[Mike Hammer 03] - Vengeance Is Mine by Mickey Spillane Page B

an annoying habit of sticking her tongue out to touch the tip of my ear. Homer did all right for himself.
    It took an hour for the party to get going good. At eleven-thirty the place was jammed to the rafters and a guy couldn’t hear himself think. Andrew started talking about spending money again and one of the girls squalled that there was plenty of it to throw away if the boys wanted some sporting propositions. One of them got up and consulted with a waiter who came back in a minute and mumbled a few words and nodded toward a curtained alcove to one side.
    I said, “Here we go, kid.”
    Connie screwed up her face. “I don’t get it, Mike.”
    “Hell, it’s the same old fix. They got gambling tables in the back room. They give you the old peephole routine to make it look good.”
    “Really?”
    “You’ll see.”
    Everybody got up and started off in the direction of the curtain. The pitch was coming in fast now. I began to think of Chester Wheeler again, wondering if he made this same trip. He had needed five grand. Why? To play or to pay off? A guy could run up some heavy sugar in debts on a wheel. Suicide? Why kill yourself for five grand? Why pay off at all? A word to the right cop and they’d tear this place down and you could forget the debts.
    One of the girls happened to look over her shoulder and screamed, “Oh, there’s Clyde. Hello, Clyde! Clyde ... hello!”
    The lean guy in the tux turned his cold smile on her and waved back, then finished making his rounds of the tables. I felt my mouth pulling into a nasty grin and I told Connie to go ahead.
    I walked over to Clyde.
    “If it ain’t my old pal Dinky,” I said.
    Clyde was bent over a table and the stiffness ran through his back, but he didn’t stop talking until he was damned good and ready. I stuck a Lucky between my lips and fired it just as the lights went down and the spot lit up another lewd nude prancing on the stage.
    Then Clyde swung his fish eyes on me. “What are you doing here, shamus?”
    “I was thinking the same thing about you.”
    “You’ve been here too long already. Get out.” The stiffness was still in his back. He threaded through the tables, a quick smile for someone here and there. When he reached the bar a bottle was set up in front of him and he poured himself a quick shot.
    I blew a stream of smoke in his face. “Nice layout.”
    His eyes were glassy with hate now. “Maybe you didn’t hear me right.”
    “I heard you, only I’m not one of your boys to jump when you speak, Dink.”
    “What do you want?”
    I blew some more smoke at him and he pulled out of the way. “I want to satisfy my curiosity, Dink. Yeah, that’s what I want to do. The last time I saw you was in a courtroom taking the oath from a wheel chair. You had a bullet in your leg. I put it there, remember? You swore that you weren’t the guy who drove a getaway car for a killer, but the bullet in your leg made you out a liar. You did a stretch for that. Remember now?”
    He didn’t answer me.
    “You sure came a long way, kid. No more wheel spots for you. Maybe now you do the killing?”
    His upper lip curled over his teeth. “The papers say you don’t carry a gun anymore, Hammer. That’s not so good for you. Keep out of my way.”
    He went to raise his drink to his mouth, but I swatted his elbow and the stuff splattered into his face. His face went livid. “Take it easy, Dink. Don’t let the cops spot you. I’ll take a look around before I go.”
    My old friend Dinky Williams who called himself Clyde was reaching for the house phone on the end of the bar when I left.
    To cross the room I had to walk around behind the spot and it took me a minute to find the curtain in the semidarkness. There was another door behind the curtain. It was locked. I rapped on the panel and the inevitable peephole opened that showed a pair of eyes over a nose that had a scar down the center.
    At first I thought I wasn’t going to get in, then the lock clicked