The Mike Hammer Collection

I parked between a new Ford and a Caddy convertible. There were no lights on in Alice’s apartment, but I didn’t doubt that she’d want to see me. I slid out and went into the tiny foyer and looked at the bell. It was hers. For a good five seconds I held my finger on it, then opened the door and went up the steps. Before I reached the top, Alice, in the last stages of closing her robe, opened the door, sending a shaft of light in my face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she exclaimed. “You certainly pick an awful time to visit your friends.”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?” I grinned.

“Silly, come on in. Of course I’m glad to see you.”

“I hate to get you up like this.”

“You didn’t. I was lying in bed reading, that’s all.” She paused just inside the door. “This isn’t a professional visit, is it?”

“Hardly. I finally got sick and tired of the whole damn setup and decided to give my mind a rest.”

She shut the door. “Kiss me.”

I pecked her on the nose. “Can’t I even take my hat off?”

“Oooo,” she gasped, “the way you said that!”

I dropped my slicker and hat on a rack by the door and trailed her to the living room. “Have a drink?” she asked me.

I made with three fingers together. “So much, and ginger.”

When she went for the ice I took the place in with a sweep of my head. Swell, strictly swell. It was better than the best Park Avenue apartment I’d ever been in, even if it was above a store. The furniture cost money and the oils on the wall even more. There were books and books, first editions and costly manuscripts. York had done very well by his niece.

Alice came back with two highballs in her hand. “Take one,” she offered. I picked the big one. We toasted silently, she with the devil in her eyes, and drank.

“Good?”

I bobbed my head. “Old stuff, isn’t it?”

“Over twenty years. Uncle Rudy gave it to me.” She put her drink down and turned off the overhead lights, switching on a shaded table lamp instead. From a cabinet she selected an assortment of records and put them in the player. “Atmosphere,” she explained impishly.

I didn’t see why we needed it. When she had the lamp at her back the robe became transparent enough to create its own atmosphere. She was all woman, this one, bigger than I thought. Her carriage was seduction itself and she knew it. The needle came down and soft Oriental music filled the room. I closed my eyes and visualized women in scarlet veils dancing for the sultan. The sultan was me. Alice said something I didn’t catch and left.

When she came back she was wearing the cobwebs. Nothing else.

“You aren’t too tired tonight?”

“Not tonight,” I said.

She sat down beside me. “I think you were faking the last time, and after all my trouble.”

Her skin was soft and velvety-looking under the cobwebs, a vein in her throat pulsed steadily. I let my eyes follow the contours of her shoulders and down her body. Impertinent breasts that mocked my former hesitance, a flat stomach waiting for the touch to set off the fuse, thighs that wanted no part of shielding cloth.

I had difficulty getting it out. “I had to be tired.”

She crossed her legs, the cobwebs parted. “Or crazy,” she added.

I finished the drink off in a hurry and held out the glass for another. I needed something to steady my nerves.

Ice clinked, glass rang against glass. She measured the whiskey and poured it in. This time she pulled the coffee table over so she wouldn’t have to get up again. The record changed and the gentle strains of a violin ran through the Hungarian Rhapsody. Alice moved closer to me. I could feel the warmth of her body through my clothes. The drinks went down. When the record changed again she had her head on my shoulder.

“Have you been working hard, Mike?”

“No, just legwork.”

Her hair brushed my face; soft, lovely hair that smelled of jasmine. “Do you think they’ll find her?”

I stroked her neck, letting my fingers bite in just a little. “I think so. Sidon is too small a town to try to hide in. Did you know her well?”

“Ummm. What? Oh, no. She was very distant to all of us.”

More jasmine. She buried her face in my shoulder. “You’re a thing yourself,” I grinned. “Shouldn’t you be wearing black?”

“No. It doesn’t become me.”

I blew in her ear. “No respect for the dead.”

“Uncle never liked all those post-funeral displays anyway.”

“Well, you should do something since you were his favorite niece. He left you a nice lump of cash.”

She ran her fingers through my hair, bending my head close to hers. “Did he?” Lightly, her tongue ran over her lips, a pink, darting temptation.

“Uh-huh.” We rubbed noses, getting closer all the time. “I saw his will. He must have liked you.”

“Just you like me, Mike, that’s all I want.” Her mouth opened slightly. I couldn’t take any more. I grabbed her in my arms and crushed her lips against mine. She was a living heartbeat, an endless fire that burned hot and deep. Her arms went about me, holding tightly. Once, out of sheer passion, she bit me like a cat would bite.