Free It's in the Book by Mickey Spillane Page A

looked at it carefully, folded it, and tucked it into his wallet.
    â€œWhat’s this all about?” I asked them.
    Hanson composed himself and folded his hands in his lap. They were big hands, but flexible. He said, “This was not the department’s idea.”
    â€œI didn’t think so.”
    He took a few moments to look for the words. “I’m sure you know, Hammer, that there are people in government who have more clout than police chiefs or mayors.”
    I nodded. He didn’t have to spell it out. Hell, we both knew what he was getting at.
    There was the briefest pause and his eyes went to my phone and then around the room. Before he could ask, I said, “Yes, I’m wired to record client interviews … no, I didn’t hit the switch. You’re fine.”
    But they glanced at each other just the same.
    I said, “If you’re that worried, we can take it outside … onto the street, where we can talk.”
    Hanson nodded, already getting up. “Let’s do it that way then.”
    The three of us went into the outer office. I paused to tell Velda I wasn’t sure how long this would take. The amusement was gone from her dark eyes now that she saw I was heading out with this pair of obvious coppers.
    We used the back door to the semi-private staircase the janitor used for emptying the trash, and went down to the street. There you can talk. Traffic and pedestrians jam up microphones, movement keeps you away from listening ears and, stuck in the midst of all those people, you have the greatest privacy in the world.
    We strolled. It was a sunny spring morning but cool.
    A block and a half later, Hanson said, “A United States senator is in Manhattan to be part of a United Nations conference.”
    â€œOne of those dirty jobs somebody’s gotta do, I suppose.”
    â€œWhile he’s in town, there’s an item the senator would like you to recover.”
    Suddenly this didn’t sound so big-time, senator or not.
    I frowned. “What’s this, a simple robbery?”
    â€œNo. There’s nothing ‘simple’ about this situation. But there are aspects of it that make you … ideal.”
    My God, he hated to admit that.
    I said, “Your people have already been on it?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œNot your concern, Hammer.”
    Not my concern?
    We stopped at a red light at the street corner and I asked, “Where’s the FBI in this, if there’s investigating to do? A U.S. senator ought to be able pull those strings.”
    â€œThis is a local affair. Strictly New York.”
    But not something the NYPD could handle .
    The light changed and we started ambling across the intersection in the thick of other pedestrians. There was something strange about the term Hanson used—‘recovery.’ If not a robbery, was this mystery item something simply … lost? Or maybe I was expected to steal something. I deliberately slowed the pace and started looking in store windows.
    Hanson said, “You haven’t asked who the senator is.”
    â€œYou said it was strictly New York. That narrows it to two.”
    â€œAnd you’re not curious which one?”
    â€œNope.”
    Hanson frowned. “Why not?”
    â€œBecause you’ll tell me when you’re ready, or I’ll get to meet him myself.”
    No exasperation showed in the cop’s face, and not even in his tone. Strictly in his words: “What kind of private investigator are you, Hammer? Don’t you have any other questions?”
    I stopped abruptly, turning my back to a display window, and gave them each a look. Anybody going past would have thought we were just three friends discussing where to grab a bite or a quick drink. Only someone knowledgeable would have seen that the way we stood or moved was designed to keep the bulk of a gun well-concealed under suit coats and that the expressions we wore were