Free The Day of the Guns by Mickey Spillane Page B

and a description and whoever came out with the lead would find more money in his hand than he had ever dreamed of. Countless front men were used and nobody would be able to trace the inquiry back to its source or even want to, but there were those who knew about getting the word and what it meant, and even if they had to break down the payment to allocate some to others to bring the information to them it would be done. There would be one with a big bite, others with smaller bites, but everyone happy and all hoping to be the one on the fat end the next time.
    But tomorrow at six there would be a line to Vidor Churis.
    There was one strange note, however. Martin Grady didn’t take direct contact casually. There was usually an explicit instruction or request to explain the urgency of the matter, or more likely a tone of disapproval for not having gone through the regular channels.
    Maybe Grady was softening up. No, that wasn’t it. Maybe he was smartening up. Could be age had given him insight into more than the big picture and he was considering personal feelings for once. In a way, he’d better. There were times when the big picture didn’t give a damn ... like twenty years ago with Rondine and me. There was even the possibility that he was going to teach me a lesson. If I hadn’t learned it twenty years ago I’d learn it now, so let out the rope.
    Screw him if he figured that way, I thought. I was too old at the business now. I’d been behind a gun too long and seen too many men fall in front of it. I had them plow into me and felt the fire of metal inside my skin too many times. I’d mixed it with the wild ones and the shrewd ones too many years to worry about anything now.
    So okay, Grady, thanks for the rope. I’ll use every inch of it you’ll give me.
    There was one contact I hadn’t made yet, so before I left the phone I checked the number on my pad, dialed Gretchen Lark’s place and waited through a half-dozen rings before she answered. She was breathless and coughing and when she said, “Yes?” it was as if I had interrupted something.
    I had. I said it was me and she tinkled a laugh back.
    “Tiger ... the man with the funny name. I was just coming out of the shower. I’m all wet.”
    “Dry yourself off.”
    “I can’t. I have no towel.”
    “You mean you’re standing there dripping and naked and talking to me?”
    “Well, it isn’t exactly television, but you make me feel like it is.”
    “I think I can describe every inch of you.”
    “Don’t do it!”
    I laughed back at her. “Skin talk gets you sexy?”
    “You know too much. How did you get my number? It’s unlisted.”
    Rather than tell her I said, “No trouble when a guy really wants to meet a girl.”
    “Mr. Mann, please. You had a date tonight.”
    “Just seeing an old friend. Edith and I have been buddies a long time. Only buddies make strange combos.”
    “Tiger ... I feel a proposition coming on.”
    “You’re right.”
    “What about Edith?”
    “I’m calling you, kid, not her.”
    “Did you two have a fight?”
    “Come on, I don’t fight with broads.”
    “I know, you’re a tiger.”
    “So I’ve been told,” I said. “Feel like getting dressed and going out?”
    “Where?”
    “Who knows? Maybe some slop chute. I feel like talking to a broad.”
    “And you picked me ... just like that?”
    “Just like that.”
    “You excite me, Tiger. I think I’ll go.”
    “Naked?”
    “No, I’ll get dressed, but if you like you can come up and watch me.”
    “I’m too far away. By the time I get there you’ll be ready.”
    “I’m a slow dresser,” she said and hung up.
     
    The cab dropped me off on her corner and I waited until it had pulled away before I turned and started walking toward her building. The last time I had waited in a taxi while Burton Selwick made the call, but this time I punched the button under her name and when the door buzzed, shoved it open.
    Gretchen Lark lived on the top floor, three