The Mike Hammer Collection

I knocked, then kicked the door open. A rat scurried along the edge of the wall and shot past my feet into the light. The place was as empty as a tomb. But it had been occupied. Someone had turned the one room into a shambles. A box seat was freshly splintered into sharp fragments on the floor, and the makeshift stove in the middle of the room lay on its side. Over in the corner a bottle lay smashed in a million pieces, throwing jagged glints of light to the walls. She had been here. There was no doubt of it. Two more pieces of the same fabric I held in my hand were caught on the frayed end of the wooden table. She had put up a hell of a fight, all right, but it didn’t do her any good.

When the voice behind me said, “Hey, you!” I pivoted on my heel and my hand clawed for the gun I didn’t have. A little old guy in baggy pants was peering at me through the one lens of his glasses, wiping his nose on a dirty hunk of rag at the same time.

“That’s not healthy, Pop.”

“You one of them there college kids?” he asked.

I eased him out the door and came out beside him. “No, why?”

“Always you college kids what go around in yer shorts. Seed some uptown once.” He raised his glasses and took a good look at my face. “Say . . . you ain’t no college kid.”

“Didn’t say I was.”

“Well, what you guys joining? I seed ya swimming in the crick, just like the other one.”

I went after that other one like a bird after a bug. “What other one?” My hands were shaking like mad. It was all I could do to keep my hands off his shirt and shake the facts out of him.

“The one what come up t’other day. Maybe it was yesterday. I disremember days. What ya joining?”

“Er . . . a club. We have to swim the river then reach the house without being seen. Guess they won’t let me join now that somebody saw me. Did you see the other guy too?”

“Sure. I seed him, but I don’t say nothing. I seed lotta funny things go on and I don’t ask no questions. It’s just that this was kinda funny, that’s all.”

“What did he look like?”

“Well, I couldn’t see him too good. He was big and fat. I heered him puffing plenty after he come out of the weeds. Yeah, he was a big feller. I didn’t know who he was so I went back through the woods to my boat.”

“Just the other guy, that’s all you saw?”

“Yep.”

“Nobody else?”

“Nope.”

“Anybody live in that shack?”

“Not now. Comes next month and Pee Wee’ll move in. He’s a tramp. Don’t do nothing but fish and live like a pig. He’s been living there three summers now.”

“This other one you saw, did he have a mean-looking face, sort of scowling?”

“Ummmm. Now that you mention it, he looked kinda mad. Guess that was one reason why I left.”

Dilwick. It was Dilwick. The fat slob had gotten the jump on me again. I knew he was smart . . . he had to be to get along the way he did, but I didn’t think he was that smart. Dilwick had put the puzzle together and come out on top. Dilwick had found Grange in the shack and carted her off. Then why the hell didn’t he produce her? Maybe the rest of the case stunk, but this part raised a putrid odor to high heaven. Everybody under the sun wanted in on the act, now it was Dilwick. Crime upon crime upon crime upon crime. Wasn’t it ever going to end? Okay, fat boy, start playing games with me. You think you pulled a quickie, don’t you? You think nobody knows about this . . . T.S., junior, I know about it now, and brother, I think I’m beginning to see where I’m going.

“How can I get back to the bridge without swimming, Pop?”

He pointed a gnarled finger toward the tree line. “A path runs through there. Keeps right along the bank, but stick to it and nobody’ll see ya in ya jeans. Hope they let ya join that club.”

“I think I can fix it.” I batted away the bugs that were beginning to swarm around me and took off for the path. Damn Dilwick anyway.

CHAPTER 10

Going back was rough. My feet were bleeding at the end of the first hundred yards and the blue-tailed flies were making my back a bas-relief of red lumps. Some Good Samaritan had left a dirty burlap bag that reeked of fish and glinted with dried scales in the path and I ripped it in half and wrapped the pieces over my instep and around my ankles. It wasn’t so bad after that.

By the time I reached the bridge the sun was hanging well up in the sky and a few office workers were rolling along the road on their way to town. I waited until the road was clear, then made a dash across the bridge to the car and climbed into some dry clothes. My feet were so sore I could hardly get into my shoes, but leaving the laces open helped a little. I threw the wet shorts in the back with the rest of the junk and reached for a butt. There are times when a guy wants a cigarette in the worst way, and this was one of them.