Read Online The Death Dealers by Mickey Spillane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mickey Spillane
Ads: Link
can make it rough, but I can make it easy.”
“Spell it out, Tiger.”
“Get me a clearance on that gun again.”
“It can’t be done.”
I leaned back in the chair again and sat there a few seconds. “No?”
One of the young guys said, “It can be worked through Army Intelligence.”
Hal glared at him, his teeth tight. Finally he walked to the phone, dialed a number, and spoke softly a few minutes before hanging up. “They want your old ASN, the serial numbers on the gun and your 201 file.”
“At Church Street?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll get it in the morning.” I got up and handed Hal Randolph a pen and sheet of paper. “Certify the deal in writing.”
“It won’t mean a thing.”
“Then don’t fight it. Just do it.”
He wrote a few paragraphs, signed it and handed it to me. I gave the pen and paper to each one in turn, had them witness it, took it back and folded it into my pocket. The last guy said pleasantly, “One thing, Mann ...”
“I know,” I cut in, “where’s the gun?”
“A matter of professional interest.”
I showed them and they stored the gimmick away in their minds before they left. At the door Hal said, “I’ll be in touch with you.”
“Do that,” I told him.
Then I made arrangements with Central to get my papers to Army Intelligence and went down and got my rod back. I felt better with it back at my waist again.
Rondine took her lunch break from one to two, so I gave her the extra hour so I’d catch her at the U.N. and got the call through at three sharp. I knew Lennie Byrnes would be monitoring her calls for her and he gave me the clear sign and put her on. So far neither of them had seen anyone out of the ordinary nor was any overt move made against them. Lennie was staying in tight, ready for any emergency, acting the role of a magazine writer doing a piece on U.N. translators. Everyone had been very cooperative.
I told them I’d pick them up outside the building at six and if I wasn’t there to get right back to the apartment and stay there. I hung up and was about to dial Charlie to tell him what went on with Hal Randolph when the phone went off.
I said, “Yes?”
“Virgil Adams, Tiger. Identify.”
Two words made the contact definite and he said, “Telephoto just arrived from Brazil. Your tip about the hospitals having photos paid off. We have a set of three, but two are of the wound, only one gives a good, clear close-up of his face. I’ll send it over by messenger right away.”
“Okay, but get it to Ernie Bentley. I’ll want some dupes and I don’t want anything put in my box downstairs.”
“Roger. Be about an hour.”
“How about the informants?”
“Nothing. We’ve covering the usual spots, but I don’t have any feeling that we’ll luck out there. Turos knows the ropes too well. If this is a solo operation on his part he won’t make any contacts at all.”
“He already made one,” I reminded him.
“That may be all you’ll need.”
“I hope not. Reach me through Ernie later if anything develops.”
“Roger.”
I hung up, tried Charlie Corbinet but got no answer. Now I had to start playing it right down the line again.
chapter 5
You take all your Federal agencies, your highly trained but obscure intelligence units, your college degrees and your high IQ, hand-selected personnel working under bureau orders, sure, you take them. When you want a job done, give me New York’s finest in or out of uniform. Give me the beat cop, the plainclothesmen, the dedicated people so imbued with the city and its environs that they can do a character study of anybody in a half second.
They came out of the womb of the city and although they’re tied to her apron strings by a paycheck, they’re the big independents who love her enough to keep her clean. They sweat in the sun at street crossings, they prowl the festered parts of her body because she nursed them in the beginning, they take the abuse of the other sons and never quit.
“Spell it out, Tiger.”
“Get me a clearance on that gun again.”
“It can’t be done.”
I leaned back in the chair again and sat there a few seconds. “No?”
One of the young guys said, “It can be worked through Army Intelligence.”
Hal glared at him, his teeth tight. Finally he walked to the phone, dialed a number, and spoke softly a few minutes before hanging up. “They want your old ASN, the serial numbers on the gun and your 201 file.”
“At Church Street?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll get it in the morning.” I got up and handed Hal Randolph a pen and sheet of paper. “Certify the deal in writing.”
“It won’t mean a thing.”
“Then don’t fight it. Just do it.”
He wrote a few paragraphs, signed it and handed it to me. I gave the pen and paper to each one in turn, had them witness it, took it back and folded it into my pocket. The last guy said pleasantly, “One thing, Mann ...”
“I know,” I cut in, “where’s the gun?”
“A matter of professional interest.”
I showed them and they stored the gimmick away in their minds before they left. At the door Hal said, “I’ll be in touch with you.”
“Do that,” I told him.
Then I made arrangements with Central to get my papers to Army Intelligence and went down and got my rod back. I felt better with it back at my waist again.
Rondine took her lunch break from one to two, so I gave her the extra hour so I’d catch her at the U.N. and got the call through at three sharp. I knew Lennie Byrnes would be monitoring her calls for her and he gave me the clear sign and put her on. So far neither of them had seen anyone out of the ordinary nor was any overt move made against them. Lennie was staying in tight, ready for any emergency, acting the role of a magazine writer doing a piece on U.N. translators. Everyone had been very cooperative.
I told them I’d pick them up outside the building at six and if I wasn’t there to get right back to the apartment and stay there. I hung up and was about to dial Charlie to tell him what went on with Hal Randolph when the phone went off.
I said, “Yes?”
“Virgil Adams, Tiger. Identify.”
Two words made the contact definite and he said, “Telephoto just arrived from Brazil. Your tip about the hospitals having photos paid off. We have a set of three, but two are of the wound, only one gives a good, clear close-up of his face. I’ll send it over by messenger right away.”
“Okay, but get it to Ernie Bentley. I’ll want some dupes and I don’t want anything put in my box downstairs.”
“Roger. Be about an hour.”
“How about the informants?”
“Nothing. We’ve covering the usual spots, but I don’t have any feeling that we’ll luck out there. Turos knows the ropes too well. If this is a solo operation on his part he won’t make any contacts at all.”
“He already made one,” I reminded him.
“That may be all you’ll need.”
“I hope not. Reach me through Ernie later if anything develops.”
“Roger.”
I hung up, tried Charlie Corbinet but got no answer. Now I had to start playing it right down the line again.
chapter 5
You take all your Federal agencies, your highly trained but obscure intelligence units, your college degrees and your high IQ, hand-selected personnel working under bureau orders, sure, you take them. When you want a job done, give me New York’s finest in or out of uniform. Give me the beat cop, the plainclothesmen, the dedicated people so imbued with the city and its environs that they can do a character study of anybody in a half second.
They came out of the womb of the city and although they’re tied to her apron strings by a paycheck, they’re the big independents who love her enough to keep her clean. They sweat in the sun at street crossings, they prowl the festered parts of her body because she nursed them in the beginning, they take the abuse of the other sons and never quit.
Similar Books
