The Mike Hammer Collection Read Online Free Page B

was taken at a beach, and she stood there tall and languid-looking in a white bathing suit. Long solid legs. A little heavier than the movie experts consider good form, but the kind that make you drool to look at. Under the suit I could see the muscles of her stomach. Incredibly wide shoulders for a woman, framing breasts that jutted out, seeking freedom from the restraining fabric of the suit. Her hair looked white in the picture, but I could tell that it was a natural blonde. Lovely, lovely yellow hair. But her face was what got me. I thought Velda was a good looker, but this one was even lovelier. I felt like whistling.
    â€œWho is she?”
    â€œMaybe I shouldn’t tell you. That leer on your face could get you into trouble, but it’s all there. Name’s Charlotte Manning. She’s a female psychiatrist with offices on Park Avenue, and very successful. I understand she caters to a pretty ritzy clientele.”
    I glanced at the number and made up my mind that right here was something that made this business a pleasurable one. I didn’t say that to Velda. Maybe I’m being conceited, but I’ve always had the impression that she had designs on me. Of course she never mentioned it, but whenever I showed up late in the office with lipstick on my shirt collar, I couldn’t get two words out of her for a week.
    I stacked the sheaf back on my desk and swung around in the chair. Velda was leaning forward ready to take notes. “Want to add anything, Mike?”
    â€œDon’t think so. At least not now. There’s too much to think about first. Nothing seems to make sense.”
    â€œWell, what about motive? Could Jack have had any enemies that caught up with him?”
    â€œNope. None I know of. He was square. He always gave a guy a break if he deserved it. Then, too, he never was wrapped up in anything big.”
    â€œDid he own anything of any importance?”
    â€œNot a thing. The place was completely untouched. He had a few hundred dollars in his wallet that was lying on the dresser. The killing was done by a sadist. He tried to reach his gun, but the killer pulled the chair it hung on back slowly, making him crawl after it with a slug in his gut, trying to keep his insides from falling out with his hand.”
    â€œMike, please.”
    I said no more. I just sat there and glowered at the wall. Someday I’d trigger the bastard that shot Jack. In my time I’ve done it plenty of times. No sentiment. That went out with the first. After the war I’ve been almost anxious to get to some of the rats that make up the section of humanity that prey on people. People. How incredibly stupid they could be sometimes. A trial by law for a killer. A loophole in the phrasing that lets a killer crawl out. But in the end the people have their justice. They get it through guys like me once in a while. They crack down on society and I crack down on them. I shoot them like the mad dogs they are and society drags me to court to explain the whys and wherefores of the extermination. They investigate my past, check my fingerprints and throw a million questions my way. The papers make me look like a kill-crazy shamus, but they don’t bear down too hard because Pat Chambers keeps them off my neck. Besides, I do my best to help the boys out and they know it. And I’m usually good for a story when I wind up a case.
    Velda came back into the office with the afternoon edition of the sheets. The kill was spread all over the front page, followed by a four-column layout of what details were available. Velda was reading over my shoulder and I heard her gasp.
    â€œDid you come in for a blasting! Look.” She was pointing to the last paragraph. There was my tie-up with the case, but what she was referring to was the word-for-word statement that I had made to Jack. My promise. My word to a dead friend that I would kill this murderer as he had killed him. I rolled the paper into a ball and