The steps were torture. I was wishing I could die by the time I got to the door and punched the bell. Lola opened the door and her eyes went wide as saucers.
"My God, Mike, what happened?" She grabbed my arm and steered me inside where I could slide down on the couch. "Mike... are you all right?"
I swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. It's O.K. now."
"I'll call a doctor!"
"No."
"But, Mike..."
"I said no, damn it! Just let me rest up. I'll be all right." The words came out hard.
She came over and unlaced my shoes, then lifted my feet on to the cushions. Except for her worried expression she was at her loveliest best, with another black dress that looked painted on. "Going somewhere, kid?"
"To work, Mike. I won't now."
"The hell you won't," I said. "Right now, that's more important than me. Just let me stay here until I feel better. I'm in one piece as far as I can tell and it isn't the first time I've been this way either. Go on, beat it."
"I still have an hour yet." Her hands went to my tie and unloosened it and took it off. She got me out of the wreck of my jacket and shirt without doing me much damage and I looked at her with surprise. "You got a professional touch, honey," I told her.
"Patriotism. I was a nurse's aid during the war. I'm going to clean you up."
She lit a cigarette and stuck it between my lips, then went out to the kitchen and I heard water splashing in a pan. When she came back she carried a bowl of steaming water and an armful of towels.
My muscles were beginning to stiffen up and I couldn't take the butt out of my mouth until she did it for me. When I had a couple of deep drags she snubbed it out, then took a pair of scissors and cut through my undershirt. I was afraid to look, but I had to. There were welts along my side that were turning a deep purple. There were spots where the flesh was bruised and torn and still oozing blood. She pressed above the ribs, searching for breaks, and even that gentle pressure made me tighten up. But when she got done we both knew there were no sharp edges sticking out and I wasn't quite ready for a cast or casket yet.
The water was hot and bit deep, but it was soothing, too. She wiped my face clean and touched the cuts with a germicide, then patted it dry. I just lay there with my eyes closed and let her rub my shoulders, my arms, then my chest, grimacing when she hit a soft spot. I was almost asleep again when I felt her fingers open my belt, then my eyes opened half-way.
I said, "Hey... nix... ," but it was an effort to speak and she wouldn't stop. It hurt too much to move and there wasn't a damn thing I could do but let her undress me, so I closed my eyes again until even my socks were on the pile in the chair and her fingers were magic little feathers that were brushing the dirt and the pain away in a lather of hot, soapy water being massaged in with a touch that was almost a caress.
It was wonderful. It was so good that I fell asleep at the best part and when I woke up it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon and Lola was gone. There was a sheet over me and nothing else. At the table by my elbow was a pitcher of water with nearly melted ice cubes, a fresh deck of Luckies and a note.
When I reached out and plucked it from the ashtray I wasn't hurting so bad. It said: "Mike, Dear, Stay right where you are until I get home. All but your unmentionables went in the trash can anyway, so don't expect to run off on me. I took your keys and I will pick up clothes for you from your apartment. Your gun is under the sofa, but please don't shoot it off or the super will put me out. Be good. Love, Lola."
The clothes! Hell, she couldn't have thrown them away... that ring was in the pocket! I tossed back the sheet and pushed myself up and began to ache again. I should have stayed there. My wallet, change and the ring were in a neat little huddle on the table behind the water pitcher.
But at least I was in a position to reach for the phone without an extra effort. I dialed the operator, asked for information, then gave her my client's name and address. The butler took the call, then put me on an extension to Mr. Berin-Grotin.
His voice was cheery and alive; mine sort of crackled. "Mike Hammer, Mr. Berin."
"Oh! Good evening, Mike. How are you?"
"Not what you'd call good. I just had the crap beat out of me."
"What--what was that?"
"I fell for a sucker trap and got taken but good. My own fault... should have known better."
"What happened?" I heard him swallow hard. Violence wasn't up his alley.
"I was steered to a guy named Murray Candid. I didn't get what I was looking for, so I followed him to a parking lot and got jumped. One of the punks thought he was being kind when he let me go on living, but I'm beginning to doubt his kindness. I'd be better off dead."
He exploded with, "My goodness, Mike... perhaps you had better not... I mean..."
If I put a laugh in my voice I was faking it. "No dice, Mr. Berin. They hurt me, but they didn't scare me. The next time I'll be on my toes. In one way I'm glad it happened."
"Glad? I'm afraid I don't enjoy your viewpoint, Mike. This sort of thing is so... so uncivilized! I just don't understand..."
"One of the bastards was the guy who killed the redhead, Mr. Berin."
"Actually? Then you have made progress! But... how do you know?"
"He dropped the ring that he took from Red's finger before he killed her. I have it now."
There was eagerness in his voice this time. "Did you see him, Mike? Will you be able to identify him?"
I hated to give the bad news. "The answer is no to both. It was darker than dark and all I saw was stars."
"That was too bad. Mike... what do you intend doing now?"
"Take it easy for a while, I guess." I was beginning to get tired. I said, "Look, I'll call you back again later. I want to think about this a little while, O.K.?"
"Certainly, Mike. But please... this time be more careful. If anything should happen to you I would feel directly responsible."
After I told him to quit worrying, I hung up and flopped back on the couch again, this time with the phone in my hand so I could do my talking on my back. I dialed Pat at his office, was told he had left, then picked him up at home. He was glad to hear from me and kept quiet while I went through the story for him. I gave him everything except the news of the ring.
Even at that he guessed at it. "There's more to it than that, isn't there?"
"What makes you think so, Pat?" I asked him.
"You sound too damn satisfied for a guy who was cleaned."
"I'm satisfied because I think I'm getting into something now."
"Who were the guys... Candid's boys?"
"Could be, Pat, but I'm not sure. Maybe they had it figured out and got there ahead of us, but maybe that wasn't it at all. I have another idea."
"Go on."
"When I went in his office someone was just leaving... someone who saw me. I was following Murray and the other was following me. When he knew where Murray was going he scooted ahead in a cab with some boys and waited."
Pat added, "Then why didn't Murray horn in when things started to pop?"
"Because he's in a position... I think... where he has to keep his nose clean and strictly out of anybody else's business. If he knew what was going to happen he didn't care. Of course, that's figuring that he had nothing to do with it in the first place."
"Could be," Pat agreed. "If we were working on more than a vague theory we could move in and find out for sure. Listen... you're getting more help with this than you expected."