The Mike Hammer Collection

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Hy had to get back to his desk at the Tribune building so I dropped him off and went ahead to Pat’s office. The uniformed sergeant at the desk waved to me, said Pat was upstairs in new quarters and to go ahead up.

He was eating at his desk as usual, too crammed with work to take time out at a lunch counter. But he wasn’t too busy to talk to me. I was part of his work. He grinned and said, “How is Velda?”

“Fine, but not for you.”

“Who knows?” He reached for the coffee container. “What’s up?”

“What did you get on Levitt and the other guy?”

“Nothing new on Levitt. He’d been sporting some fresh money lately without saying where it came from. It was assumed that he picked up his old blackmail operations.”

“And the other one?”

“Kid Hand. You knew him, didn’t you?”

“I’ve seen him around. Small-time muscle.”

“Then you haven’t seen him lately. He’s gone up in the world. Word has it that he’s been handling all the bookie operations on the Upper West Side.”

“Tillson’s old run?”

“Hell, Tillson was knocked off a year ago.”

“So who’s Hand working for?”

“I wish I knew. Mr. Big has been given the innocuous-sounding name of Mr. Dickerson, but nobody seems to know any more about him.”

“Somebody’s going to be taking over Hand’s end. There’ll be a shake-up somewhere.”

“Mike . . . you just don’t know the rackets anymore. It’s all I.B.M.-style now. Business, purely business, and they’re not being caught without a chain of command. No, there won’t be a shake-up. It’ll all happen nice and normally. Somebody else will be appointed to Kid Hand’s job and that will be that.”

“You guessed the bug, though, didn’t you?”

Pat nodded. “Certainly. What’s a wheel like Hand taking on a muscle job for anyway? You know the answer?”

“Sure. I’d say he was doing somebody a favor. Like somebody big.”

“Yeah,” Pat said sourly. “Now the question is, who was killing who? You nailed Hand, Levitt fired two shots, and we recovered one out of the ceiling.”

“Another one got Hand’s friend in the gut. You might check the hospitals.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Nuts, Pat. You figured it right after it happened.”

He swung around idly in his chair, sipping at the coffee container. When he was ready he said, “What were they really after, Mike?”

I took my time too. “I don’t know. Not yet I don’t. But I’ll find out.”

“Great. And with all that top cover you got I have to sweat you out.”

“Something like that.”

“Let me clue you, Mike. We have a new Inspector. He’s a tough nut and a smart one. Between him and the D.A., you’re liable to find your tail in a jam. Right now they’re trying hard to bust you loose for them to work over, so you’d better have pretty powerful friends in that office you seem to be working for.”

I put my hat on and stood up. “Anything I come up with you’ll get.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically, then grinned.

Sim Torrence lived inside a walled estate in Westchester that reflected the quiet dignity of real wealth and importance. A pair of ornate iron gates were opened wide, welcoming visitors, and I turned my rented Ford up the drive.

The house, a brick colonial type, was surrounded by blue spruces that reached to the eaves. Two black Caddies were parked in front of one wing and I pulled up behind them, got out, touched the doorbell, and waited.

I had expected a maid or a butler, but not a stunning brunette with electric blue eyes that seemed to spark at you. She had an early season tan that made her eyes and the red of her mouth jump right at you and when she smiled and said quizzically, “Yes? ” it was like touching a hot line.

I grinned crookedly. “My name is Hammer. I’m looking for Mr. Torrence.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“No, but I think he’ll see me. It’s about his daughter.”

The eyes sparked again with some peculiar fear. “Is she . . . all right?”

“Fine.”

Then relief took over and she held out her hand to me. “Please come in, Mr. Hammer. I’m Geraldine King, Mr. Torrence’s secretary. He’s going to be awfully glad to see you. Since Sue ran off again he’s been so upset he can’t do a thing.”

“Again?”

She glanced up at me and nodded. “She’s gone off several times before. If she only knew what she does to Mr. Torrence when she gets in one of her peeves she’d be more considerate. In here, Mr. Hammer.” She pointed into a large study that smelled of cigars and old leather. “Make yourself at home, please.”

There wasn’t much time for that. Before I had a chance to make a circuit of the room I heard the sound of hurried feet and Big Sim Torrence, the Man-Most-Likely-To-Succeed, came in looking not at all like a politician, but with the genuine worry of any distraught father.

He held out his hand, grabbed mine, and said, “Thanks for coming, Mr. Hammer.” He paused, offered me a chair, and sat down. “Now, where is Sue? Is she all right?”

“Sure. Right now she’s with a friend of mine.”

“Where, Mr. Hammer?”

“In the city.”

He perched on the edge of the chair and frowned. “She . . . does intend to come back here?”

“Maybe.”