The Mike Hammer Collection

The whole thing didn’t seem possible, all those years trapped in Europe. You could walk around the world half a dozen times in seven years. But you wouldn’t be trapped then. The thing was, they were trapped. Had Velda or Erlich been amateurs they would have been captured without much trouble, but being pros they edged out. Almost. That made Velda even better than he had been.

Somehow, it didn’t seem possible.

But it was.

Hy had reached the Blue Ribbon before me and waited at a table sipping a stein of rich, dark beer. I nodded at the waiter and he went back for mine. We ordered, ate, and only then did Hy bother to give me his funny look over the cigar he lit up. “It’s over?”

“It won’t be long now.”

“Do we talk about it here?”

“Here’s as good as any. It’s more than you can put in your column.”

“You let me worry about space.”

So he sat back and let me tell him what I had told Laura, making occasional notes, because now was the time to make notes. I told him what I knew and what I thought and where everybody stood, and every minute or so he’d glance up from his sheets with an expression of pure incredulity, shake his head and write some more. When the implications of the total picture began really to penetrate, his teeth clamped down on the cigar until it was half hanging out of his mouth unlit, then he threw it down on his plate and put a fresh one in its place.

When I finished he said, “Mike—do you realize what you have hold of?”

“I know.”

“How can you stay so damn calm?”

“Because the rough part has just started.”

“Ye gods, man—”

“You know what’s missing, don’t you?”

“Sure. You’re missing something in the head. You’re trying to stand off a whole political scheme that comes at you with every force imaginable no matter where you are. Mike, you don’t fight these guys alone!”

“Nuts. It looks like I have to. I’m not exactly an accredited type character. Who would listen to me?”

“Couldn’t this Art Rickerby—”

“He has one purpose in mind. He wants whoever killed Richie Cole.”

“That doesn’t seem likely. He’s a trained federal agent.”

“So what? When something hits you personally, patriotism can go by the boards awhile. There are plenty of other agents. He wants a killer and knows I’ll eventually come up with him. Like Velda’s a key to one thing, I’m a key to another. They think that I’m going to stumble over whatever it was Richie Cole left for me. I know what it was now. So do you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hy said. “It was Velda’s location, wherever she is.”

“That’s right. They don’t know if I know or if I’ll find out. You can damn well bet that they know he stayed alive waiting for me to show. They can’t even be sure if he just clued me. They can’t be sure of anything, but they know that I have to stay alive if they want to find Velda too.”

Hy’s eyes went deep in thought. “Alive? They tried to shoot you twice, didn’t they?”

“Fine, but neither shot connected and I can’t see a top assassin missing a shot. Both times I was a perfect target.”

“Why the attempt then?”

“I’ll tell you why,” I said. I leaned on the table feeling my hands go open and shut wanting to squeeze the life out of somebody. “Both tries were deliberately sour. They were pushing me. They wanted me to move fast, and if anything can stir a guy up it’s getting shot at. If I had anything to hide or to work at, it would come out in a hurry.”

“But you didn’t bring anything out?”

I grinned at him and I could see my reflection in the glass facing of the autographed pictures behind his head. It wasn’t a pretty face at all, teeth and hate and some wildness hard to describe. “No, I didn’t. So now I’m a real target because I know too much. They know I don’t have Velda’s location and from now on I can only be trouble to them. I’ll bet you that right now a hunt is on for me.”

“Mike—if you called Pat—”

“Come off it. He’s no friend anymore. He’ll do anything to nail my ass down and don’t you forget it.”

“Does he know the facts?”

“No. The hell with him.”

Hy pushed his glasses up on his head, frowning. “Well, what are you going to do?”

“Do, old buddy? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going after the missing piece. If I weren’t so damn slow after all those years I would have caught it before. I’m going after the facts that can wrap up the ball game and you’re going with me.”

“But you said—”

“Uh-uh. I didn’t say anything. I don’t know where she is, but I do know a few other things. Richie Cole came blasting back into this country when he shouldn’t have and ducked out to look for me. That had a big fat meaning and I muffed it. Damn it, I muffed it!”

“But how?”

“Come on, Hy—Richie was a sailor—he smuggled her on the ship he came in on. He never left her in Europe! He got her back in this country!”

He put the cigar down slowly, getting the implication.