Hagen kept on going, getting closer to the gun, getting very close and then reaching the gun, grabbing it, aiming it at Clayton’s face. Clayton’s arm went out like a piston, his hand closed on the barrel, jerked it up as Hagen yanked on the trigger. Another bullet went into the ceiling. A third bullet went into a wall.
They were still grappling lor the gun when a fourth bullet plowed into the floor. Then Clayton had the gun and the fifth bullet went into Hagen’s heart.
Clayton showed the gun to Dodsley and the four men. They didn’t need to be told to drop their knives. Kroner was standing motionless and taking deep breaths.
And Alma was at the phone, calling the police.
It was an hour later and the police had departed with a corpse and five handcuffed men. Kroner went along with them to tell the full story. Clayton stood on the pier and watched the police-car moving away.
The first grey ribbons of dawn were sliding across the sky as he turned slowly and moved toward the woman who had her back to him and was looking out at the dark water which was reflected in his eyes.
As he came up to her, she faced him, and he saw the sadness in her eyes.
She made no attempt to hide her feelings. She just stood there silently.
He said quietly, “It’s a complicated game, isn’t it?”
She nodded slowly. “We make it complicated,” she managed to say in a quiet tone.
“Sometimes we’re forced to,” he said. “For example, a certain woman I know. She sat on the lap of a man she hated. And all she was thinking about was the gun in his hand. A gun that could get me.”
She nodded again. And then she was trying to control her emotions, trying to speak calmly and objectively, as she said,
“A year ago I stood with my arm around Hagen and I laughed at you. If I hadn’t laughed, if I’d let him know what I really felt, he would have killed you. Tonight it was the same routine. I was doing the only thing I could to keep you alive.”
He was quiet for some moments. Then he said, “A few hours ago we were in my room. Why didn’t you tell me then? What stopped you from telling me?”
“I didn’t think it would get across. The only time it gets across is when it’s all there, and there’s nothing else, no doubts and no contradictions.” Her eyes were clear and steady.
“You’re right about that,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have believed you. I was too angry, too bitter, too much of a damn fool.”
“No,” she said. “You were right in thinking that I came to get the sapphire. The gun, of course, was Hagen’s plan. My plan was my money, every cent I have, twenty thousand dollars. But it wasn’t quite enough.”
Clayton smiled dimly. “That was just the down payment. You said you could bring the balance.”
She copied the smile. “The strong-vault in Hagen’s office. I know the combination.”
She said slowly, “I meant it when I promised to bring the rest of the money.”
“And you’d have kept your promise. And then Hagen would have found out. Chances are, he’d have killed you. Did you figure that one out?”
She didn’t reply. But he already knew the answer.
He said, “You were willing to die for me.”
Her head was lowered and she said, “You make it sound very noble.” Then she looked up. “Remember, I’m just a blonde tramp with a weakness for rich men.”
He reached into his pocket and took out the sapphire. “Look at this.” He was grinning. “It’ll bring a lot of money.”
“Yes, I know.” She was drifting into his arms, ignoring the gleam of the big blue gem. “And please don’t show me the money. All I want is the man.”
Everybody’s Watching Me
by Mickey Spillane
The cards are on the table as Joe Boyle fights his way to the end of the line. And waiting there with murder in his fist — Vetter!
Part IV
What has happened before: When young Joe Boyle is paid to deliver a note reading “Cooley is dead. Now my fine fat louse, I’m going to spill your guts all over your own floor,” and signed Vetter, he finds himself in the middle of a murderous rat race. Vetter is a mysterious killer believed to be a friend of Cooley, unknown otherwise except for the fact that he’s responsible for the death of many hoodlums. Renzo, recipient of the note, local big-time racketeer, has Joe beaten and then tailed in an effort to locate Vetter. Phil Carboy, a rival racketeer, learning Vetter is in town, pays Joe to finger Vetter the next time he appears. Even the police in the form of Detective Sergeant Gonzales, want Vetter. From Вuску Edwards, Joe’s newspaperman friend, and from Captain Gerot of the police, Joe pieces together the theory that Cooley may have been rubbed for narcotic connections or because he knew too much about the local gang setup. Helen Troy, featured dancer at Renzo’s club, befriends Joe. Falling in love with her, he gives her money to leave Renzo and then goes to beep a rendezvous with a stranger who tells him that Cooley was billed because he knew the boys were slipping in drugs through a new door, and stole a $4,000,000 shipment from them. Joe calls Gonzales to tell him Carboy paid him big money to finger Vetter, and that Carboy’s men are now tailing Joe. He gets Jack Cooley’s last address from Bucky Edwards, dodges Carboy’s tails and goes to Cooley’s rooming house. He learns that the dead man used to go fishing often, using a place called Gulley’s for his meetings with other men. Joe calls Gerot to learn, that Helen has been shot at and is now missing. Outside his house, he meets the stranger again, and the stranger kills one of Joe s tails. Joe runs back to his room, finds Helen there. She d been waiting for a train when the shots came at her. Acting on a tip from the stranger, Joe asks Helen what her connection with the dead Cooley was. She tells him Cooley was blackmailing Renzo. She also tells him that Cooley left a quarter pound of heroin with her — which she threw down a sewer. Joe feels he is now ready to go out and wind up the whole thing.
I woke up just past noon. Helen was still asleep, restlessly tossing in some dream. The sheet had slipped down to her waist, and everytime she moved, her body rippled with sinuous grace. I stood looking at her for a long time, my eyes devouring her, every muscle in my body wanting her. There were other things to do, and I cursed those other things and set out to do them.
When I knew the landlady was gone I made a trip downstairs to her ice box and lifted enough for a quick meal. I had to wake Helen up to eat, then sat back with an old magazine to let the rest of the day pass by. At seven we made the first move. It was a nice simple little thing that put the whole neighborhood in an uproar for a half hour but gave us a chance to get out without being spotted.
All I did was call the fire department and tell them there was a gas leak in one of the tenements. They did the rest. Besides holding everybody back from the area they evacuated a whole row of houses, including us and while they were trying to run down the false alarm we grabbed a cab and got out.
Helen asked, “Where to?”
“A place called Gulley’s. It’s a stop for the fishing boats. You know it?”
“I know it.” She leaned back against the cushions. “It’s a tough place to be. Jack took me out there a couple of times.”
“He did? Why?”
“Oh, we ate, then he met some friends of his. We were there when the place was raided. Gulley was selling liquor after closing hours. Good thing Jack had a friend on the force.”