Vengeance Is Mine

Her eyes dropped and her lips went into a pout. “He made me wait until twelve o’clock. He said he was tied up with some work. I got halfway stood up, Mike, and right after you were telling me how nice I looked.”

The match burned down to my fingers before I put it out. “That gave him a chance to get out to Rainey, kill him, and get back. That just about does it!” Velda’s eyes popped wide-open and she swallowed hard. “Oh, no, Mike . . . no I--I was with him right after . . .”

“On Dinky it wouldn’t show if he just killed a guy. Not on Dinky. He’s got too many of ‘em under his belt.”

I picked up my hat from the chair where I had tossed it and straightened out the wrinkles in the crown. “If the police call again stall ‘em off. Don’t mention Pat. If the D.A. is there call him a dirty name for me. I’ll be back later.”

When I stepped out the door I knew I wasn’t going to be anywhere later. A big burly character in high-top shoes got up off the top step where he was sitting and said, “Lucky the boys left a couple of us here after all. They’re gonna be mad when they get back from Brooklyn.” Another character just as big came from the other end of the hall and joined in on the other side.

I said, “Let’s see your warrant.”

They showed it to me. The first guy said, “Let’s go, Hammer, and no tricks unless you want a fist in your face.” I shrugged and marched over to the elevator with them.

The operator caught wise right off and shook his head sadly. I

could see he was thinking that I should’ve known better. I squeezed over behind him as some others got on and by the time we hit the lobby I felt a little better. When the operator changed his uniform tonight he was going to be wondering where that .25 automatic came from. Maybe he’d even turn it in to the cops like a good citizen. They’d have a swell time running down that toy.

There was a squad car right outside and I got in with a cop on either side of me. Nobody said a word and when I pulled out a pack of butts one of the cops slapped them out of my hands. He had three cigars stuffed in the breast pocket of his overcoat and when I faked a stretch my elbow turned them into mush. I got a dirty look for that. He got a better one back.

The D.A. had his office all ready for me. A uniformed cop stood by the door and the two detectives ushered me to a straight-backed chair and took their places behind it. The D.A. was looking very happy indeed.

“Am I under arrest?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Yes or no?” I gave him the best sarcasm I could muster. His teeth grated together.

“You’re under arrest,” he said. “For murder.”

“I want to use the telephone.”

He started smiling again. “Certainly. Go right ahead. I’ll be glad to speak to you through a lawyer. I want to hear him try to tell me you were home in bed last night. When he does I’ll drag in the super of your apartment, the doorman and the people who live on both sides of you who have already sworn that they heard nothing going on in your place last night.”

I picked up the phone and asked for outside. I gave the number of the bar where I was supposed to meet Pat and watched the D.A. jot it down on a pad. Flynn, the Irish bartender, answered and I said, “This is Mike Hammer, Flynn. There’s a party there who can vouch for my whereabouts last night. Tell him to come up to the D.A.’s office, will you?”

He was starting to shout the message down the bar when I hung up. The D.A. had his legs crossed and kept rocking one knee up and down. “I’ll be expecting my license back some time this week. With it I want a note of apology or you might not win the next election.”

One of the cops smacked me across the back of my head. “What’s the story?” I asked.

The D.A. couldn’t keep still any longer. His lips went thin and he got a lot of pleasure out of his words. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Hammer. Correct me if I’m wrong. You were out to the Glenwood Arena last night. You argued with this Rainey. Two men described you and identified you from your picture. Later they were all in the office when you opened the door and started shooting. One was hit in the leg, Rainey was-hit in the leg and head. Is that right?”

“Where’s the gun?”

“I give you credit enough to have gotten rid of it.”

“What happens when you put those witnesses on the stand?”

He frowned and grated his teeth again.

“It sounds to me,” I told him, “that they might make pretty crummy witnesses. They must be sterling characters.”

“They’ll do,” he said. “I’m waiting to hear who it is that can alibi you.”

I didn’t have to answer that. Pat walked in the office, his face gray around the mouth, but when his eyes lit on the smirking puss of the D.A. it disappeared. Bright boy gave him an ugly stare. Pat tried for a little respect and didn’t make it. I’ve heard him talk to guys in the line-up the same way he did to the D.A. “I was with him last night. If you had let the proper department handle this you would have known it sooner. I went up to his apartment about nine and was there until four A.M. playing cards.”

The D.A.’s face was livid. I could see every vein in his hand as he gripped the end of the desk. “How’d you get in?”

Pat looked unconcerned. “Through the back way. We parked around the block and walked through the buildings. Why?”

“What was so interesting at this man’s apartment that made you go there?”

Pat said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but we played cards. And talked about you. Mike here said some very uncomplimentary things about you. Shall I repeat them for the record?”

Another minute of it and the guy would have had apoplexy. “Never mind,” he gasped, “never mind.”

“That’s what I mean about having witnesses with sterling characters, mister,” I chipped in. “I take it the charges are dropped?”

His voice barely had enough strength to carry across the room. “Get out of here. You, too, Captain Chambers.” He let his eyes linger on Pat. “I’ll see about this later.”

I stood up and fished my other deck of Luckies. The cop with the smashed cigars still sticking out of his pockets watched me with a sneer. “Got a light?” He almost gave me one at that until he realized what he was doing. I smiled at the D.A., a pretty smile that showed a lot of teeth. “Remember about my license. I’ll give you until the end of the week.”

The guy flopped back in his chair and stayed there.

I followed Pat downstairs and out to his car. We got in and drove around for ten minutes going nowhere. Finally Pat muttered, “I don’t know how the hell you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Get in so much trouble.” That reminded me of something. I told him to stop and have a drink, and from the way he swung around traffic until we found a bar I could see that he needed it.

I left him at the bar to go back to the phone booth where I dialed the Globe office and asked for the sports editor. When Ed came on I said, “This is Mike, Ed. I have a little favor to ask. Rainey was knocked off last night.”

He broke in with, “Yeah, I thought you were going to tell me if anything happened. I’ve been waiting all day for you to call.”

“Forget it, Ed, things aren’t what you’re thinking. I didn’t bump the bastard. I didn’t know he was going to get bumped.”

“No?” His tone called me a liar.

“No,” I repeated. “Now listen . . . what happened to Rainey is nothing. You can do one of two things. You can call the D.A. and say I practically forecasted what was going to happen last night or you can keep quiet and get yourself a scoop when the big boom goes off. What’ll it be?”