The Mike Hammer Collection

He got up to go and I reached for my coat. I picked the letter out and handed it to him. “It was in Sue’s teddy bear. It puts a lock on Sim all the way. I don’t advise showing it to the kid though.”

Pat read it through once, shook his head, and put it in his inside coat pocket. “You’re a card, man, a real card. What kind of luck have you got?”

“The best kind.”

“Don’t pull that kind of stunt on Grebb, buddy.”

“You know me.”

“Sure I know you.”

I let them out and went back and stretched out on the couch. Velda made me some coffee and had one with me. I drank mine staring at the ceiling while I tried to visualize the picture from front to back. It was all there except the face. Blackie Conley’s face. I knew I was going to see it soon. It was a feeling I had.

“Mike . . . where are we going?”

“You’re thinking ahead of me, kiddo.”

“Sometimes I have to.”

“You’re not going anyway.”

“Don’t cut me out, Mike.” Her hand touched the side of my jaw, then traced a tingling line down my chin.

“Okay, doll.”

“Want to tell me what you have in your mind?”

“A thought. The only thing that’s wrong with the picture.”

“Oh? What?”

“Why Blackie Conley would want to kill Sim.”

“Mike . . .” She was looking past me, deep in thought. “Since it was Torrence who engineered that robbery and not Conley as you first thought, perhaps Conley suspected what was going to come off. Supposing he outguessed Torrence. In that case, he would have had the whole bundle to himself. He would have made his own getaway plans and broken out at the right time. Don’t forget, Conley was older than Sonny and he was no patsy. There was no love between the pair either. In fact, Conley might even have guessed who the brain was behind the whole thing and had reasons for revenge.”

“You might have something there, kitten.”

“The first try was for Sue,” she went on. “That really was an indirect blow at Sim. The next try was for them both.”

“There’s a possible flaw in your picture too, but I can supply an answer.”

She waited. I said, “It’s hard to picture a guy in his eighties going up that trellis. He’d have to hire it done . . . but that’s why the hoods are in town.”

“I don’t know, Mike. Remember Bernarr Macfadden making his first parachute jump into the river when he was about the same age?”

“Uh-huh. It could be done.”

“Then the answer is still to find Blackie Conley.”

“That’s right.”

“How?”

“If we can restore another old man’s memory we might get the answer.”

“Sonny Motley?”

“Yup.”

“Tonight? ”

“Right now, sugar.”

CHAPTER 10

Finding Sonny Motley’s apartment wasn’t easy. Nobody in the gin mills knew where he lived; the cop on the beat around his store knew him but not his address. I checked the few newsstands that were open and they gave me a negative. It was at the last one that a hackie standing by heard me mention the name and said, “You mean that old con?”

“Yeah, the one who has the shoe shop.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. We need some information about a missing person and he might be able to help us.”

“Ha, I’d like to see those old cons talk. They won’t give nobody the right time.”

“You know where he lives?”

“Sure. Took him home plenty of times. Hop in.”

We climbed in the cab, went angling up to a shoddy section that bordered on the edge of Harlem, and the cabbie pointed out the place. “He’s downstairs there on this side. Probably in bed by now.”

“I’ll get him up.” I gave him a buck tip for his trouble and led the way down the sandstone steps to the iron gate at the bottom. I pushed the bell four or five times before a light came on inside.

A voice said, “Yeah, whatta ya want?”

“Sonny?”

“Who’re you?”

“Mike Hammer.”

“Oh, fer . . .” He came to the door, opened it, and reached for the grilled gate that held us out. He had a faded old robe wrapped around his body and a scowl on his face as black as night. Then he saw Velda and the sky lightened. “Hey . . . how about that.”

“This is Velda, my secretary. Sonny Motley.”

“Hello, Sonny.”

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in. Hot damn, I ain’t had a broad in my joint since before I went to stir. Hot damn, this is great!” He slammed the gate, locked the door, and led the way down the hall. He pushed his door open and said, “Don’t mind the place, huh? So it’s a crummy place and who comes here? I’m a crummy old man anyway. Sure feels good to have a broad in the joint. Want a drink?”

“I’ll pass,” I said.

“Not me.” He grinned. “A sexy broad comes in like her and I’m gonna have me a drink.”

“I thought you were all over the sex angle, Sonny.”

“Maybe inside I am, but my eyes don’t know it. No, sir. You sit down and let me get dressed. Be right back.”

Sit down? We had a choice of box seats. Egg boxes or apple boxes. There was one old sofa that didn’t look safe and a chair to match that had no cushion in it. The best bet was the arms of the chair so Velda took one side and I took the other.