Mike Hammer--Masquerade for Murder by Mickey Spillane

Author:Mickey Spillane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

CHAPTER NINE

Velda and I caught an early dinner at P.J. Moriarty’s on Sixth and 52nd at Radio City before the mahogany-paneled steak-and-chophouse got really busy.

It wouldn’t take long for that endless parade of bar stools to fill up, and for the conversation to build to a friendly din, punctuated by the occasional popped cork or dropped dish or clatter of silverware. Soon the red-leather banquettes—one of which we’d easily snagged—would become prime real estate.

I had the corned beef and cabbage while Velda got a small chef’s salad with turkey, which is probably all you need to know about either of us. The only business we discussed had to do with an arson investigation for one of our best insurance clients. We didn’t go over the Colby job until the coffee had arrived and I was done with the cheesecake. Velda had two petite bites – the kind of cheesecake she embodied taking discipline.

I filled her in on the trip to the Solstice Fitness Center and my return visit to Colby, Daltree & Levine.

“Either Vincent is playing me,” I said, “or somebody is trying to frame him. We’ve got death by a forbidden martial arts move and young Colby studying with a tenth-degree black belt trainer. We’ve got a series of murders all connected in some way to our client’s son, with one of the victims a cop who was looking at Colby like Ahab eyeing that white whale.”

At the end of her workday, Velda still looked fresh, the arcs of her dark hair touching the wide shoulders of a lime silk blouse that needed no pads to be in fashion.

She frowned in thought over the rim of her coffee cup from which she’d just sipped. “Do you think Casey Shannon was convinced of Colby’s guilt?”

I shook my head. “Probably not. Casey was still investigating.”

“What kind of unofficial case file did your friend Shannon leave behind?”

“Nothing’s been found, and Pat and his crew—including the top forensics guys—gave Casey’s pad a thorough shake.”

“And?”

“And came up with bupkis…at least as far as I know. Pat is stingier with information than usual.”

“Any chance they missed it?”

I shrugged. “Always a chance of that. And if Casey had come up with something—either indicating Colby’s guilt, or someone else’s…”

She was nodding. “And hadn’t moved on it.”

“…it could still be somewhere in that apartment.”

She sipped coffee, her expression growing thoughtful. Then she said: “The police are finished with the place, aren’t they? Can’t you get in and have a look around yourself, Mike?”

I smirked. “It’s still a crime scene, baby. Closed off with good ol’ yellow tape with DO NOT CROSS in big black letters.”

“Why, don’t you have scissors?”

That deserved a smile and I gave her one. “Normally, Pat would let me in. But he’s only dealing me cards he thinks he can use my help on. He wants Casey’s killer himself. He doesn’t want me spoiling his fun.”

Half a smirk dug briefly into a pretty cheek. “Because you’d just kill the bastard, whereas Pat wants to prolong the agony.

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