The Mike Hammer Collection

He bobbed his head, relishing the moment. “I even see it done on some TV shows now, but it woulda worked. We had a truck with a tailgate ramped down. We was to drive the cab right in there and take off. So the cops found the truck and another one we was going to change to. It’s all down. Instead that bastard Blackie crossed us.”

“What were you going to do to the driver?”

“Toss him out, bump him. Who knows? We woulda figured somethin’.”

“You had a hideout?”

“Yeah, a house in the Catskills we had rented ahead of time. The cops plastered that looking for Blackie. He made all the arrangements on that end and never got to use ’em. Coulda been the crime of the century.”

“Maybe it was,” I said.

Sonny was reaching for his glass and stopped short. “What’re you thinking, boy?”

“Maybe while Blackie was making plans for you he was making other plans for himself. Suppose he arranged for an alternate hideout and made it after all. Suppose he bumped the driver, ditched the car, and holed up all these years and finally decided to come back again. Now he’s here with three million bucks taking his last fling, buying himself an organization.”

He listened, sat silent a moment, then shook his head and picked up his beer. “Not old Blackie. He couldn’t live without the broads and now he’s too old.”

“Ever hear of a voyeur?”

“What’s that?”

“They can’t do it so they just watch. I know a few old jokers who get their kicks that way. They got millions too.”

“I think you’re nuts,” he said, “but any time you want to talk about it come back and talk. You’re the first company I had around in a long time.”

“Sure.” I wrote down my new address on a matchbook cover and passed it to him. “Reach me here or at the office if you get any ideas. You can earn some cash.”

I put a buck on the table and left. Behind me Sonny was still chuckling. I’d like to be there if he ever got to meet Blackie face to face.

CHAPTER 7

I called Hy from a drugstore on the avenue and got Pete Ladero’s address from him. I reached him at home and asked him if he could get the newspaper clips on the Motley-Conley job thirty years ago and bring them up to the office. He griped about leaving his favorite TV program, but his nose for news was too big and he said it would take an hour, but he’d be there.

At the Automat on Sixth between Forty-fourth and Forty-fifth I picked up a tray, loaded it with goodies, and went upstairs to think for a while. It wasn’t accidental. I knew Jersey Toby would be there the same as he had been there at the same time every night the past ten years. I let him finish his meal, picked up my coffee, and joined him at his table. When he saw me he almost choked, gave a quick look around, and tightened up.

“Damn, can’t you get off my neck? Whatta you want?”

“Talk, Toby, just talk.”

“Well, I said all I’m gonna say. Scratch off, Mike. I don’t want no part of you, buddy. You know I got asked questions already?”

“Who asked?”

“Some broad in the other joint. She knew you all right. I tried to lie out of it and said you was looking for a dame for that night but she wouldn’t buy it. Said she knew you too well. You’re hooked for somebody else. You’re putting my tail in a sling.”

“So I’ll make it short.”

“Like hell. You won’t make nothing.”

“Okay, Toby, then tomorrow a pickup goes out on you. You get rousted every time you step on the street. Lineup twice a week, complaints . . .”

Jersey Toby looked at me, his face white and drawn. “Come on, you wouldn’t do that.”

“Try me.”

He finished his coffee, looked around nervously again until he was assured we were alone, and nodded. “You would at that. Okay, spill it.”

“Let’s go back to Dickerson again, Toby.”

“We went through that once.”

“You get the word.”

“Sure . . . secondhand through the broads.”

“Good enough. What’s the word on the money angle? If out-of-town hoods are moving in, something’s drawing them. Who’s spreading the green around?”

Toby’s tongue flicked at dry lips and he pulled on the butt. “Look . . . if I prime you, this is the last?”

I shrugged.

“Let’s hear it, Mike.”

“You bought it. I’ll back off.”

“Okay then, Marge . . . she’s the redhead. She was with . . . a guy one night. No names, Mike. I ain’t giving you names. I specialize in that end of the trade. Marge, she’s a favorite with the hard boys. Does a lot of fancy tricks for them, see? Well, this guy . . . like he’s representing somebody big. He’s like muscle on lend. He comes in to do a favor. He’s Chicago and ready. He ain’t saying what’s to do, but he stands ready. Now his boss man lends him out because a favor was asked, only his boss man don’t do no favors. It’s got to be bought or got to be forced. Somebody’s got something on his boss man and is making a trade.

“Don’t ask what it is. Who am I to know? I just put two and two together until it works out. Somebody is building an organization and although money is there it’s the pressure that’s bringing the boys in.”