Larry stared at me a moment, smiled smugly and sat back, enjoying every second of the scene. When he thought my reaction would be just right he told me, “That guy mentioned the name of the killer.”
So he couldn’t see my face I turned my head. When I looked at him again he was still smiling, so I looked at the ceiling without answering and let him think what he pleased.
Larry said, “Now you’re going out on your own, just like in the old days Pat used to tell me about.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Want some advice?”
“No.”
“Nevertheless, you’d better spill it to Pat. He wants the same one.”
“Pat can go drop.”
“Maybe.”
This time there was a peculiar intonation in his voice. I half turned and looked up at him. “Now what’s bugging you?”
“Don’t you think Pat knows you have something?”
“Like the man said, frankly, buddy, I don’t give a damn.”
“You won’t tell me about it then?”
“You can believe it.”
“Pat’s going to lay charges on you.”
“Good for him. When you clear out I’m going to have a lawyer ready who’ll tear Pat apart. So maybe you’d better tell him.”
“I will. But for your own sake, reconsider. It might be good for both of you.”
Larry stood up and fingered the edge of his hat. A change came over his face and he grinned a little bit.
“Tell you something, Mike. I’ve heard so much about you it’s like we’re old friends. Just understand something. I’m really trying to help. Sometimes it’s hard to be a doctor and a friend.”
I held out my hand and grinned back. “Sure, I know. Forget that business about a paste in the mouth. You’d probably tear my head off.”
He laughed and nodded, squeezed my hand and walked out. Before he reached the end of the corridor I was asleep again.
They make them patient in the government agencies. There was no telling how long he had been there. A small man, quiet, plainlooking—no indication of toughness unless you knew how to read it in his eyes. He just sat there as if he had all the time in the world and nothing to do except study me.
At least he had manners. He waited until I was completely awake before he reached for the little leather folder, opened it and said, “Art Rickerby, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“No,” I said sarcastically.
“You’ve been sleeping quite a while.”
“What time is it?”
Without consulting his watch he said, “Five after four.”
“It’s pretty late.”
Rickerby shrugged noncommittally without taking his eyes from my face. “Not for people like us,” he told me. “It’s never too late, is it?” He was smiling a small smile, but behind his glasses his eyes weren’t smiling at all.
“Make your point, friend,” I said.
He nodded thoughtfully, never losing his small smile. “Are you—let’s say, capable of coherent discussion?”
“You’ve been reading my chart?”
“That’s right. I spoke to your doctor friend too.”
“Okay,” I said, “forget the AA tag. I’ve had it, you know?”
“I know.”
“Then what do we need the Feds in for? I’ve been out of action for how many years?”
“Seven.”
“Long time, Art, long time, feller. I got no ticket, no rod. I haven’t even crossed the state line in all that time. For seven years I cool myself off the way I want to and then all of a sudden I have a Fed on my neck.” I squinted at him, trying to find the reason in his face. “Why?”
“Cole, Richie Cole.”
“What about him?”
“Suppose you tell me, Mr. Hammer. He asked for you, you came and he spoke to you. I want to know what he said.”
I reached way back and found a grin I thought I had forgotten how to make. “Everybody wants to know that, Rickeyback.”
“Rickerby.”
“So sorry.” A laugh got in behind the grin. “Why all the curiosity?”
“Never mind why, just tell me what he said.”
“Nuts, buddy.”
He didn’t react at all. He sat there with all the inbred patience of years of this sort of thing and simply looked at me tolerantly because I was in a bed in the funny ward and it might possibly be an excuse for anything I had to say or do.
Finally he said, “You
I nodded. “But I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like anxious people. I’ve been kicked around, dragged into places I didn’t especially want to go, kicked on my can by a cop who used to be a friend and suddenly faced with the prospects of formal charges because I object to the police version of the hard sell.”
“Supposing I can offer you a certain amount of immunity?”
After a few moments I said, “This is beginning to get interesting.”
Rickerby reached for words, feeling them out one at a time. “A long while ago you killed a woman, Mike. She shot a friend of yours and you said no matter who it was, no matter where, that killer would die. You shot her.”
“Shut up, man,” I said.
“Hurt, Mike?”
There was no sense trying to fool him. I nodded abruptly. “I try not to think of it.” Then I felt that funny sensation in my back and saw what he was getting at. His face was tight and the little lines around his eyes had deepened so that they stood out in relief, etched into his face.
I said, “You knew Cole?”
It was hard to tell what color his eyes were now. “He was one of us,” he said.
I couldn’t answer him. He had been waiting patiently a long time to say what he had to say and now it was going to come out. “We were close, Hammer. I trained him. I never had a son and he was as close as I was ever going to get to having one. Maybe now you know exactly why I brought up your past. It’s mine who’s dead now and it’s me who has to find who did it. This should make sense to you. It should also tell you something else. Like you, I’ll go to any extremes to catch the one who did it. I’ve made promises of my own, Mr. Hammer, and I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Nothing is going to stop me and you are my starting point.” He paused, took his glasses off, wiped them, put them back on and said, “You understand this?”
“I get the point.”
“Are you sure?” And now his tone had changed. Very subtly, but changed nevertheless. “Because as I said, there are no extremes to which I won’t go.”
When he stopped I watched him, and the way he sat, the way he looked, the studied casualness became the
