The Mike Hammer Collection

The reaction was slow at first. They weren’t about to take any chances with two dead men on the floor, but they couldn’t go too far the other way either. Finally the older one handed my wallet back. “I knew you back in the old days, Mike.”

“Times haven’t changed much.”

“I wonder.” He nodded toward the two bodies. “I don’t suppose you want to explain about all this now?”

“That’s right.”

“You got a big ticket there. When?”

“Call Captain Chambers. This is his baby.”

“I guess it is.”

“There’s a new Inspector in the division. He might not like the action.”

“No sweat, friend. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying. I just remember you and Captain Chambers were friends.”

“No more.”

“I heard that too.” He holstered his gun. Behind him another pair came in cautiously, ready. “This a big one?” he asked.

“Yeah. Can I make a call?”

“Mind if I make it for you?”

“Nope.” I gave him a number that he already knew and watched his face go flat when I handed him the name. He went outside to the car, put the call through, and when he came back there was a subtle touch of deference in his attitude. Whatever he had said to the others took the bull off me and by the time the M.E. got there it was like someone had diplomatic immunity.

Pat came in five minutes later. He waited until the pictures were taken and the bodies removed, then waved everybody else out except the little man in gray whom nobody was big enough to wave out. Then he studiously examined my big fat .45 and said, “The same one, isn’t it?”

“It’s the only one I ever needed.”

“How many men have you killed with it?”

“Nine,” I said. Then added, “With that gun.”

“Good score.”

“I’m still alive.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

I grinned at him. “You hate me, buddy, but you’re glad, aren’t you?”

“That you’re still alive?”

“Uh-huh.”

He turned slowly, his eyes searching for some obscure answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes I can’t tell who is the worse off. Right now I’m not sure. It’s hard to kill friendships. I tried hard enough with you and I almost made it work. Even with a woman between us I can’t be sure anymore. You crazy bastard, I watch what you do, see you get shot and beat to hell and wonder why it has to happen like that, and I’m afraid to tell myself the answer. I know it but I can’t say it.”

“So say it.”

“Later.”

“Okay.”

“Now what happened?” He looked at Art Rickerby sitting in the chair.

I said, “Velda was here. I came for her. These two guys bust in, this one here first. The other came in time to break up the play.”

“Nicely parlayed.”

“Well put, buddy.”

“For an ex-drunk you’re doing all right.” He glanced at Rickerby again.

“Some people have foresight,” I reminded him.

“Do I leave now?” Pat said. “Do I go along with the Federal bit and take off ?”

For the first time Art Rickerby spoke. He was quiet as always and I knew that there were no ends left untied in the past I had just left. He said, “Captain . . . there are times when . . . there are times. It was you who forced Mr. Hammer into circumstances he could hardly cope with. It was a dead man and me who made him stick to it. If he’s anathema out of the past, then it’s our fault. We brought a man back who should have died a long time ago. The present can’t stand a man like that anymore. Now they want indecision and compromise and reluctance and fear . . . and we’ve dropped a hot iron in society’s lap. We’ve brought a man back who almost shouldn’t be here and now you and me and society are stuck with him.”

“Thanks a bunch,” I said.

“Sure,” Pat said to Art, “he’s always been in the special-privilege class, but now it’s over my head. You got the pull, Rickerby. I don’t get all the picture, but I’ve been around long enough to figure a few things out. Just clue me on this one.”

“Pat . . .” I started.

“Not you, Mike. Him.” He smiled with that gentle deceptive-ness. “And make it good. We have two dead men here and I’m not writing that off for anybody. No more I’m not.”

Art nodded and glanced at his watch. “The girl Velda,” he said, “she was the crux. She has information this country depends upon. A team of assassins was assigned to kill her and nobody could get to that team we called ‘The Dragon’ but him because nobody could be as terrible as they were. It turned out that he was even worse. If that is a good word. For that information this country would pay any price and part of the cost was to rehabilitate this man in a sense and give him back his privilege and his gun.

“The Dragon team is gone now. There is only the girl Velda. There is still that price to pay and he can call the tune. You have no choice but to back him up. Is that clear?”

“No, but it’s coming through,” Pat said. “I know most of the story but I find it hard to believe.”

I said, “Pat . . .”

“What?”

“Let’s leave it, kid. We were both right. So she’s still mine. If you want her then take her away, but you have to fight me for her and you haven’t got a chance in the world of winning.”

“Not as long as you’re alive,” he told me.

“Sure, Pat.”

“And the law of averages is on my side.”

“Why sure.”