Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer 02] by My Gun Is Quick Page B

I wound up here.”
    This time Pat was the one who laughed. “Is that all? I could have told you that if you’d called me.” I froze on the phone. “Her name was Sanford, Nancy Sanford. She used several first names, but seemed to stick to Nancy most of the time, so we picked it as her own.”
    My teeth grinding together made more sound than my voice. “Who said so?”
    “We have a lot of men on the force, Pat. A couple of the patrolmen got on to her.”
    “Maybe you know who killed her, too.”
    “Sure. The kid did. The lab finally found traces of fender paint on her clothes, and strands of fibers from her dress on the car. It was as simple as that.”
    “Was it?”
    “Uh-huh. Besides, we have a witness. At least a witness who saw her just a few minutes before she was killed. A janitor was putting out the ashes and saw her staggering up the street, dead drunk. She fell, got up again and staggered some more. Later she was discovered a half block away in the gutter where she was hit.”
    “Did you trace her parents... anybody at all who knew her?”
    “No, we couldn’t get that far. She did a good job of wiping out all traces of her past.”
    “So now she gets the usual treatment... pine box and all.”
    “What else, Mike? The case is closed except for the kid’s trial.”
    I snarled into that mouthpiece, “So help me, Pat, if you lower her coffin before I’m ready, I’ll beat the hell out of you, cop or no cop!”
    Pat said quietly, “We’re not in a hurry, Mike. Take your time, take your time.”
    I set the receiver back in its cradle gently and stood up, saying her name over and over again. I must have said it too loud, because the willowy brunette at the corner table looked up at me with a quizzical expression in eyes that had seen through too many bottles of liquor. She was a beaut, all right, not part of this section of town at all. She had on a black satin dress with a neckline that plunged down to her belt buckle, and she sat there with her legs crossed, unconscious of what she was giving away for free.
    The heavily rouged lips parted in a smile and she said, “Nancy ... always Nancy. Everybody’s looking for Nancy. Why don’t they pay a little attention to pretty Lola?”
    “Who was looking for Nancy?”
    “Oh, just everybody.” She tried to lean her chin on her hand but her elbow kept slipping off the table. “I think they found her, too, because Nancy isn’t around any more. Nancy’s dead. Did you know Nancy was dead? I liked Nancy fine but now she’s dead. Won’t pretty Lola do, mister? Lola’s nice and alive. You’ll like Lola lots when you get to know her.”
    Hell, I liked Lola already.

Chapter Four
    WHEN I SAT DOWN beside the brunette the bartender watched me so hard the three drunks at the rail turned around too. The drunks didn’t matter, they couldn’t see that far, so I turned on my best nasty look and the bartender went about his business. Just the same he stayed down at the end where he could hear things if they were said too loud.
    Lola uncrossed her long, lovely legs and leaned toward me. The big, floppy hat she was wearing wobbled an inch away from my eyes. “You’re a nice guy, mister. What’s your name?”
    “Mike.”
    “Just Mike?”
    “It’s enough. How would you like to go for a ride and sober up a little?”
    “Ummm. You got a nice shiny convertible for Lola to ride in? I love men with convertibles.”
    “I only have one thing that’s convertible. It’s not a car.”
    “Oh, you’re talking dirty, Mike.”
    “How about that ride?”
    “All right.”
    She stood up and I held her arm to keep her straight. Nice, very nice. Deep-dish apple pie in a black satin dress. I steered her toward the door, hardly taking my eyes off her. Tall, and as long as you didn’t look too close, as pretty as they come. But close looks were what counted. She had that look around the eyes and a set of the mouth that spelled just one thing. She was for sale cheap.
    My heap