The Mike Hammer Collection

the blood bubbling in his throat.

I was tangled in the raincoat trying to get at my gun when the bigger one saw me, streaked off a shot that went by my head, and in the light of the blast I knew they weren’t cops because I recognized a face of a hood I knew a long time. It was the last shot he ever made. I caught him head-on with a .45 that pitched him back through the door. The other one tried to nail me while I was rolling away from Velda and forgot about the guy dying on the floor. The mug let one go from the Police Positive that ripped into the hood’s belly and with a choking yell he tumbled out the door, tripped, and hobbled off out of sight, calling to someone that he’d been hit.

I kicked the gun out of the hand of the guy on the floor, stepped over him, and went out in the hall gun first. It was too late. The car was pulling away from the curb and all that was left was the peculiar silence of the street.

He was on his way out when I got back to him, the sag of death in his face. There were things I wanted to ask him, but I never got the chance. Through bloody froth he said, “You’ll . . . get yours, mutt.”

I didn’t want him to die happy. I said, “No chance, punk. This is my day after all.”

His mouth opened in a grimace of hate and frustration that was the last living thing he ever did.

From where to where? I thought. Why are there always dead men around me? I came back, all right. Just like in the old days. Love and death going hand in hand.

There was something familiar about his face. I turned his head with my toe, looked at him closely and caught it. Velda said, “Do you know him?”

“Yeah. His name is Basil Levitt. He used to be a private dick until he tried a shakedown on somebody who wouldn’t take it, then he did time for second-degree murder.”

“What about the other one?”

“They call him Kid Hand. He was a freelance gun that did muscle for small bookies on bettors who didn’t want to pay off. He’s had a fall before too.”

I looked at Velda and saw the way she was breathing and the set expression on her face. There was a strange sort of wildness there you find on animals suddenly having to fight for their lives. I said, “They aren’t from the other side, kitten. These are new ones. These want something different.” I waited a moment, then: “Who’s the kid, honey?”

“Mike . . .”

I pointed to the one on the floor. “He came for a kid. He came here ready to shoot you up. Now who’s the kid?”

Again, she gave me an anguished glance. “A girl . . . she’s only a young girl.”

I snapped my fingers impatiently. “Come on, give me, damn it. You know where you stand! How many people have died because of what you know? And right now you haven’t got rid of it. You want to get killed after everything that happened for some stupid reason?”

“All right, Mike.” Anguish gave way to concern then and she glanced upward. “Right now she’s in an empty room on the top floor. Directly over this one.”

“Okay, who is she?”

“I . . . don’t know. She came here the day after . . . I was brought here. I heard her crying outside and took her in.”

“That wasn’t very smart.”

“Mike . . . there were times when I wish someone had done that to me.”

“Sorr y.”

“She was young, desperate, in trouble. I took care of her. It was like taking in a scared rabbit. Whatever her trouble was, it was big enough. I thought I’d give her time to quiet down, then perhaps be able to help her.”

“What happened?”

“She’s scared, Mike. Terrified. She’s all mixed up and I’m the only one she can hang on to.”

“Good, I’ll take your word for it. Now get me up to her before this place is crawling with cops. We have about five minutes before somebody is going to be curious enough to make a phone call.”

From the third floor you could hear the rhythmic tap of her feet dancing a staccato number that made you think of an Eleanor Powell routine when prettylegs was queen of the boards. There was no music, yet you knew she heard some and was in a never-never land of her own.

Velda knocked but the dancing didn’t stop. She turned the knob and pushed the door open and with a soft cry the girl in the middle of the room twisted around, her hand going to her mouth when she saw me, huge eyes darting from Velda’s to mine. She threw one glance toward the window when Velda said, “It’s all right, Sue. This is our friend.”

It was going to take more than that to convince her and there wasn’t enough time. “My name is Mike Hammer, Sue. I’m going to help you. Can you understand that?”

Whatever it was, it worked. The fear left her face and she tried on a tentative smile and nodded. “Will you . . . really?”

“Really,” I nodded back. To Velda I said, “Can we get her out of here?”

“Yes. I know of a place I can take her.”

“Where?”

“Do you remember Connie Lewis’ restaurant on Forty-first?”

“Just off Ninth?”

“That’s it. I’ll be there. She has the upper three floors to herself.”

“That was seven years ago.”

“She’ll be there,” Velda told me.

“Okay,” I said, “you get there with the kid. I’ll do the talking on the bit downstairs, then in about an hour you show up at Pat’s office. I’m being a damn fool for letting you out on the street again but I can’t see any other way of doing it.”

Her hand squeezed mine and she smiled. “It’ll be all right, Mike.”

Then the kid walked up and I looked into the face of the prettiest little Lolita-type I ever saw. She was a tiny blonde with enormous brown eyes and a lovely mouth in a pert pointed face that made you want to pick her up like a doll. Her hair was silk-soft and hung loosely to her shoulders and when she moved all you could see was girl- woman and if you weren’t careful you’d feel the wrong kind of feel.

But I was an old soldier who had been there and back, so I said, “How old are you, chicken?”

She smiled and said, “Twenty-one.”

I grinned at Velda. “She’s not lying. You thought she was kidding when she told you that, didn’t you?”

Velda nodded.

“We’ll get straight on this later. Right now take off.” I looked at Sue, reaching out to feel her hair. “I don’t know what your trouble is, girl, but first things first. I’m going to lay something on the line with you though.”

“Oh?”

“Downstairs there are two dead men because of you. So play it the way you’re told and we’ll make it. Try using your own little head and there may be more dead people. Me, I’ve had it. I’ll help you all the way as long as you do it like I say, but go on your own and you’re like out, kid, understand? There aren’t any more people who can make this boy tumble again, big or little. I’m telling you this because you’re not as little as you look. You can fool a lot of slobs, but not this slob, so we’re starting off square, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Hammer.” There was no hesitation at all.

“Call me Mike.”

“Sure, Mike.”

“Get her out of here, Velda.”

The sirens converged from both directions. They locked the street in on either end and two more took the street to the front of the house. The floods hit the doorway and the uniformed cops came in with .38’s in their hands.

I had the door open, the lights lit, and both hands in view when the first pair stepped through the doorway. Before they asked I took the position, let them see my .45 on the table beside the other guns, and watched patiently while they flipped open my wallet with the very special ticket in the identification window.