The Mike Hammer Collection

I didn’t think he could do it, but he did. He grinned and stuck out his hand and instinctively I took it. “Okay, boy. It’s like before now. We start fresh. Do I get the story or does he?”

“First him, buddy,” I said, nodding toward Art, “then you. It’s bigger than local and I’m not just a private cop anymore.”

“They told me about your ticket. Smart.”

“You know me. Never travel small.”

“That’s right. Somebody’s got to be the hero.”

“Nuts. If I’m on a dead play, then I want odds that will pay off.”

“They did.”

“Damn right they did. I stuck it up and broke it off. Everybody wanted me dead and instead it turned all the way around. So I got the payoff. A big ticket and the rod back and nobody puts the bull on me until I flub it royally . . . and this, friend, I’m not about to do again.”

“No?”

“Watch.”

“My pleasure, big buddy.” He grinned. Again. “Mind if I leave and you talk it out with Mister Government here?”

“No. But be at your office soon. She’ll be there and so will I.”

“Soon?”

“An hour.”

“I’ll be waiting, hero.”

When he left Art Rickerby said, “She has to talk right away. Where is she?”

“I told you . . . in an hour . . . at Pat’s office.”

“There were dead men here.”

“So . . .”

“Don’t piddle with me, Mike.”

“Don’t piddle with me, Art.”

“Who were they?”

“I damn well don’t know, but this you’ll do and damn well do it right.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“No? I’ll shove it up your tail if I want to, Art, and don’t you forget it. You do this one my way. This is something else from your personal angle and leave it alone. Let those dead men be. As far as anybody is concerned they’re part of The Dragon group and the last part at that. There ain’t no more, the end, finis. They came for Velda and I was here to lay on the gravy like I did the rest and you go along with it. What’s here is not part of your business at all, but for the moment you can cover me. Do it.”

“Mike . . .”

“Just do it and shut up.”

“Mike . . .”

I said softly, “I gave you The Dragon, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I was dead. You exhumed me. You made me do things that were goddamned near impossible and when I didn’t die doing them you were surprised. So be surprised now. Do like I tell you.”

“Or . . .?’

“Or Velda won’t come in.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive, friend.”

“It will be done.”

“Thanks.”

“No trouble.”

And Velda told them the next day. She spelled it out in detail and a government organization collapsed. In Moscow thirty men died and in the East Zone of Berlin five more disappeared and in South America there was a series of accidents and several untimely deaths and across the face of the globe the living went to the dead in unaccountable numbers and codes and files were rearranged and meetings hastily brought about and summit conferences planned and in the U.N. buildings whole new philosophies were adopted and decisions brought about in a changed light and as suddenly as she had been a threat to a different world, she had become a person again. She had nothing more to give and in the world of politics there was no retribution as long as you knew nothing new and really didn’t care at all.

But there was something new. There were two dead men to tell about it and somewhere in the city was another with a bullet in his gut looking for somebody to take it out and if the little blonde didn’t tell, one of these would.

You just didn’t lay dead men at your feet without someone coming looking for you.

And I had them at my feet.

CHAPTER 2

I knew I had a tail on me when I left the D.A.’s office. It had been nicely set up even though Rickerby had put the fix in for me. No local police force likes to be queered out of a deal in their own backyard, and if they could move in, orders or not, they were going to give it the big try. If Pat had set the tail it would have been hard to spot, but the new D.A. was too ambitious to figure out there were civilian-type pros in the police business too.

For an hour I let him wait outside bars, fool around a department store while I picked up a few goodies, then went in one door of the Blue Ribbon Restaurant on Forty-fourth, around through the bar, and out that door while he was looking for me at the tables. I was back on Seventh Avenue before he knew I was gone, flagged down a cab, and had him cut over to Forty-ninth and Ninth.

Connie Lewis’ place was called “La Sabre” and turned out to be a downstairs supper place for the neighborhood trade. It specialized in steaks and chops and seemed to be built around a huge charcoal grill that smoked and sizzled into a copper canopy. Connie was a round little woman with a perpetual smile and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth that said it was for real. It had been years since I had seen her and she hadn’t changed a bit.

But me she didn’t recognize at first. When it did come she beamed all over, tried to get me to drink, then eat, and when I wouldn’t do either, showed me the way to the staircase going upstairs and told me Velda was on the second floor rear with her company.