Kiss Her Goodbye Read Online Free PDF Page A

barely nodded. "Mr. Bonetti."
    His smile widened a bit as I matched the formality he'd given me. "Please know that I am very sorry for the loss of your friend. He was an honest man. A good man. A rare thing in a dishonorable world."
    I managed not to tell him to stuff the pretty speeches. Instead I just said, "You knew Doolan pretty well yourself, I understand."
    "Oh yes, very well." The old don chuckled. "Don't you recall, Mr. Hammer? A long time ago, he sent me up for seven years."
    "A bad rap?"
    Again, the mob don let out a little laugh. "Only my being
caught
was bad. I understand, many years ago, he threw you off the force."
    "Not exactly threw me off. Recommended I be taken off the street and put on a desk."
    "Which, of course, he knew would mean you would resign, and seek other employment. So we have Bill Doolan to blame for Mike Hammer becoming a private vigilante."
    "Not vigilante. Not anymore. Just a private detective. And a retired one."
    "Really?" He paused to look at me critically, taking in my tan. "You have enjoyed Florida, I see."
    I almost smiled. "Well, it makes a nice change from the city."
    "Yes. I get to Florida from time to time. My friends there tell me you have quite a reputation as a fisherman. For snook, I believe."
    "I'm a rank amateur. But I go out with pros, so yeah ... I caught a few fish in my time."
    That made him smile, just a little. Then: "Maybe someday I will join you in sunny retirement. When a man gets lonely, there are some things better done in another's company."
    "Anytime, Mr. Bonetti."
    "Good evening, Mr. Hammer."
    He turned on a swivel again to join the others, smiling back at the hostility coming at him from the rows of police. The cameras never stopped until the doors closed behind them.
    Only then did Alex Jaynor say, "What was
that
all about?"
    There was a touch of irony in Pat's voice when he said, "Old Alberto was letting my friend here know that he knew all along where Mike Hammer has been holed up. That he could have had Mike tapped out at any time."
    Jaynor frowned. "
Killed?
"
    "Certainly."
    "But why?"
    I said, "Because I blew his kid's head off."
    The politician's jaw dropped in sudden remembrance. "Hell, that's right, isn't it? A year ago ... but you were almost friendly with the man, Mike."
    "Old man Bonetti knows his son Sal was a bad seed," I said. "He knows it was self-defense. If he'd decided to have me killed, it would have been to save face, not out of revenge."
    Pat was studying me. "You see any of his guys down there in sunny F-L-A?"
    "I wasn't looking."
    He made a face. "Playing stupid isn't your game, buddy."
    "Pat, I just didn't give a damn. And I
wasn't
in the game. Still aren't."
    "Now you
know
Bonetti knows your Florida address. Doesn't that bother you?"
    "Why should it? If he wanted me dead, it would have gone down a long time ago. And now? Now there's no sense killing me anymore."
    Jaynor had the expression of a guy visiting a foreign country who has lost his translation booklet. "Why would you think that, Mike?"
    "Because there's no profit in it, Alex—and profit is all those guys live for."
    Pat was checking his watch. "Mike—it's time." He reached in his suitcoat pocket and handed me the small canvas pouch with the metallic lump in it.
    "Sure you don't want to handle this, Pat?"
    "No. Doolan would've wanted you to do it."
    So I nodded to each of the men as I walked to the coffin. All of them wore those invisible scars of the field, and they nodded back, each with a subtle look of curiosity because although I was, in a way, one of them, I hadn't played on their team for a long, long time.
    I stood there looking at what was left of Bill Doolan. Once he had been young and vital as hell, but what was left was an old gray-headed corpse, barely recognizable. The stupid embalmer had tried to cover up the scar across his left eye and fill out the cheeks that had always been hollow with contained rage. Those bony hands should have been clenched into fists