. Good-by, Mr. Hammer.”

“So long, kid. See ya.”

 

I crouched behind the wheel of my car and made faces at the traffic coming against me. It was a mess to start with and got messier all the time. Murder doesn't just happen. Not the kind of murder that gets tucked away so nicely not a single loose end stuck out.

Damn it anyway, where
was
a loose end? There had to be one! Was it money? Revenge? Passion? Why in hell did a nice guy like Wheeler have to die? Stinking little rats like Clyde ran around and did what they damn well pleased and a nice guy had to die!

I was still tossing it around in my mind when I parked along that residential street in the Bronx. The big sedan was in the driveway and I could make out the E. P in gold Old English script on the door. I pulled the key out of the ignition and walked up the flagstone path that wound through the bushes.

This time I lifted the embossed knocker and let it drop.

A maid in a black and white uniform opened the door and stood with her hand on the knob. “Good morning. Can I help you?”

“I want to see Mr. Perry,” I said.

“Mr. Perry left orders that he is not to be disturbed. I'm sorry, sir.”

“You go tell Mr. Perry that he's gonna get disturbed right now. You tell him Mike Hammer is here and whatever a guy named Rainey can do I can do better.” I grabbed the handle and pushed the door and she didn't try to stop me at all when she saw my face. “You go tell him that.”

I didn't have long to wait. She came back, said, “Mr. Perry will see you in his study, sir,” waved her hand toward the far end of the hall and stood there wondering what it was all about as I walked past.

Mr. Perry was the scared fat man. Now he was really scared. He didn't sit—he occupied a huge leather chair behind a desk and quivered from his jowls down. He must have been at peace with himself a minute before because an opened book lay facedown and a cigar burned in an ash tray.

I threw my hat on the desk, cleared away some of the fancy junk that littered it and sat on the edge. “You're a liar, Perry,” I said.

The fat man's mouth dropped open and the first chin under it started to tremble. His pudgy little fingers squeezed the arms of his chair trying to get juice out of it. He didn't have much voice left when he said, “How dare you to ... in my own home! How dare you ...”

I shook a butt out of the pack and jammed it in the corner of my mouth. I didn't have a match so I lit it from his cigar. “What did Rainey promise you, Perry, a beating?” I glanced at him through the smoke. “A slug in the back maybe?”

His eyes went from the window to the door. “What are you ...”

I finished it for him. “I'm talking about a hood named Rainey. What did he promise you?”

Perry's voice faded altogether and he looked slightly sick. I said, “I'll tell you once then I want an answer. I told you whatever Rainey can do I can do better. I can beat the hell out of you worse. I can put a slug where it'll hurt more and I'll get a large charge out of it besides.

“I'm talking about a guy you said you knew. His name was Wheeler, Chester Wheeler. He was found dead in a hotel room and the verdict was suicide. You informed the police that he was despondent ... about business you said.”

Emil Perry gave a pathetic little nod and flicked his tongue over his lips. I leaned forward so I could spit the words in his face. “You're a damned liar, Perry. There was nothing the matter with Wheeler's business. It was a stall, wasn't it?”