The Snake

I called Rickerby from downstairs and he had a man stand by while we were gone. Sue was asleep, I thought, but I couldn't be sure. At least she wasn't going anyplace until we got back. We walked to the parking lot where I picked up the rented Ford and cut over to the West Side Highway.

She waited until I was on the ramp to ask, 'Where are we going?'

'There's a place called 'The Angus Bull.' It's a new one for the racket boys.'

'Who told you?'

'Pat.'

'And whom do I con?'

'A man named Del Penner. If he isn't there you'll pick up a lead if you work it right. He was pushing Kid Hand and will probably take his place in the group. What you want to know is this... who is Mr. Dickerson?'

She threw me a funny glance and I filled her in on the small details. I watched her out of the corner of my eyes while she picked it all apart and put it back together again. There was something new about her now that wasn't there seven years ago. Then she had been a secretary, a girl with her own P.I. ticket and the right to carry a gun. Then she had been a girl with a peculiar past I hadn't known about. Now she was a woman, still with a peculiar past and a gun, but with a strange new subtlety added that was nurtured during those years behind the Iron Curtain in the biggest chase scene civilization had ever known.

'Where do we clear?'

'Through Pat.'

'Or your friend Rickerby?'

'Keep him as an alternate. It isn't his field yet, so we'll stay local.'

'Where will you be?'

'Running down the immediate past of a guy called Basil Levitt. Pat came up with nothing. They're still on the job, but he had no office and no records. Whatever he carried he carried in his hat, but he sure was working for somebody. He was after you and the kid and was four days watching your joint. I don't know what we have going, but these are the only leads we have.'

'There's Sue.'

'She has nothing to say yet.'

'Did you believe what she said about her father trying to kill her?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because it isn't logical. The kid's a neurotic type and until something proves out I'm not going along with childish notions.'

'Two dead men aren't notions.'

'There's more to it than that, baby. Let me do it my way, okay?'

'Sure. It's always your way, isn't it?'

'Sure.'

'Is that why I love you?'

'Sure.'

'And you love me because I think that way?'

'Why sure.'

'I'm home, Mike.'

I touched her knee and felt her leg harden. 'You never were away, kid.'

She was on her own when I dropped her downtown. She grinned at me, waved, and I let her go. There was something relaxing about the whole thing now. No more tight feeling in the gut. No more of that big empty hole that was her. She was there and bigger than ever, still with the gun on her belt and ready to follow.

Going through Levitt's place was only a matter of curiosity. It was a room, nothing more. The landlady said he had been there six months and never caused trouble, paid his rent, and she didn't want to talk to any more cops. The neighbors didn't know anything about him at all and didn't want to find out. The local tavern owner had never served him and couldn't care less. But up in his room the ash trays had been full of butts and there were two empty cartons in the garbage and anyone who smokes that much had to pick up cigarettes somewhere.

Basil Levitt did it two blocks away. He got his papers there too. The old lady who ran the place remembered him well and didn't mind talking about it.

'I know the one,' she told me. 'I wondered when the cops would get down here. I even woulda seen them only I wanted to see how fast they'd get here. Sure took you long enough. Where you from, son?'

'Uptown.'

'You know what happened?'

'Not yet.'

'So what do you want with me?'

'Just talk, Mom.'

'So ask.'

'Suppose you tell.' I grinned at her. 'Maybe you want the third degree, sweetie, just like in TV... okay?'

She waved her hand at me. 'That stuff is dead. Who hits old ladies any more except delinquents?'

'Me. I hit old ladies.'

'You look like the type. So ask me.'

'Okay... any friends?'

She shook her head. 'No, but he makes phone calls. One of the hot boys... never shuts the door.' She nodded toward the pay booth in back.

'You listened?'

'Why not? I'm too old to screw so I get a kick out of love talk.'

'How about that?'

'Yeah, how?' She smiled crookedly and opened herself a Coke. 'He never talked love talk, never. Just money and always mad.'

'More, Mom.'

'He'd talk pretty big loot. Five G's was the last... like he was a betting man. Was he, son?'

'He bet his skin and lost. Now more.'

She made a gesture with her shoulders. 'Last time he was real mad. Said something was taking too long and wanted more loot. I don't think he got it.'

'Any names?'

'Nope. He didn't call somebody's house, either.'

I waited and she grinned broadly.

'He only called at a certain time. He had to speak up like wherever the other party was, it was damn noisy.

'That's how come I heard him.'

'You'd make a good cop, Mom.'

'I been around long enough, son. You want to know something else?'

'That's what I'm here for.'

'He carried a package once. It was all done up in brown paper and it wasn't light. It was a gun. Rifle all taken down, I'd say. You like that bit?'

'You're doing great. How'd you know?'

'Easy. It clunked when he set it down. Besides, I could smell the gun oil. My old man was a nut on those things before he kicked off. I smelled that stuff around the house for years.'

Then I knew what bugged me right after Basil Levitt died. I said my thanks and turned to go. She said, 'Hey...'

'What?'

'Would you really hit an old lady?'

I grinned at her. 'Only when they need it,' I said.