producer today.”
“He was a
minor
actor in his early days,” Hy said, “and a schlock producer now. Some of his productions have generated good ink, but the werewolves and sweater babes got the press photos, not him.”
“Then,” I said to Velda, climbing out of the booth, “we’ll haul Billy’s behind over to Borensen’s apartment right now, for a personal appearance from our client.”
Velda was at my side in an eye blink.
“Hold up,” Hy said. “Did it ever occur to you that this Billy character might have been paid off?”
“No way,” Velda said.
“Billy’s okay,” I said. “He’s Captain Marvel in disguise, you know.”
That got a head shake and a laugh out of my cynical pal.
“Good luck, you two,” Hy said. “Call me at the Plaza if you get anything newsworthy.”
I said, “You’re sitting this one out?”
His smile was a friendly fold in a well-used face. “I’m a little long in the tooth to be going down bullet alley any more. But I’ll do what I can from the sidelines, starting with taking care of the check.”
I gave him a grin of thanks and took Velda by the elbow, heading out.
* * *
A light misting rain was just enough to all but empty the sidewalks and make the streetlights hazy. Neon smears turned Manhattan into an impressionist painting, taking the hard edges off and blurring the grime into something damn near romantic.
Neither Velda nor I minded the rain. We walked in it often, sometimes when it was coming down good and hard. Mist we just laughed at. Right now we were both in raincoats, having anticipated a damp evening, and we strolled the few blocks over to Lexington arm-in-arm, as something almost cold enough to be snow put tiny tears all over our faces.
But I won’t pretend that this was just another walk in the rain for us. I caught Velda keeping an eye peeled for somebody following, either on foot or on wheels, and outside the restaurant, I’d shifted my .45 to my right-hand trenchcoat pocket. And my hand was in that pocket. Call me over-cautious, but when they keep shooting at you, you can get a little gun shy.
Clutching my left arm, Velda asked, “Assuming Borensen didn’t hire it done… what does Billy seeing him run down Hy’s friend have to do with one Michael Hammer?”
There was just enough moisture to curl the tips of her black hair into something gypsy-like.
“First,” I said, “probably nothing. Second, we don’t know for sure Borensen’s responsible. We’re going to find out.”
“And if he did do it?”
I grinned into the mist. “Well, that Viking will get something from me and it won’t be a refund. A Viking funeral, maybe.”
Billy stayed open till nine-thirty and it was almost that. As we neared, he was just a small figure overwhelmed by the corner newsstand’s many magazines, particularly the side displays of comic books. Famous faces smiled at us as we approached. They didn’t care about the rain either, but then they were protected by the overhang of the stand.
He was arranging and stacking stuff and didn’t see us at first. When he heard our wet footsteps, and turned toward us, the wizened little guy in the plaid cap and flannel jacket had a stack of newspapers in his arms. Seeing Velda, Billy grinned and hugged those papers like he did her in his dreams.
“Hiya, Velda,” he said, the way a farmer says Aw Shucks. “When you gonna throw this bum over?”
She beamed at him and put something sultry in it. “I would, Billy, but then who would have me?”
He grinned goofily. “I think you know. I think you do.”
Then he acknowledged me with a regular smile; he was standing there between us, like a paperback between a couple of big bookends. He lowered those papers to fig leaf level.
“Y’know, Mike, that pic the
News
ran of you, after that cabbie took your bullet?
Much
better.”
I nodded toward Velda. “I took your criticism to heart, Billy. My faithful secretary here sent around a newer shot to all the
“He was a
minor
actor in his early days,” Hy said, “and a schlock producer now. Some of his productions have generated good ink, but the werewolves and sweater babes got the press photos, not him.”
“Then,” I said to Velda, climbing out of the booth, “we’ll haul Billy’s behind over to Borensen’s apartment right now, for a personal appearance from our client.”
Velda was at my side in an eye blink.
“Hold up,” Hy said. “Did it ever occur to you that this Billy character might have been paid off?”
“No way,” Velda said.
“Billy’s okay,” I said. “He’s Captain Marvel in disguise, you know.”
That got a head shake and a laugh out of my cynical pal.
“Good luck, you two,” Hy said. “Call me at the Plaza if you get anything newsworthy.”
I said, “You’re sitting this one out?”
His smile was a friendly fold in a well-used face. “I’m a little long in the tooth to be going down bullet alley any more. But I’ll do what I can from the sidelines, starting with taking care of the check.”
I gave him a grin of thanks and took Velda by the elbow, heading out.
* * *
A light misting rain was just enough to all but empty the sidewalks and make the streetlights hazy. Neon smears turned Manhattan into an impressionist painting, taking the hard edges off and blurring the grime into something damn near romantic.
Neither Velda nor I minded the rain. We walked in it often, sometimes when it was coming down good and hard. Mist we just laughed at. Right now we were both in raincoats, having anticipated a damp evening, and we strolled the few blocks over to Lexington arm-in-arm, as something almost cold enough to be snow put tiny tears all over our faces.
But I won’t pretend that this was just another walk in the rain for us. I caught Velda keeping an eye peeled for somebody following, either on foot or on wheels, and outside the restaurant, I’d shifted my .45 to my right-hand trenchcoat pocket. And my hand was in that pocket. Call me over-cautious, but when they keep shooting at you, you can get a little gun shy.
Clutching my left arm, Velda asked, “Assuming Borensen didn’t hire it done… what does Billy seeing him run down Hy’s friend have to do with one Michael Hammer?”
There was just enough moisture to curl the tips of her black hair into something gypsy-like.
“First,” I said, “probably nothing. Second, we don’t know for sure Borensen’s responsible. We’re going to find out.”
“And if he did do it?”
I grinned into the mist. “Well, that Viking will get something from me and it won’t be a refund. A Viking funeral, maybe.”
Billy stayed open till nine-thirty and it was almost that. As we neared, he was just a small figure overwhelmed by the corner newsstand’s many magazines, particularly the side displays of comic books. Famous faces smiled at us as we approached. They didn’t care about the rain either, but then they were protected by the overhang of the stand.
He was arranging and stacking stuff and didn’t see us at first. When he heard our wet footsteps, and turned toward us, the wizened little guy in the plaid cap and flannel jacket had a stack of newspapers in his arms. Seeing Velda, Billy grinned and hugged those papers like he did her in his dreams.
“Hiya, Velda,” he said, the way a farmer says Aw Shucks. “When you gonna throw this bum over?”
She beamed at him and put something sultry in it. “I would, Billy, but then who would have me?”
He grinned goofily. “I think you know. I think you do.”
Then he acknowledged me with a regular smile; he was standing there between us, like a paperback between a couple of big bookends. He lowered those papers to fig leaf level.
“Y’know, Mike, that pic the
News
ran of you, after that cabbie took your bullet?
Much
better.”
I nodded toward Velda. “I took your criticism to heart, Billy. My faithful secretary here sent around a newer shot to all the
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