Primal Spillane: Early Stories 1941-1942

Last Ride

Dank mist swirled about the narrow streets of lower Manhattan, rolling in off the river like a huge prehistoric monster. Slowly it blotted out the docks, and continued in its relentless course up the narrow avenues, enveloping the tall buildings until all that remained were the weird, eerie eyes of the street lamps, glowing faintly through the grey shroud.

Standing at the curb in front of the International Bank Building, a black sedan ran softly, its rear door open. Suddenly, out of the heavy blanket of fog came the muffled reports of several shots. Immediately, two men ran out of the bank carrying a leather bag under each arm. They leaped into the sedan, slammed the door after them, and the car roared into life down the street.

Mike Greer sat back against the cushions and looked at his companion. “Some haul, eh!”

The skinny, mean-looking guy beside him turned with a grunt.

“Sure thing, Mike, and we had it timed perfectly, too. You sure did a smart thing when you decided to pull this job under cover of the fog!”

“Well, that’s the way it is. Doc, be smart and you never get caught!”

Vic Renolds slid his husky body out of the car and walked into the bank. Inside, the medical examiner was bending over the two watchmen, while the terrified president blurted out the story. The two would-be killers had walked in unseen, a minute before closing, shot at the watchmen without batting an eyelash, forced the teller to fill their bags with bills, then ran out to a waiting car and sped away into the fog.

Hands on hips, Vic listened to the story. As the ace investigator for Eastern Insurance, it was up to him to get to the bottom of the whole bloody mess before the crooks could get rid of the hot dough. The job had been so smoothly handled that, outside of the slugs expected from the watchmen, there were no other clues. The only witnesses were the president and the tellers, who were so frightened and confused that their descriptions of the men conflicted in every detail.

Holding the red-stained slugs in his hand, little Jake Morse walked over to Vic. “Here they are, Reynolds, they look like Magnum slugs to me! What d’ya think?”

“Magnum, eh, that’s a pretty tricky gun for any of the local hoods to carry. Any other clues around?”

“Nothing that I can see,” Jake said, “except maybe for the position of the bullet wounds. It seems to me that the skunks shot from hip level, and did a pretty neat job of it, at that!”

Vic’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the little M.E. “Do you remember Mike Greer?”

“Yeah, but he was sent up out on the coast a couple of years back. Why?”

“He’s the only bird I know of that uses a Magnum. I wonder...”

When Jake had the wounded watchmen safely on their way to a hospital, the two stepped out of the bank into the medical examiner’s dilapidated old jalopy. For a few minutes they rattled along in silence, then pulled up in front of a dirty brown building.

Vic looked questioningly at Jake. “What are we stopping here for?”

“I can read your mind, pal. You’ve been brooding over that Greer angle, and I know you wouldn’t be happy until you did a little investigating on the old boy. This is the place where he used to hang out. Come on, let’s go in!”

They went into a musty old pool room. Dim light hung from the ceiling, over the faded green cloth of the tables. Two hawk-eyed men wielded the cues expertly, while lounging against the desk was the fat, scowling owner. Vic and Jake walked over to him.

“What do youse guys want?” he snarled. The little M. E., for all his size, bristled like an alley cat. “Button your lip, punk. I’ll do the talking. We’re looking for Greer. Now cut out the comics and play ball, or you’ll get your teeth slapped down your throat!”

“Why you little...” A beefy-hand swung through the air, but Vic had seen it coming, pushed Jake out of the way, and snapped over a hard right. The big man hit the floor with a thud. Vic looked down at him.

“Now where’s Greer?”

The fat guy looked up with a sneer. If looks could kill, this one would have done away with them both. He didn’t answer at first, but his eyes glowed hate.

“You’ll never find him!”

Vic leaned down. Heavy as the guy was, Vic dragged him to his feet and let him have a few hard jabs to the chin, until blood trickled slowly from the corner of the mouth. Vic gave him a shove and he sat down hard in his own desk chair.

“You told me more than you think!” the ace investigator said. “Come on. Jake, I got ideas!”

Their next stop was a swanky uptown apartment house. A uniformed doorman frowned at the rattletrap old car, but a flash of the M.E.’s badge soon had him tamed down. They went into the elevator, with Jake dying of curiosity.

“What are we doing in this place, Vic? It isn’t anything like the places Greer hung out in. I don’t get it!”

Vic smiled. “Like all cheap crooks who get their hands on some dough, our friend, Greer, had to put on a front. This place was where he lived — under an assumed name, of course — while he was in the money. No one was supposed to be in the know, but Greer was tailed on another job once, and led us here. What I’m banking on is that he couldn’t give up the place after getting back into circulation.”

“Oh, once a king always a king, eh?”

“Something like that. Here we are. Be quiet. If this pans out the way I expect it to, you’ll have to watch your hide. Greer’s a nervous man with a gun!” Vic took a gun from each of his two shoulder holsters. He handed one to Jake. Stepping out of the elevator, the two tip-toed noiselessly to the end of the corridor.

Warily, they stood to each side of the door. Vic rapped a sharp tattoo on the door with his gun butt. Footsteps, then the bolt rasped. The door opened, and a tall skinny man nodded at them.

“What can I do fer you guys!”

Vic gave him a cold glance.

“Well, well, ‘Doc’ Gibbons, in the flesh!” Vic’s hand shot out and grabbed his shirt front. “Where’s Greer?”

Just then something round and hard pressed into Vic and Jake’s backs.

“Here I am, feller! It looks like you forgot that my apartment had two doorways leading out to the hall. Well, it’ll be the last mistake you’ll ever make! Turn around and start walking. You’re going for a nice long ride down to the river!”

Vic turned around. Greer stood there grinning from ear to ear, a Magnum in each hand. He motioned, and Jake and he walked slowly to the elevators. Greer shoved the guns into each pocket. The first false move would be their last, Vic knew. This called for some fast thinking.

Without a word being spoken, they rode down the elevator. Whenever they hesitated, the gun muzzles went into their backs, a gentle reminder. Outside the trio halted. No one took any notice of them, for apparently they were but three men bent on business.

Little Jake was so nervous that he started to shake visibly. Greer only grinned at this. Had he but seen the queer expression on the insurance investigator’s face he might have been puzzled, for Vic was smiling, a smile that said, “If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do, you wouldn’t be so happy!”

The killer whistled for a cab and they got in, Jake on the end, Vic in the middle, and after covering them from the other end. Vic leaned over Jake, seemingly to open the window, but Greer rammed the gun into his ribs. “Leave the window down, bud. I don’t want you hollering to the nearest cop!”

“Lot of good that would do, right?”

“Right! This is the end of the trail for you boys! Maybe when they find your bodies in the river I’ll send you a batch of posies. Ha, ha!” Greer leaned forward and rolled down the window behind the driver. “Over to the water front, cabbie!” He turned the window back up again and sat back.

Tell me!” Vic said. “Was it you who pulled the job on the Central Trust Banks and knocked off the guards?”

“Seeing how you’ll never squeal — yeah, it was me. Not half bad either, was it?” The crook threw his head back and roared at the thought. “Yep! They let me out of the jug on good behavior, and two days later I had two jobs under my belt!”

Talking about his various escapades. Greer never noticed the direction the cab was taking. Nor did he dare take his eyes from Vic or Jake for a moment. The cab jolted to a stop along the curb. Immediately the place was a bedlam of blue-coated cops, shouting for all they were worth.

The surprise of the police jolted Greer into immobility. Vic and Jake grabbed his gun, and shoved him out of the cab. In a minute the cops had the whole story, then Vic turned to the cabbie, winked broadly, and slipped him a five spot.

Some time later the still puzzled Jake shoved Vic into a doorway and faced him, hands on his hips. “Listen, you! I was in on this snatch as well as you! Now that Greer has come clean about where the dough is, and his accomplices were, maybe you can loosen up and tell me how you foxed him!”

Vic grinned. “Remember when I went to roll down the cab window? Well, I really flipped the switch on the little two-way telephone system in the cab. The driver heard every word of the conversation, and deliberately drove the wrong way up a one-way street to the station house, just as all the cops were lined up outside for inspection!”