Chapters (23)
- Cover
- More Mike Hammer From Titan Books
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Co-Author’s Note
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Tip of the Fedora
- About the Authors
- Mike Hammer Novels
- Also Available from Titan Books
“I have. I think about how Roger Kraft was on the payroll and got killed. I think about how a cop named Shannon looking into young Colby’s homicidal ways got himself killed, too, and you know how much the cops love it when one of their own buys it.”
“Nothing to do with me.”
“A hooker blackmailing Colby got killed last night, and so did a bartender who beat up Vincent’s girl. Anybody who crosses that Golden Boy is on the chopping block. All this went down within a few days. And you’re likely next.”
He sneered again. “More likely you, Hammer. And maybe Roger tried to blackmail Colby or some shit, and got what blackmailers get.”
“Is that what happened?”
He raised his palms shoulder high. “Just sayin’ what might be. I have nothing for you, Hammer. And I’m not afraid of you.”
That was hard to buy, with the coppery smell of his associates’ blood wafting in on cordite waves with just a hint of the fragrance of human excrement.
I said, “If the cops bag your ass, Harry, you won’t be just some guy who trained a rich kid for a prank. You’ll be an accomplice. Probably to murder.”
His smile in the nest of beard was not convincing. “How do you figure, Hammer? Suppose that was a phony accident I helped along. That’s no murder rap.”
“Kraft getting his makes it felony murder, sonny boy.” That was a little thin but I didn’t think Harry here knew much about the finer points of the law. “And for sure you’re obstructing justice in a murder investigation by not coming forward.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s what you want. Me to come forward.”
“That’s what I want.”
What Pat Chambers would want.
“Okay.” He swallowed. “I’ll do it.”
I had lowered the .45 a little, while we talked, and that must have encouraged him, because he came forward, all right. He dove off that sofa and right at me, taking the chair back and me with it, then with one powerful hand grabbed me by the right wrist and shook the rod out of my grasp, sending it tumbling on the shag carpet. Meanwhile that chair hit the floor, hard, and powerful fists were at me, a right hand to the face, a left hand to the kidneys.