The Mike Hammer Collection (73 page)

“Too long, Mike.”

“Do you know what I'm talking about, Velda? I'm not tossing a pass at you now or laying the groundwork for the same thing later. I'm telling you something else.”

My fingers were hurting her and I couldn't help it. “I want you to say it, Mike. You've played games with so many women I won't be sure until I hear you say it yourself. Tell me.”

There was a desperate pleading in her eyes. They were asking me please, please. I could feel her breath coming faster and knew she was trembling and not because I was hurting her. I knew something was coming over my face that I couldn't control. It started in my chest and overflowed in my face when the music in my head began with that steady beat of drums and weird discord. My mouth worked to get the words out, but they stuck fast to the roof of my mouth.

I shook my head to break up the crazy symphony going on in my brain and I mumbled, “No ... no. Oh, good God, I can‘t, Velda. I can't!”

I knew what the feeling was. I was scared. Scared to death and it showed in my face and the way I stumbled across the room to a chair and sat down. Velda knelt on the floor in front of me her face a fuzzy white blur that kissed me again and again. I could feel her hands in my hair and smell the pleasant woman smell of cleanliness, of beauty that was part of her, but the music wouldn't go away.

She asked me what had happened and I told her. It wasn't that. It was something else. She wanted to know what it was, demanded to know what it was and her voice came through a sob and tears. She gave me back my voice and I said, “Not you, kid ... no kiss of death for you. There've been two women now. I said I loved them both. I thought I did. They both died, but not you, kid.”

Her hands on mine were soft and gentle. “Mike ... nothing will happen to me.”

My mind went back over the years—to Charlotte and Lola.

“It's no good, Velda. Maybe when this is all over it'll be different. I keep thinking of the women who died. God, if I ever have to hold a gun on a woman again I'll die first, so help me I will. How many years has it been since the yellow-gold hair and the beautiful face was there? It's still there and I know it's dead but I keep hearing the voice. And I keep thinking of the dark hair too ... like a shroud. Gold shrouds, dark shrouds....”

“Mike ... don't. Please, for me. Don't ... no more.”

She had another drink in my hand and I poured it down, heard the wild fury of the music drown out and give me back to myself again. I said, “All over now, sugar. Thanks.” She was smiling but her face was wet with tears: I kissed her eyes and the top of her head. “When this is settled we'll take a vacation, that's what we'll do. We'll take all the cash out of the bank and see what the city looks like when there's not murder in it.”

She left me sitting there smoking a cigarette while she went into the bathroom and washed her face. I sat there and didn't think of anything at all, trying to put a cap over the raw edges of my nerves that had been scraped and pounded too often.

Velda came back, a vision in a tailored gray suit that accentuated every curve. She was so big, so damn big and so lovely. She had the prettiest legs in the world and there wasn't a thing about her that wasn't beautiful and desirable. I could see why Clyde wanted her. Who wouldn't? I was a sap for waiting as long as I had.

She took the cigarette from my mouth and put it in her own. “I'm going to see Clyde tonight, Mike. I've been wondering about several things and I want to see if I can find out what they are.”

“What things?” There wasn't much interest in my words.

She took a drag on the cigarette and handed it back. “Things like what it is he holds over people's heads. Things like blackmail. Things like how Clyde can influence people so powerful they can make or break judges, mayors or even governors. What kind of blackmail can that be?”

“Keep talking, Velda.”

“He has conferences with these big people. They call him up at odd hours. They're never asking ... they're always giving. To Clyde. He takes it like it's his due. I want to know those things.”

“Will they be found in Clyde's apartment, baby?”

“No. Clyde has them ...” she tapped her forehead, “here. He isn't smart enough to keep them there.”

“Be careful, Velda, be damn careful with that guy. He might not be the pushover you think he is. He's got connections and he keeps his nose too damn clean to be a pushover. Watch yourself.”

She smiled at me and pulled on her gloves. “I'll watch myself. If he goes too far I'll take a note from that Anton Lipsek's book and call him something in French.”

“You can't speak French.”

“Neither can Clyde. That's what makes him so mad. Anton calls him things in French and laughs about it. Clyde gets red in the face but that's all.”

I didn't get it and I told her so. “Clyde isn't one to take any junk from a guy like Anton. It's a wonder he doesn't sic one of his boys on 'im.”

“He doesn't, though. He takes it and gets mad. Maybe Anton has something on him.”

“I can picture that,” I said. “Still, those things happen.”

She pulled on her coat and looked at herself in the mirror. It wasn't necessary; you can't improve on perfection. I knew what it was like to be jealous again and tore my eyes away. When she was satisfied with herself she bent over and kissed me. “Why don't you stay here tonight, Mike?”

“Now you ask me.”

She laughed, a rich, throaty laugh and kissed me again. “I'll shoo you out when I get in. I may be late, but my virtue will still be intact.”

“It had damn well better be.”

“Good night, Mike.”

“'Night, Velda.”

She smiled again and closed the door behind her. I heard the elevator door open and shut and if I had had Clyde in my hands I would have squeezed him until his insides ran all over the floor. Even my cigarettes tasted lousy. I picked up the phone and called Connie. She wasn't home. I tried Juno and was ready to hang up when she answered.

I said, “This is Mike, Juno. It's late, but I was wondering if you were busy.”

“No, Mike, not at all. Won't you come up?”

“I'd like to.”

“And I'd like you to. Hurry, Mike.”

Hurry? When she talked like that I could fly across town.

 

There was an odd familiarity about Juno's place. It bothered me until I realized that it was familiar because I had been thinking about it. I had been there a dozen times before in my mind but none of the eagerness was gone as I pushed the bell. Excitement came even with the thought of her, a tingling thrill that spoke of greater pleasures yet to come.

The door clicked and I pushed it open to walk into the lobby. She met me at the door of Olympus, a smiling, beautiful goddess in a long hostess coat of some iridescent material that changed color with every motion of her body.

“I always come back, don't I, Juno?”

Her eyes melted into the same radiant color as the coat. “I've been waiting for you.”

It was only the radio playing, but it might have been a chorus of angels singing to form a background of splendor. Juno had prepared Olympus for me, arranging it so a mortal might be tempted into leaving Earth. The only lights were those of the long waxy tapers that flickered in a dancing yellow light, throwing wavy shadows on the wall. The table had been drawn up in the living room and set with delicate china, arranged so that we would be seated close enough to want to be closer, too close to talk or eat without feeling things catch in your throat.

We spoke of the little things, forgetting all the unpleasantness of the past few days. We spoke of things and thought of things we didn't speak of, knowing it was there whenever we were ready. We ate, but the taste of the food was lost to me when I'd look at her in that sweeping gown that laughed and danced in the rising and falling of the lights. The cuffs of her sleeves were huge things that rose halfway to her elbows, leaving only her hands visible. Beautiful large hands that were eloquent in movement.

There was a cocktail instead of coffee, a toast to the night ahead, then she rose, and with her arm in mine, the short wisps of her hair brushing my face, took me into the library.

Cigarettes were there, the bar set was pulled out and ice frosted a crystal bowl. I put my crumpled pack of Luckies alongside the silver cigarette box to remind me that I was still a mortal, took one and lit it from the lighter she held out to me.

“Like it, Mike?”

“Wonderful.”

“It was special, you know. I've been home every minute since I saw you last, waiting for you to come back.”

She sat next to me on the couch and leaned back, her head resting on the cushion. Her eyes were beginning to invite me now. “I've been busy, goddess. Things have been happening.”

“Things?”

“Business.”

One of her fingers touched the bruise on the side of my jaw. “How'd you get that, Mike?”

“Business.”

She started to laugh, then saw the seriousness in my face. “But how ...”

“It makes nasty conversation, Juno. Some other time I'll tell you about it.”

“All right, Mike.” She put her cigarette down on the table and grabbed my hand. “Dance with me, Mike?” She made my name sound like it was something special.

Her body was warm and supple, the music alive with rhythm, and together we threw a whirling pattern of shadows that swayed and swung with every subtle note. She stood back from me, just far enough so we could look at each other and read things into every expression. I could only stand it so long and I tried to pull her closer, but she laughed a little song and twisted in a graceful pirouette that sent the gown out and up around her legs.

The music stopped then, ending on a low note that was the cue to a slow waltz. Juno floated back into my arms and I shook my head. It had been enough ... too much. The suggestion she had put into the dance left me shaking from head to foot, a sensation born of something entirely new, something I had never felt. Not the primitive animal reflex I was used to, not the passion that made you want to squeeze or bite or demand what you want and get it even if you had to fight for it. It made me mad because I didn't know what it was and I didn't like it, this custom of the gods.

So I shook my head again, harder this time. I grabbed her by the arm and heard her laugh again because she knew what was going on inside me and wanted it that way.

“Quit it, Juno. Damn it, quit fooling around. You make me think I want you and I lose sight of everything else. Cut it out.”

“No.” She drew the word out. Her eyes were half closed. “It's me that wants
you,
Mike. I'll do what I can to get you. I won't stop. There's never been anyone else like you.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

It might have been now, but the light caught her hair again. Yellow candlelight that changed its color to the gold I hated. I didn't wait to have it happen to me. I shoved her on the couch and reached for the decanter in the bar set. She lay there languidly, waiting for me to come to her and I fought it and fought it until my mind was my own again and I could laugh a little bit myself.

She saw it happen and smiled gently. “You're even better than I thought,” she said. “You're a man with the instincts of some jungle animal. It has to be when you say so, doesn't it?”

I threw the drink down fast. “Not before,” I told her.

“I like that about you too, Mike.”

“So do I. It keeps me out of trouble.” When I filled the glass I balanced it in my hand and sat on the arm of the couch facing her. “Do you know much about me, Juno?”

“A little. I've been hearing things.” She picked one of her long cigarettes out of the box and lit it. Smoke streamed up lazily from her mouth. “Why?”

“I'll tell you why I'm like I am. I'm a detective. In spirit only, now, but I used to have a ticket and a gun. They took it away because I was with Chester Wheeler when he used my gun to commit suicide. That was wrong because Chester Wheeler was murdered. A guy named Rainey was murdered too. Two killings and a lot of scared people. The one you know as Clyde is a former punk named Dinky Williams and he's gotten to be so big nobody can lay a finger on him, so big he can dictate to the dictators.

“That isn't the end of it, either. Somebody wants me out of the way so badly they made a try on the street and again in my apartment. In between they tried to lay Rainey's killing at my feet so I'd get picked up for it. All that ... because one guy named Chester Wheeler was found dead in a hotel room. Pretty, isn't it?”

It was too much for her to understand at once. She bit her thumbnail and a frown crept across her face. “Mike ...”

“I know it's complicated,” I said. “Murder generally is complicated. It's so damn complicated that I'm the only one looking for a murderer. All the others are content to let it rest as suicide ... except Rainey, of course. That job was a dilly.”

“That's awful, Mike! I never realized ...”

“It isn't over yet. I have a couple of ideas sticking pins in my brain right now. Some of the pieces are trying to fit together, trying hard. I've been up too long and been through too much to think straight. I thought that I might relax if I came up here to see you.” I grinned at her. “You weren't any help at all. You'll probably even spoil my dreams.”

“I hope I do,” she said impishly.

“I'm going someplace and sleep it off,” I said. “I'm going to let the clock go all the way around, then maybe once more before I stir out of my sack. Then I'm going to put all the pieces together and find me a killer. The bastard is strong ... strong enough to twist a gun around in Wheeler's hand and make him blow his brains out. He's strong enough to take me in my own joint and nearly finish it for me. The next time will be different. I'll be ready and I'll choke the son of a bitch to death.”