The Body Lovers by Mickey Spillane

Author:Mickey Spillane [Spillane, Mickey]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General
ISBN: 9781101174579
Publisher: Signet
Published: 1967-09-29T04:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 7

I never remembered having fallen asleep. I awoke with the fading light of day suffusing the room and the mice feet of rain on the window beside the bed. My watch said ten minutes to four and I swore under my breath for letting time get away from me.

When I rolled out of the sack a note fell off my chest. Blue Ribbon at six, stinker, it read and was signed with Velda's elaborate V. A quick shower straightened me out. I shaved the stubble off my face and pawed through the suitcase of clothes she had brought for me and got dressed. Automatically, I checked the action on the .45, slipped it into the holster and pulled my coat on.

Last night had been a rough one. I grinned, reached for the phone and dialed Dulcie's office number. The one who answered was Miss Tabor, the old maid I had ruffled so badly the first time around. When I asked for Dulcie she said Miss McInnes had left for Washington on the ten o'clock plane and would be out of town for several days. She asked who was calling and when I told her I could hear her quick gasp and she stammered that she would tell Miss McInnes that I had called.

I hung up the phone and started to get up when it rang. I picked it up again and said, "Yes?"

"This Mike Hammer?"

"You got him."

"Ray Tucker, Mike. I'm the cab driver you told to follow that girl last night."

I had damn near forgotten about that. "Sure, Ray. Where'd she go?"

"Well, it's hard to say. She came out and flagged me down and I took her to that five-story public parking lot on Eighth and Forty-sixth. She hopped out and went inside. The gate was closed on one side so I cruised around the other and waited a few minutes, then a car came out I think was her. I was going to follow her a ways, but a passenger boarded me and I was laying back too far to really tail her. She drove down to Seventh, then turned right again on the block where there's a southbound entrance to the West Side Highway. That's the best I could do."

"Get the make of the car?"

"A light blue Chevy sedan. A new one. Couldn't spot the plates," he said. Then suddenly he added, "Oh, yeah, there was a dent in the right rear fender. Just a little one."

"Okay, Ray, thanks. Let me know where to reach you and I'll send you a check."

"Forget it, Mike. Them things are kind of fun." He hung up and I put the phone back.

There it was again. Something that didn't belong there. You don't own a new car while you're bedding down in the squalid quarters of the Sandelor Hotel. But Ray Tucker wasn't sure, either, and if the driver in the car wasn't Greta Service, she could have used the parking lot as a cute gimmick to check on anyone following her.

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