The Mike Hammer Collection (70 page)

Pat said, “Not that it's any of your business, but we played cards. And talked about you. Mike here said some very uncomplimentary things about you. Shall I repeat them for the record?”

Another minute of it and the guy would have had apoplexy. “Never mind,” he gasped, “never mind.”

“That's what I mean about having witnesses with sterling characters, mister,” I chipped in. “I take it the charges are dropped?”

His voice barely had enough strength to carry across the room. “Get out of here. You, too, Captain Chambers.” He let his eyes linger on Pat. “I'll see about this later.”

I stood up and fished my other deck of Luckies. The cop with the smashed cigars still sticking out of his pocket watched me with a sneer. “Got a light?” He almost gave me one at that until he realized what he was doing. I smiled at the D.A., a pretty smile that showed a lot of teeth. “Remember about my license. I'll give you until the end of the week.”

The guy flopped back in his chair and stayed there.

I followed Pat downstairs and out to his car. We got in and drove around for ten minutes going nowhere. Finally Pat muttered, “I don't know how the hell you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Get in so much trouble.” That reminded me of something. I told him to stop and have a drink, and from the way he swung around traffic until we found a bar I could see that he needed it.

I left him at the bar to go back to the phone booth where I dialed the Globe office and asked for the sports editor. When Ed came on I said, “This is Mike, Ed. I have a little favor to ask. Rainey was knocked off last night.”

He broke in with, “Yeah, I thought you were going to tell me if anything happened. I've been waiting all day for you to call.”

“Forget it, Ed, things aren't what you're thinking. I didn't bump the bastard. I didn't know he was going to get bumped.”

“No?” His tone called me a liar.

“No,” I repeated. “Now listen ... what happened to Rainey is nothing. You can do one of two things. You can call the D.A. and say I practically forecasted what was going to happen last night or you can keep quiet and get yourself a scoop when the big boom goes off. What'll it be?”

He laughed, a typical soured reporter's laugh. “I'll wait, Mike. I can always call the D.A., but I'll wait. By the way, do you know who Rainey's two partners were?”

“Tell me.”

“Petey Cassandro and George Hamilton. In Detroit they have quite a rep, all bad. They've both served stretches and they're as tough as they come.”

“They're not so tough.”

“No ... you wouldn't think so now, would you? Well, Mike, I'll be waiting to see what gives. It's been a long time since I had a scoop on the police beat.”

Pat wanted to know what I did and I told him I called the office. I straddled the stool and started to work on the highball. Pat had his almost finished. He was thinking. He was worried. I slapped him on the back. “Cheer up, will you? For Pete's sake, all you did was make the D.A. eat his words. That ought to make you feel great.”

Pat didn't see it that way. “Maybe I'm too much cop, Mike. I don't like to lie. If it wasn't that I smelt a frame I would have let you squirm out of it yourself. The D.A. wants your hide nailed to his door and he's trying hard to get it.”

“He came too damn close to getting it to suit me. I'm glad you got the drift of the situation and knew your way around my diggings well enough to make it sound good.”

“Hell, it
had
to sound good. How the devil would you be able to prove you were home in bed all night? That kind of alibi always looks mighty foolish on a witness stand.”

“I'd never be able to prove it in a million years, chum,” I said.

The drink almost fell out of his hand when it hit him. He grabbed my coat and spun me around on the stool. “You were home in bed like you said, weren't you?”

“Nope. I was out seeing a guy named Rainey. In fact, I shot him.”

Pat's fingers loosened and his face went dead-white. “God!”

I picked up my glass. “I shot him, but it wasn't in the head. Somebody else did that. I hate like hell to put you on the spot, but if we're going to tie into a killer the both of us'll do better than just one.”

Pat rubbed his face. It still didn't have its normal color back. I thought he was going to get sick until he gulped down his drink and signaled for another. His hands shook so bad he could hardly manage it without the ice chattering against the glass.

“You shouldn‘t've done it, Mike,” he said. “Now I'll have to take you in myself. You shouldn't've done it.”

“Sure, take me in and have the D.A. eat your tail out. Have him get you booted off the force so some incompetent jerk can take your place. Take me in so the D.A. can get his publicity at the expense of the people. Let a killer go around laughing his head off at us. That's what he wants.

“Hell, can't you see how the whole thing smells? It reeks from here to there and back again.” Pat stared into his glass, his head shaking in outrage. “I went to see Emil Perry. Rainey was there. Perry tied up with Wheeler because he gave an excuse for Wheeler's suicide when actually he didn't even know the guy except to say hello to at business affairs. Perry ties in with Wheeler and Rainey ties in with Perry.

“Every month Perry had been pulling five grand out of his bank. Smell it now. Smells like blackmail, doesn't it? Go on, admit it. If you won't here's something that will
make
you admit it. Yesterday Perry withdrew twenty grand and left town. That wasn't traveling expenses. That was to buy up his blackmail evidence. I went out to his house and found what was left of it in his fireplace.”

I reached inside my coat for the envelope and threw it down in front of him. He reached for it absently. “Now I'll tell you what started the Rainey business. When I first saw Perry I told him I was going to find out what it was that Rainey had on him and lay the whole thing in the open. It scared him so much he passed out. Right away he calls Rainey. He wants to buy it back and Rainey agrees. But meanwhile Rainey has to do something about it. He took a shot at me right on Broadway and if I had caught a slug there wouldn't have been a single witness, that's the way people are.

“When I went out to see him I put it to him straight, and just to impress him I plowed a hole in his leg. I did the same thing to one of his partners.”

I didn't think Pat had been listening, but he was. He turned his head and looked at me with eyes that had cooled down to a sizzle. “Then how did Rainey stop that other bullet?”

“Let me finish. Rainey wasn't in this alone by a long shot. He wasn't that smart. He was taking orders and somewhere along the line he tried to take off on his own. The big boy knew what was cooking and went out to take care of Rainey himself. In the meantime he saw me, figured I'd do it for him, and when I didn't he stepped in and took over by himself.”

Pat was picturing the thing in his mind, trying to visualize every vivid detail. “You've got somebody lined up, Mike. Who?”

“Who else but Clyde? We haven't tied Rainey to him yet, but we will. Rainey isn't hanging out in the Bowery because he likes it. I'll bet ten to one he's on tap for Clyde like a dozen other hard cases he keeps handy.”

Pat nodded. “Could be. The bullet in Rainey's leg and head were fired from the same gun.”

“The other guy was different. I used his pal's automatic on him.”

“I don't know about that. The bullet went right through and wasn't found.”

“Well, I know about it. I shot him. I shot them both and left the guns right there on the table.”

The bartender came down and filled up our glasses again. He shoved a bowl of peanuts between us and I dipped into them. Pat popped them into his mouth one at a time. “I'll tell you what happened down there, Mike. The one guy who wasn't shot dragged his partner outside and yelled for help. He said nobody came so he left Rainey where he was figuring him to be dead and pulled his buddy into a car and drove to a doctor over in the Glenwood development. He called the cops from there. He described you, picked out your picture and there it was.”

“There it was is right. Right there you have a pay-off again. The killer came in after I left and either threatened those two guys or paid ‘em off to put the bee on me and keep still as to what actually did happen. They both have records in Detroit and one carried a gun. It wouldn't do either one of 'em any good to get picked up on a Sullivan charge.”

“The D.A. has their affidavits.”

“You're a better witness for me, kid. What good is an affidavit from a pair of hoods when one of the finest sticks up for you?”

“It would be different under oath, Mike.”

“Nuts. As long as you came in when you did it never gets that far. The D.A. knew when he was licked. In one way I'm glad it happened.”

Pat told me to speak for myself and went back to his thinking. I let him chase ideas around for a while before I asked him what he was going to do. He said, “I'm going to have those two picked up. I'm going to find out what really happened.”

I looked at him with surprise and laughed. “Are you kidding, Pat? Do you really think either one of those babies will be sticking around after that?”

“One has a bullet hole in his leg,” he pointed out.

“So what?” I said. “That's nothing compared to one in the head. Those guys are only so tough ... they stop being tough when they meet somebody who's just a little bit tougher.”

“Nevertheless, I'm getting out a tracer on them.”

“Good. That's going to help
if
you find them. I doubt it. By the way, did you check on the bullets that somebody aimed at me?”

Pat came alive fast. “I've been meaning to speak to you about that. They were both .38 specials, but they were fired from different guns. There's more than one person who wants you out of the way.”

Maybe he thought I'd be amazed just to be polite, at least. He was disappointed. “I figured as much, Pat. It still works down to Rainey and Clyde. Like I said, when I left Perry, he must've called Rainey. It was just before lunch-time and maybe he figured I'd eat at home. Anyway, he went there and when I stopped to pick up my coat and gloves he started tailing me. I wasn't thinking of a tail so I didn't give it a thought. He must have stuck with me all day until I was alone and a good target.”

“That doesn't bring Clyde into it.”

“Get smart, Pat. If Rainey was taking orders from Clyde then maybe Clyde followed
him
around too, just to be sure he didn't miss.”

“So Clyde took the second shot at you himself. You sure made a nice package of it. All you need is a photograph of the crime.”

“I didn't see enough of his face to be sure it was him, but it was a man in that car, and if he shot at me once he'll shoot at me again. That'll be the last time he'll shoot anyone.”

I finished my drink and pushed it across the bar for more. We both ordered sandwiches and ate our way through them without benefit of conversation. There was another highball to wash them down. I offered Pat a Lucky and we lit up, blowing the smoke at the mirror behind the bar.

I looked at him through the silvered glass. “Who put the pressure on the D.A., Pat?”

“I've been wondering when you were going to ask that,” he said.

“Well ...”

“It came from some odd quarters. People complaining about killers running loose and demanding something be done about it. Some pretty influential people live out in Glenwood. Some were there when the questioning was done.”

“Who?”

“One's on the Board of Transportation, another is head of a political club in Flatbush. One ran for state senator a while back and lost by a hair. Two are big businessmen and I do mean big. They both are active in civic affairs.”

“Clyde has some fancy friends.”

“He can go higher than that if he wants to, Mike. He can go lower where the tougher ones are too if it's necessary. I've been poking around since I last saw you. I got interested in old Dinky Williams and began asking questions. There weren't too many answers. He goes high and he goes low. I can't figure it, but he's not a small-timer anymore.”

I studied the ice in the glass a minute. “I think, pal, that I can make him go so low he'll shake hands with the devil. Yeah, I think it's about time I had a talk with Clyde.”

CHAPTER 9

I
didn't get to do what I wanted to do that night because when I went back for my car I checked into my office long enough to find Velda gone and a note on my desk to call Connie. The note was signed with a dagger dripping blood. Velda was being too damn prophetic.

Dagger or no dagger, I lifted the phone and dialed her number. Her voice didn't have a lilt in it today. “Oh, Mike,” she said, “I've been so worried.”

“About me?”

“Who else? Mike ... what happened last night? I was at the club and I heard talk ... about Rainey ... and you.”

“Wait a minute, kitten, who did all this talking?”

“Some men came in from the fights on the Island and they mentioned what happened. They were sitting right behind me talking about it.”

“What time was that?”

“It must have been pretty late. Oh, I don't know, Mike. I was so worried I had Ralph take me home. I ... I couldn't stand it. Oh, Mike ...” Her voice broke and she sobbed into the phone.

I said, “Stay there. I'll be up in a little while and you can tell me about it.”