My Gun Is Quick

Chapter Seven

There was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper of the car, staring me in the face. I pulled it off, read it over and stuck it in the glove compartment. Another few hours to be wasted in a police court. I sat there a minute, my hands on the wheel, trying to line things up in order. Hell, there was no order. I was like the chairman of a meeting trying to rap for quiet with a rubber gavel, when the whole assembly was on its feet shouting to be heard.

Red's ring was there on my finger, a tiny circlet of gold that had slipped around until it looked like a wedding band. I straightened it, held it out in the dimming light to look at it better, wishing the thing could speak. All right, maybe it could-maybe. I jammed the car in gear, pulled up to Ninth Avenue and turned south.

By the time I reached the downtown section most of the smaller shops had closed. I cruised the avenue slowly, looking for a jewelry shop run by an old friend of mine. I found it by luck, because the front had been done over and the lights were out and he was getting ready to go home.

When I banged on the door he twitched the shade aside, recognized me with a big grin and unlocked the door. I said, "Hullo, Nat. Got time for a few words?"

He was all smiles, a small pudgy man who took prosperity in the same alpaca coat and shiny pants as he did the leaner years. His hand was firm around mine as he waved me in. "Mike," he laughed, "for you I have plenty of time. Come in the back. We talk about old times."

I put my arm around his shoulders. "About times now, Nat. I need some help."

"Sure, sure! Here, sit down." He pulled out a chair and I slid into it while he opened a bottle of wine and poured a drink for us both.

We toasted each other, then spilled it down. Good wine. He filled the glasses again, then leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach.

"Now, Mike, what is it that I can do for you? Something not so exciting like the last when you made me be bait to trap those chiselling crooks, I hope."

I grinned and shook my head as I pulled off the redhead's ring and handed it to him. Automatically, his fingers dipped into his vest pocket and came up with a jeweler's glass that he screwed into his eye.

I let him turn it over several times, look at it carefully, then told him, "That's the job, Nat. Can that ring be traced?"

He was silent for several minutes as he examined every detail of the band, then the glass dropped into his palm and he shook his head. "Antique. If it has a peculiar history maybe..."

"No history."

"That is too bad, Mike. It is very important that you should know?"

Very.

"What I should say, I don't know. I have seen many rings of this type before, so I am quite certain I am right. However, I am just one man..."

"You're good enough for me, Nat. What about it?"

"It is a woman's ring. Never inscribed as far as I can see, but maybe an inscription has been worn off. Notice the color of the gold, see? The composition of the metal is not what is used today to harden gold. I would say that this ring is perhaps three hundred years old. Maybe more, even. It is more durable than most rings, otherwise the pattern would have been worn off completely. However, it is not as pretty as the gold nowadays. No, I am sorry, Mike, but I cannot help you.

"The pattern, Nat; know anybody who could trace that?"

"If you found the company that made it..." He shrugged. "Their records might go back. But see... three hundred years means it was made in the Old Country. What with the war and the Nazis..." He shrugged again, hopelessly this time. I nodded agreement and he went on, "In those days there were no big companies, anyway. It was a father-and-son business. For a ring like this it was a special order and that is all."

I took the ring back and slipped it on my finger again. "Well, Nat, it was a good try just the same. At least I cut down a lot of unnecessary footwork."

His pudgy face warped into a quizzical frown. "Do not the police have methods to bring out inscriptions that have been worn off, Mike?"

"Yeah, they can do it, but suppose I do find a set of initials. Those would belong to the original owner, and since it's a woman's ring, and no doubt passed down through the family, how often would the name have changed? No, the inscription wouldn't do much good, even if I did find the original owner. It was just an idea I had." If it hadn't been an antique it might have solved the problem. All it did was set me up in the other alley wondering where the hell I was.

I stood up to leave and stuck my hand out. Nat looked disappointed. "So soon you must go, Mike? You could come home with me and maybe meet the wife. It has been a year since the last time."

"Not tonight, Nat. I'll stop back some other time. Say hullo to Flo for me, and the kids."

"I'll do that. Them kids, they be pretty mad I don't bring you home."

I left him standing there in the doorway and climbed back in the car. Red's ring was winking at me, and I could see it on her finger again as she graced a battered old coffee cup.

Damn it!... I had the key and I couldn't find the lock! Why the devil would a killer take this thing off her finger? What good was it to him if it couldn't be traced? And who was the goon that carried it around with him until he lost it? Hell's bells, it couldn't be a red herring across the path or it never would have turned up again!

My mind was talking back to me then. One part of me drove the car away from the curb and stopped for red lights. The other part was asking just why I got beat up at all? Yeah, why did I? And why was it planned so nicely? Oh, it was planned quick, but very, very nice! I wasn't important enough to kill, but I did warrant a first-class going-over. A warning?

Sure! What else?

Murray and his boys didn't know me from Adam, but they spotted a phoney in my story and figured me as a wise guy, or somebody with an angle, so it was a warning to steer clear. And one of the goons who had done this warning had killed the redhead or was tied up with it some way.

I was uptown without knowing it. I had crossed over and was following a path I had taken once before, and when I slowed down outside the parking lot I knew what I was after.

I made a U-turn and parked at the curb across the street, then walked to the corner, waited for the light to change and strolled to the other side. I couldn't be sure if the attendant was the same one who was on the other night; at least this one was awake.

He opened the window when I rapped on it and I said, "Anybody lose anything in here recently, bud?"

The guy shook his head. "Just a guy what lost his car keys. Why, find something?"

"Yes, but there's no money involved. A little trinket a dame might like to have back. Just thought I'd ask."

"Check the ads in the papers. If she wants it bad enough maybe she'll advertise. Got it with you?"

"Naw. Left it home."

He said, "Oh!" shut the window and went back to his chair. I started to walk away, but before I reached the building that bordered the lot a car turned in and its lights cut a swath down the rows. I saw a pair of legs jump back from the glare and duck in among the cars.

I stopped flat.

The legs had gone up the same row I had run into last night.

My heart started doing a little dance and the other part of me was saying go to it, that's why you came here in the first place. Maybe you got your hands on something, only don't botch it up this time. Take it easy and keep your eyes open and a gun in your fist.

The car turned its lights out and a door slammed. Feet started walking back towards the gate, and a fat guy in a Homburg said something to the man in the booth, laughed and angled across the street. I waited a second, then put my hands on the fence and hopped over.

This time I didn't take any chances. I stayed between the cars and the wall, keeping my head down and my footsteps soft. Twice the gravel crunched under my shoes and I stopped dead, listening. Two rows up I heard a soft shuffling sound and a shoe kick metal.

I reached inside my coat and loosened the gun in the holster.

The guy was too busy to hear me. He was down on one knee sifting the gravel through his fingers, his back towards me. I stood up from the crouch I was in and waited as he inched his way back.

Another car turned into the lot and he froze, holding his position until it had parked and the driver had left the lot, then he went back to his sifting. I could have reached out and touched him then.

I said, "Lost something?"

He tried to get up so fast he fell flat on his face. He made, it on the second try and came up swinging, only this time I was ready. I smashed one into his mouth and the guy slammed against the car, but that didn't stop him. I saw his left looping out and got under it and came into him with a sharp one-two that doubled him over. I didn't try to play it clean. I brought my knee up and smashed his nose to a pulp and when he screamed he choked on his own blood.

I bent over and yanked him up and held him against the car, then used my fist on his face until his hands fell away and he was out with his eyes wide open.

When I let go he folded up and sat in the gravel staring into the dark.

I lit a match and cupped it near his face, or what was left of it. Then I swore under my breath. I had never seen the guy in my life before. He was young, and he might have been handsome, and the clothes he wore weren't the ready-made type. I swore again, patted his sides to see if he had a rod, and he didn't. Then I lifted his wallet. It was hand-tooled morocco, stuffed with dough, a few cards and a driver's license issued to one Walter Welburg. Out of curiosity I tapped his pockets and there weren't any keys in them. Maybe the guy was looking for that.

Damn! I blew the match out, went down past the cars and hopped over the fence feeling like a dummy.

I left the car where it was and headed across town on the same walk that had taken me into the trap, only this time I wasn't tailing anybody. The street was getting lousy with taxis, and the evening crowd was just beginning to show its face. Already the dives had their doors open like gaping mouths swallowing the suckers, and the noise of a dozen bands reached the sidewalk. Ahead of me the Zero Zero Club was a winking eye of invitation, and the flunky was opening taxi doors, picking himself a hatful of quarters. He didn't see me duck in, so he lost a two-bit tip.

The hat-check girl gave me a bored smile and a ticket, then when she saw the marks on the side of my face she grinned, "What's the matter... she say no and you didn't believe her?"

I grinned right back. "I was fighting her off, kid."

She leaned over on the counter and propped her chin in her hands, giving me a full view of what went on down the neckline of her blouse. It was plenty. "I don't blame her for fighting for it, feller," she said. "I'd fight, too."

"You wouldn't have to."

I blew her a kiss and she made like she caught it and stuffed it down her neckline. Her eyes got dark and sensuous and she said, "You have to come back for your hat. Maybe I'll trade you... even."

A couple in evening clothes came in and she turned to them while I went inside. Most of the tables around the dance floor were filled, and a baby spot played over a torch singer who was making more music with her hips than her throat. Neither Murray nor his boys were anywhere around so I found a table in the back and ordered a highball and watched the show.

The waiter brought the drink and before I sipped it half-way through a hand went through my hair and I looked up to see my blonde hostess smiling at me. I started to rise but she pushed me back and pulled the other chair out and sat down.

"I've been looking for you," she said.

She leaned over and took a cigarette from my pack and tapped it on the table. When I lit it for her she blew a stream of smoke into the air. "You spoke of five hundred bucks the last time..."

"Go on."

"Maybe I can deliver."

"Yeah?"

"But not for five hundred bucks."

"Holding me up?"

"Could be."

"What have you got? Five hundred can get me a lot of things.

The torch singer was coming to the end of the number and the blonde took another drag on the butt, then rubbed it out in the ashtray. "Look, get out of here before the lights go on. I'll be through here at one o'clock and you can pick me up on the corner. We can go up to my place and I'll tell you about it."

"O.K."

"And you better bring more than five hundred."

"I'll see what I can do," I told her.

She smiled at me and laid her hand over mine. "You know, you seem like a pretty nice joe, mister. See you at one."

I didn't wait for the lights to go on. I threw the rest of the drink down, waved the waiter over and paid him, then went out to the foyer. The kid at the hat window gave me a mock scowl. "You're too eager. I don't get off for hours yet."

I threw a half in the cup while she retrieved my hat, and when she handed it to me she took that stance that showed me where she put the kiss I threw at her. And she didn't mind my looking.

I took out a bill, folded it lengthwise and poked it down there out of sight. "If the boss doesn't find it you can keep it."

"He'd never think of looking there," she grinned devilishly. She stood up and there was no trace of the green at all. "But you can have it back if you want to chase it."

This time I pushed my hat on my head and started for the door. Hell, I was no Indian giver. But maybe the Indians had something if they played games like that.

My watch said I had a long while to wait, so I cut over two blocks and found a bar that had a few empty stools. I ordered a beer and a sandwich twice, then started in to enjoy a mild evening, but I kept drifting back to the blonde. Something was going to cost me and I hoped it was worth it. Five hundred bucks, just half my fee. It took me two hours to make up my mind, then I went to the phone booth in the back, dropped in a nickel and asked for long-distance.

The operator came on and I gave her my client's number. The gnome squeaked out a hullo, told me Mr. Berin had retired for the night, but when I insisted I wanted to speak to him, put the phone down and shuffled off muttering to himself. I had just finished putting in another handfull of dimes when Mr. Berin gave me a sleepy "Good evening."

"This is Mike, Mr. Berin. Sorry I had to disturb you, but something important has come up."

"It did? Is it something I should know?"

"Well, yes. It concerns money."

He chuckled, the tiredness out of his voice. "Then I'm glad to be of use to you, Mike. What is it?"

"I may have a line on the redhead. For a dodge I offered a, dame five bills..."

"What was that?"

"Five hundred bucks... if she did some successful snooping. Apparently she did. But now she wants more. Shall I go for it or do I try to get it out of her some other way?"

"But... what is it? Did she... ?"

"She wouldn't talk. Wants me to meet her later."

"I see." He thought a moment. Then, "What do you think, Mike?"

"It's your show, Mr. Berin, but I'd say look it over and if it's worth anything, buy it."

"Then you think it's worth something?"

"I'd take that chance. The dame's a hostess in the Zero Zero and she knew Nancy. At least she knew her quite a while ago and it looks as if that's where the bones lie buried."

"Then do it, Mike. The sum is trivial enough... at least to me. You, er, look it over, and do what you think is best."

"O.K., but she wants the dough right away."

"Very well. You write her a check, then call me, and I'll wire that amount to your bank so it will be there in the morning to cover it."

"Right. I'll buzz you later. Take it easy."

I stuck the phone back in its cradle and went back to the bar. At twelve-thirty I gathered up my change, whistled at a cab outside and had him drive me over to where I left my heap.

It was five minutes past one when I cruised past the corner and saw the blonde coming towards the curb. I rolled the window down and yelled for her to hop in. She recognized me, opened the door and slid on to the seat.

"Nice timing. Where to?" I pulled away from the curb and got into the line of traffic going uptown.

"Straight ahead. I have a place on Eighty-ninth."

She had a beat-up overnight bag between her feet and I indicated it with a nod. "That the stuff?"

"Uh-huh." The blonde opened her purse and pulled out a lipstick. There wasn't much light, but she seemed to be getting it on straight. When I stopped for a red I took a good look at her. Not a bad number at all. The curves looked real and in some spots too good to be true.

She turned her head and looked straight into my eyes, then let a little grin play with the corners of her mouth. "Curious?"

"About the bag?"

"About me?"

"I'm always curious about blondes."

She waited to see what I was going to do then, but the light turned green and I rolled with the traffic. At Eighty-ninth I turned over until she told me to stop, then pulled into the curb and killed the engine. When I opened the door for her I picked up the bag and let her step out.

"You wouldn't think of running off with that, would you?" She hooked her arm in mine.

"I thought of it, then I got curious."

"About the bag?"

"Abut you." Her hand squeezed mine and we walked to the apartment. At the door she fished out a key, opened it, then led me upstairs two flights to a front apartment and flicked on the light.

It was an old high-ceilinged affair done over in a welter of curves and angles the designers call modern. Each wall was a different color of pastel with tasteful but inexpensive pictures in odd groupings. The furniture looked awkward, but it was comfortable enough.

When I threw my hat over a lamp the blonde said, "Shouldn't we introduce ourselves? I'm Ann Minor." She shrugged out of her coat, looking at me peculiarly.

"Mike Hammer, Ann. I'm not an insurance investigator. I'm a private cop."

"I know. I was wondering if you were going to tell me." Her laugh was one of relief.

"Who told you that?"

"Me. I knew damn well I had seen you or your picture somewhere before. It didn't come to me until tonight, though."

"Oh!"

"It was your picture."

"Was that why you shooed me out of the joint so fast?"

"Yes. Murray isn't fond of cops, not even private ones."

"What has a legitimate businessman got to be afraid of?"

"Say that again and leave out one word."

I didn't. I sat there on the arm of a chair and watched her. She hung her coat in a closet, took my hat from the lamp and put it on the shelf and closed the door. Then she turned around fast and walked over to me.

"I'm no kid," she said. "I don't think I ever was a kid. You weren't in the club looking for a good time and I knew it. When you mentioned Nancy I had a pretty good idea what' you were after, and I get the wim-wams when I think about getting mixed up in anything. Tell me something, how good are you?"

I had a .45 out and pointed at her stomach almost before she finished the sentence. When she had a good look at it I slid it back in the leather and waited. Her eyes were wider than before.

"I hate Murray. There are other guys I hate too, but he's the only one I can point to and say I'm sure I hate. Him and his butt boys."

"What have you got against him?"

"Don't play coy, Mike. He's a rat. I don't like what he does to people. You know what he is or you wouldn't be here now."

"What did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything to me. But I saw what he did to other kids. He pays my salary and that's all, but I have to stand by and watch what happens in that place. He's a smooth talker, but he always gets what he wants."

My fingers were itching to get to the bag on the floor and she knew it. Ann smiled again, reading my mind, then she tapped the wallet in my inside pocket. "Bring the money?"

"As much as I could get."

"How much?"

"That depends on what's in it. What are you going to do with the stake?"

"Take a long trip, maybe. Anything to get away from this town. I'm sick of it."

I walked over and picked up the bag. It wasn't very heavy. There were paint splotches across the top and long scuffed streaks down the side. Maybe here was the answer. Maybe this was the reason the redhead was killed. I ran my hand across the top, tried the catch, but, it was locked. "Yours?" I asked her.

"Nancy's, Mike. I came across it this morning. We have a small prop-room behind the bandstand that's full of junk. I was hunting for some stuff for the dressing-room when I came across it. There was a bus tag on the handle with Nancy's name on it and I knew it was hers."

"How did it get in there?"

"A long time ago Murray remodelled the place. Probably Nancy was off at the time and when they cleaned out they tossed all the odds and ends in the prop-room. I imagine she figured she lost it."

Ann went outside and came back with a bottle and two glasses. We both had a drink in silence, then she filled the glasses again and settled into the corner of a sofa and watched me. The way she sat there reminded me of a cat, completely at ease, yet hiding the tension of a coiled spring. Her dress was loose at the shoulders, tapering into a slim waist that was a mass of invitation. She sipped her drink, then drew her legs up under her, letting me see that not even the sheerest nylon could enhance the firm roundness of her thighs. When she breathed, her breasts fought the folds of her dress and I waited to see the battle won.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Her voice was taunting.

"I need an ice pick... a chisel--something." It wasn't easy to speak.

She put her drink on the end table and uncoiled from the couch. She passed too close and I reached out and stopped her, but I didn't have to make the effort because she was in my arms, her mouth burning on mine, pulling herself so close that I could feel every part of her rubbing against me deliciously. I tangled my fingers in her hair and pulled her head back to kiss her neck and shoulders, and she moaned softly, her body a live, passionate thing that quivered under my hands.

When I let her go her eyes were smouldering embers ready to flame; then she gave me that quick smile that showed her teeth white and even, and she drew her tongue deliberately over full, ripe lips that wanted to be kissed some more, until they glistened wetly and made me want to reach out and stop her again.

Before I could, she went, out through an archway and I heard her rummage around in a drawer, pawing through cutlery until she found what she wanted. The drawer closed, but she didn't come right back. When she did the dress was gone and she had on a clinging satin robe and nothing else, and she passed in front of the lamp to be sure I knew it.

"Like it?" she asked me.

"On you, yes."

"And on someone else?"

"I'd still like it."

She handed me one of those patented gadgets that was supposed to solve every household mechanical difficulty, even to a stuck window. I took it while she fished in my pocket for a cigarette and fired it from a table-lighter. She blew the smoke in my face and said, "Can't that wait?"

I kissed the tip of her nose. "No, honey, it can't."

When I turned around and stuck the edge of the gadget under the clasp of the lock she walked away from me. I pried at the metal until the tool bent in my hand, then reversed it and used the other end. This time I was in luck. The hasp made a sharp snapping sound and flew open. The outside snaps were corroded where the plating hadn't peeled off, but they opened easily enough; but before I could open the bag the light snapped off and there was only the dim glow from the table-lamp at the other end of the room.

Ann whispered, "Mike?"

I looked around to bark something at her, but nothing would come out because Ann had thrown the robe over the back of the couch and stood there in the center of the room, a living statue in high-heeled shoes smoking a cigarette that reflected orange-colored lights from her eyes. She stood with her feet spread apart and her hand on her hip, daring me with every muscle in her body.

She stood there until I grabbed her and squeezed so hard she breathed into my mouth, then she bit me on the neck and slid out of my hands to the couch. I had to follow her.

My hand shook when I reached for a cigarette. Ann grinned up at me, and her voice was soft, almost musical. "I was wondering if I could be important to anybody any more."

I kissed her again. "You can be important any time. You happy now that you steered me right off the track?"

"Yes."

She didn't say a word when I stood up and went back to the table, but her eyes followed me every second. I dragged on the cigarette again, but it caught in my chest and I put it out. This time I laid the case down and flipped open the lid.

I whistled softly under my breath. The bag was crammed full of baby clothes, every one brand-new. I fingered them slowly, the tiny sweaters, boots, caps, other things I had no name for. At the bottom of the bag were two soft cotton blankets, neatly folded, waiting to be used.

A dozen thoughts were going through my head, but only one made any sense. The redhead was a mother. Somebody was the father. A wonderful, beautiful set-up for blackmail and murder if ever I saw one. Only Nancy wasn't that kind of a girl. Then there was one other thing. All the clothes were new. Some of them showed where price tags had been glued on. What about that?

I ran my hand through the pockets of the lining. The ones on the side brought up an assortment of safety pins, a lipstick and a small mirror. The lid pocket held a folder of snapshots. I opened them out and looked at them, seeing a Nancy different from the one I had known. Here was a young girl, sixteen perhaps, on the beach with a boy. Then another with a different boy. Several had been taken on an outing or a picnic, but Nancy seemed to show no special preference for any one fellow.

She was different then, with the freshness of a newly opened flower. There were no harsh lines in her face, no wise look about the eyes. She was new then, new and lively. Her mouth and eyes seemed to smile at me, as if knowing that some day these pictures would be here in front of me. There were only two that showed her hands clearly, but in each one I saw the same thing. She was wearing her ring.

I looked over the background carefully, hoping to spot some landmark, but there was none. They showed only stretches of water or sand. When I flipped them over there were no marks indicating date or the outfit that developed them. Nothing. Now my blind alley had a wall at the end. A nice high wall that I couldn't get over without a ladder.

I heard Ann speak to me then. She asked, "Does it help you?"

An idea was beginning to jell and I nodded. I pulled out my checkbook and wrote on it, then laid the slip on the table. I made up my mind as to the value, but just the same I queried, "What are you asking for it?"

When she didn't answer I turned around and looked at her, still lying there naked and smiling. Finally she said, "Nothing. You've paid for it already."

I snapped the bag shut and went over to the closet for my hat, then opened the door. The redhead had been right all along the line; but Mr. Berin still owed me five hundred bucks, to be deposited in the morning. Ann would get that trip she wanted.

I winked at her and she winked back, then the door clicked shut behind me.