Read Online The Killing Man by Mickey Spillane - Free Book Online

stayed that way and the stuff stayed with him everything would’ve been okay. But he came out of it.”
    Now I was beginning to see what he was getting at. “And you think somebody else was watching him too, waiting for him to shake off the amnesia.”
    He just looked at me, not saying a word.
    “Where do I come in?” I asked him.
    “Mike, you got a big reputation, you know that?”
    “So?”
    “You have your fingers in all kinds of shit. You move with the clean guys and you go with the dirty ones just as easy. Nobody likes to mess with you because you’ve blown a few asses off with that cannon of yours and you got buddies up in Badgeville where it counts. So you’d be just the kind of guy Tony DiCica would run to with a story that would keep his head on his shoulders.”
    “Crazy,” I said.
    “Not really. He’d been to your office three times before.”
    “Business with the printer. My secretary took care of it.”
    “You say. He could have been discussing his business.”
    “Wrong,” I stated.
    “Can you prove otherwise?”
    I thought a second. “No.”
    “The day he was killed he had come in to arrange something with you. Before you got there somebody else showed up and did the job, expecting to walk away with the information. He didn’t have it on him, but he sure would have talked when he was getting his fingers whacked off.”
    This thing was really coming back at me. “Okay, what’s my part?”
    “He is your client, Mr. Hammer. He has told you all in return for an escape route you are to furnish.”
    “That’s a lot of bullshit, you know.”
    A gesture of his hands meant it didn’t make any difference. “You see, as far as certain people are concerned, you are in until they say you’re out. The information Tony had can be worth a lot of money and can cause a lot of killing. One way or another, they expect to get it back.”
    “What happens if the cops get it first?”
    “Nobody really expects that to happen,” he said. He pulled his cuff back and looked at his watch. “If the killer didn’t get the info from Tony he’ll be thinking the same way the others are ... that you have it or know where it is.”
    I took one more sip of my drink and stood up. “I guess everybody wants me dead.”
    “At least certain people are giving you a few days of grace to make a decision.”
    I could feel my lips pulling back in controlled anger and knew it wasn’t a nice grin at all. I pulled the .45 out, watched his eyes go blank until I flipped out the clip and fingered a shell loose. I handed it to him. “Give them that,” I said.
    “What’s this supposed to mean?”
    “They’ll know,” I told him.

4
    I’ve often wondered how Petey Benson got his information. The phone was his friend and the taxis were his ally. He seemed to know nobody, yet knew everybody. Twice in recent years his inside stories blew two administrations out of office and his penetration into a Wall Street operation almost wrecked a bank. Crime wasn’t his bag, but devious causes were. Breaking down the intricate machinations of the power jockeys brought a glow to his face.
    We met in front of the Plaza Hotel, then ducked inside to the bar. At this time there were only two others at the far end, immersed in their own business. Petey slid an envelope to me and I pulled out two sheets of handwritten notes and a photostat.
    Petey asked me, “Want a drink?”
    I wanted to read the notes, but said, “CC and ginger.”
    What he had scribbled were highlights of Candace Amory’s background. Her family was one of those deadly kind that dropped a smoldering genius into the political arena every other generation, spewing out minor luminaries along the way. None of the Amorys ever really made the big time because they were smart enough to stay where the power base could be manipulated. Within her own family Candace Amory was a wild hair up everybody’s ass, but seemingly controllable.
    It was the photostat that laid it all out.