If I could have reached my rod I would have blown his guts out. His breath was in my face and I brought my knee up, but he jerked out of the way bringing his hand down again and my shoulder went numb after a split second of blinding pain. He tried again with one hand going for my throat, but I got one foot loose and kicked out and up and felt my toe smash into his groin. The cramp of the pain doubled him over on top of me, his breath sucking in like a leaky tire.
Then I got cocky. I thought I had him. I went to get up and he moved. Just once. That thing in his hand smashed against the side of my head and I started to crumple up piece by piece until there wasn't anything left except the sense to see and hear enough to know that he had crawled out of the room and was falling down the stairs outside. Then I thought about the lock on my door and how I had a guy fix it so I could tell if it had been jimmied open so I wouldn't step into any blind alleys without a gun in my hand, but because of a dame who lay naked and smiling on a bed I wouldn't share I had forgotten all about it.
And that was all.
Chapter Four
I thought I was in a boat that was sinking and I tried to get over the side before it turned over on me. I clawed for the railing that wouldn't stand still while the screaming of the bells and mechanical pounding of laboring engines blasted the air with frantic insistence.
Somehow I got my eyes open and saw that I wasn't in a boat, but on the floor of my own apartment trying to grab the edge of the table. My head felt like a huge swollen thing that throbbed with a terrible fury, sending the pain shooting down to the balls of my feet. I choked on my tongue and muttered thickly, "God... my head... my head!"
The phone didn't let up and whoever was pounding on the door wouldn't go away because they could hear me inside.
I staggered to the door first and cursed. It was still unlocked; nobody had to pound like that. The damn thing was almost too heavy for me to open with one hand.
I guess I must have looked pretty bad. The elderly nurse took one look at me and her arms tightened protectively around the kid. He didn't scare so easily though, or maybe he was used to seeing a bloated, unshaven face. He laughed.
"Come on in," I said.
The old lady didn't like the idea, but she came in. Mad, too. "Mr. Hammer..." she started.
"Look, get off my back. I wasn't drunk or disorderly. I damn near got my skull smashed in..." I looked at the light streaming in the windows, "last night. Right here. I'm sorry you were inconvenienced, but I'll pay for it. Goddamn that phone... hello, hello!"
"Mike?"
I recognized Pat's voice. "Yeah, it's me. What's left of me."
"What happened?" He sounded sharp and impatient.
"Nothing. I just got jumped in my own joint and nearly brained, that's all. The bastard got away."
"Look, you get down here as fast as you can, understand? On the double.
"Now what's up?"
"Trouble, and it's all yours, friend. Damn it, Mike, how many times do I have to remind you to keep your nose out of police business!"
"Wait a minute..."
"Wait my foot. Get down here before the D.A. sends somebody after you. There's another murder and it's got your name on it."
I hung up and told my head to go right ahead and explode if it wanted to.
Then the old lady let out a short scream and nearly broke her neck running for the kid. He was on his hands and knees reaching for my gun that lay under the table on the floor. She kicked it away and snapped him back on her lap.
Lord, what a day this was going to be!
Somebody else was at the door this time and all they had to do was rap just once more before I got it opened and they'd get a rap right in the teeth. The guy in the uniform said, "You Michael Hammer?"
Nodding my head hurt, so I grunted that I was.
He handed me a box about two feet long and held out a pad. "Package from the Uptown Kiddie Shop. Sign here, please."
I scrawled my name, handed him a quarter and took the package inside. There was a stack of new baby clothes under the wrappings with a note on top addressed to me. It said,
Dear Mike:
Men are never much good at these things, so I picked up some clothes for the little boy. Let me know if they fit all right.
Marsha
The nurse was still eyeing me suspiciously. I handed her the boy and edged back to a nice soft chair. "Before you say anything, let me explain one thing. The kid's old man was bumped. Murdered. He's an orphan and I'm trying to find out who made him that way. Somebody doesn't like the idea and they got funny ways of telling me so, but that isn't stopping me any. Maybe this'll happen again and maybe it won't, but you'd be doing me and the kid a big favor if you'll put up with it until this mess is cleaned up. Will you?"
Her face was expressionless a moment, then broke into a smile. "I... think I understand."
"Good. Arrangements are being made now so the kid'll be taken care of permanently. It won't be long." I patted the back of my head and winced.
"You'd better let me take a look at your scalp," she said.
She let me hold the kid while she probed around the lump awhile. If she had found a hole to stick her finger in, I wouldn't have been at all surprised. Finally she stood back satisfied and picked the kid up. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong, but if I were you I'd see a doctor anyway."
I told her I would.
"You know, Mr. Hammer, in my time I've seen a great deal of suffering. It isn't new to me, not by a long sight. All I ask is that you don't bring any of it home to the child."
"Nothing will bother the kid. I'll see to that. He'll be all right with you then?"
"I'll take perfect care of him." She paused and her face creased in a frown. "This town is full of rabid dogs and there's not a dogcatcher in sight."
"I kill mad dogs," I said.
"Yes, I've heard that you do. Good morning, Mr. Hammer." I handed her the box of clothes, picked the rod up from the floor and ushered her out.
My, head was still booming away and I tried to fix it up with a hot shower. That helped, but a mess of bacon and eggs helped even more. It woke me up enough to remember Pat said my name was on a murder and I didn't have the sense to ask who he was talking about.
I gave it a try on the phone anyway, but they couldn't locate Pat in the building anywhere. I held the receiver down for a second, long enough to check Marsha's number in the book, then punched out her call. The nurse with the mustache answered and told me that Miss Lee had just left for a morning rehearsal of the Little Theater Group and wasn't expected back until later that afternoon.
Nuts. So now I had to go down to police headquarters and face an inquisition. My legs had more life in them by the time I reached the street, and when I had pulled up in front of the building downtown I was back to normal in a sense. At least I felt like having a beer and a butt without choking over the thought.
They were real happy to see me, they were. They looked like they hoped I wouldn't come so they could go drag me down by the neck, but now that I was there everything was malicious, tight smiles and short, sharp sentences that steered me into a little room where I was supposed to sit and sweat so I'd blab my head off when they asked me questions.
I spit on the floor, right in the middle, to be exact, and had the Lucky I wanted. The college boy with the pointed face who rated as the D.A.'s assistant glared at me but didn't have the guts to back it up with any words. He parked behind a desk and tried to look important and tough. It was a lousy act.
When I started wondering how long they were going to let me cool my heels the corridor got noisy and I picked out Pat's voice raising Cain with somebody. The door slammed open and he stalked in with his face tight in anger.