The Mike Hammer Collection

“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.

He was right. It was a very long time ago. But it could have been yesterday. I could see her face, the golden tan of her skin, the incredible whiteness of her hair and eyes that could taste and devour you with one glance. Yet, Charlotte was there still. But dead now.

“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 poised kill-crouch of a cat, all cleverly disguised by clothes and the innocent aspect of rimless bifocals.

Now he was deadly. All too often people have the preconceived notion that a deadly person is a big one, wide in the shoulders with a face full of hard angles and thickset teeth and a jawline that would be a challenge too great for anyone to dare. They’d be wrong. Deadly people aren’t all like that. Deadly people are determined people who will stop at nothing at all, and those who are practiced in the arts of the kill are the most deadly of all. Art Rickerby was one of those.

“That’s not a very official attitude,” I said.

“I’m just trying to impress you,” he suggested.

I nodded. “Okay, kid, I’m impressed.”

“Then what about Cole?”

“There’s another angle.”

“Not with me there isn’t.”

“Easy, Art, I’m not that impressed. I’m a big one too.”

“No more, Hammer.”

“Then you drop dead, too.”

Like a large gray cat, he stood up, still pleasant, still deadly, and said, “I suppose we leave it here?”

“You pushed me, friend.”

“It’s a device you should be familiar with.”

I was getting tired again, but I grinned a little at him. “Cops. Damn cops.”

“You were one once.”

After a while I said, “I never stopped being one.”

“Then cooperate.”

This time I turned my head and looked at him. “The facts are all bollixed up. I need one day and one other little thing you might be able to supply.”

“Go ahead.”

“Get me the hell out of here and get me that day.”

“Then what?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you something, maybe I won’t. Just don’t do me any outsized favors because if you don’t bust me out of here I’ll go out on my own. You can just make it easier. One way or another, I don’t care. Take your pick.”

Rickerby smiled. “I’ll get you out,” he said. “It won’t be hard. And you can have your day.”

“Thanks.”

“Then come to me so I won’t have to start looking for you.”

“Sure, buddy,” I said. “Leave your number at the desk.”

He said something I didn’t quite catch because I was falling asleep again, and when the welcome darkness came in I reached for it eagerly and wrapped it around me like a soft, dark suit of armor.

CHAPTER 4

He let me stay there three days before he moved. He let me have the endless bowls of soup and the bed rest and shot series before the tall thin man showed up with my clothes and a worried nurse whose orders had been countermanded somehow by an authority she neither understood nor could refuse.