"Spillane, Mickey - Mike Hammer 11 - Survival . . . Zero! 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spillane Mickey)

Survival . . . ZERO!
Copyright © 1970 by Mickey Spillane
e-book ver. 1.0
To Jack and Peggy McKenna
With thanks for the many happy returns

CHAPTER 1

They had left him for dead in the middle of a pool of blood in his own bedroom,
his belly slit open like gaping barn doors, the hilt of the knife wedged against
his sternum. But the only trouble was that he had stayed alive somehow, his life
pumping out, managing to knock the telephone off the little table and dial me.
Now he was looking up at me with seconds left and all he could do was force out
the words, "Mike ... there wasn't no reason."
I didn't try to fake him out He knew what was happening. I said, "Who, Lippy?"
His lips fought to frame the sentence. "Nobody I ... not the kind... .No reason,
Mike. No reason."
And then Lippy Sullivan died painfully but quickly.
I went out in the hallway of the shabby brownstone rooming house and walked up
to the front apartment that had SUPER scrawled across the top panels in faded
white paint and gave it a rap with the toe of my shoe. Inside, somebody swore
hoarsely and a chair scraped across bare wood. Two locks and a bolt rasped in
their sockets and the door cracked open on a safety chain.
The fat-faced guy with the beery breath squinted up at me in the light from
behind him, then his eyes narrowed, not liking what he saw. "Yeah?"
"You got a phone, buddy?"
"What if I do?"
"You can let me use it."
"Drop dead." He started to close the door, but I already had my foot in the
crack.
I said, "Open up."
For a second his jowls seemed to sag, then he got his beer courage back up
again. "You a cop? Let's see your badge."
"I'll show you more than a badge in a minute."
This time he didn't try smart-mouthing me. I let him close the door, slide the
chain off, then pushed in past him. The room was a homegrown garbage collection,
but I found the phone behind a pile of empty six-pack cartons, dialed my number
and a solid Brooklyn voice said, "Homicide South, Sergeant Woods."
"Captain Chambers in? This is Mike Hammer."
Behind me a beer can popped open and the fat guy slid onto a chair.
When the phone was picked up I said, "Hi, Pat. I got a stiff for you."
Softly, Pat muttered, "Damn, Mike ..."
"Hell," I told him, "I didn't do it."
"Okay, give me the details."
I gave him the address on West Forty-sixth, Lippy's full name and told him the
rest could wait. I didn't want the guy behind me getting an earful and Pat got
the message. He told me a squad car was on the way and he'd be right behind it.
I hung up and lit a butt.
It was an election year and all the new brooms were waiting to sweep clean. The
old ones were looking to sweep cleaner. It was another murder now, a nice,