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Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer 13] Read Online Free PDF
Author: Black Alley
think.”
“Yeah,” I reminded him, “they were all going legitimate then. The business went Big Business .”
Somehow, the smile he gave me made me feel pretty ignorant. He let me stew in it for a few seconds and I hoped he was enjoying his moment because I surely wasn’t.
“The original five families met in Miami. They . . . had researched the situation . . . checked out the books with independent counsel as the government likes to say.”
“What are you getting to, Dooley?”
Once again, he gave out a grunt, this time of satisfaction. “They . . . were all getting screwed . . . by their kids. The ones they put through college. The ones they . . . tapped to run the businesses . . . when they handed it over.”
“The dons weren’t that dumb,” I interrupted.
“Computers,” Dooley said.
“Computers!”
“They learned . . . how to use them . . . in college. They didn’t want to wait. They wanted it now . . . and were getting it. Now shut up and don’t talk until I’m finished.”
“And the chronicle continues,” I muttered.
“You had to get that in,” he told me.
“I don’t like it when somebody tells me to shut up,” I said with mock indignity. Then added, “But now I’m shut up.”
“Okay. Stay that way . . . and listen. All the old dons ... never exploited their wealth. They might spend it, but they never looked like . . . they had a dime. Lousy little apartments, their wives did the cleaning and cooking. If they had big times it was when . . . they went back to . . . the old country. The kids . . . the bad ones . . . knew they had it, but they didn’t know where the dons kept it.” He was starting to breathe with an unnatural rhythm and I didn’t like it, but there was no way to stop him now. “That was when . . . they got hold of me.” He knew what I wanted to ask, but shook his head again. “Later . . . you’ll find out why. It isn’t . . . important now.”
A little red light flashed on the panel behind his head. It stayed on about two seconds then went off. Nobody came in so I ignored it.
He said, “Nobody really knows . . . how they did it. Cash and valuables got moved by truck with different crews so that no one knew where it came from or where it was going. Except the last crew.”
“What happened to them?”
“Like the old pirate days. Their skeletons are still there. When their job . . . was done . . . so were they.” He rolled his eyes up to mine again. “Now stay shut up . . . okay?”
I gave him the nod again. “All their heavy money . . . was in paper. They cashed in everything they had and turned it into dollars. They pulled out . . . all their numbered accounts in Switzerland, Bahamas, Cayman. The cash flow was still coming in from gambling and drugs and all that . . . crap, you know?” I nodded again. “That’s what fooled . . . the young bucks. The . . . walking around money was there, but the capital had disappeared.”
“Can I talk now?” I asked him.
“Go ahead.” He seemed a little breathless and glad for the break.
“When did they find out?”
“Maybe six months before the shootup you were in. The computers came up with it. At first they . . . they thought it was . . . like a mistake. When the machines said no way, then they . . . thought they were being ripped off. The stuff . . . really hit the fan then. All those hot shots liked to go nuts. Now . . . let’s see what you remember.”
All I could do was watch and wait. But he made sense. There was a genuine unrest in the upper echelons of the underworld fraternity a couple years ago. Everything was cloaked in total secrecy that even had the IRS concerned. No matter how hard they dug into mob records they kept coming up blank.
Dooley said, “The dons were getting old by then. When they . . . died off it all . . . seemed natural. Their deaths were the things old men were supposed to die of. You know, strokes, heart attacks, falls down stairs.”
“I remember that. There was a
“Yeah,” I reminded him, “they were all going legitimate then. The business went Big Business .”
Somehow, the smile he gave me made me feel pretty ignorant. He let me stew in it for a few seconds and I hoped he was enjoying his moment because I surely wasn’t.
“The original five families met in Miami. They . . . had researched the situation . . . checked out the books with independent counsel as the government likes to say.”
“What are you getting to, Dooley?”
Once again, he gave out a grunt, this time of satisfaction. “They . . . were all getting screwed . . . by their kids. The ones they put through college. The ones they . . . tapped to run the businesses . . . when they handed it over.”
“The dons weren’t that dumb,” I interrupted.
“Computers,” Dooley said.
“Computers!”
“They learned . . . how to use them . . . in college. They didn’t want to wait. They wanted it now . . . and were getting it. Now shut up and don’t talk until I’m finished.”
“And the chronicle continues,” I muttered.
“You had to get that in,” he told me.
“I don’t like it when somebody tells me to shut up,” I said with mock indignity. Then added, “But now I’m shut up.”
“Okay. Stay that way . . . and listen. All the old dons ... never exploited their wealth. They might spend it, but they never looked like . . . they had a dime. Lousy little apartments, their wives did the cleaning and cooking. If they had big times it was when . . . they went back to . . . the old country. The kids . . . the bad ones . . . knew they had it, but they didn’t know where the dons kept it.” He was starting to breathe with an unnatural rhythm and I didn’t like it, but there was no way to stop him now. “That was when . . . they got hold of me.” He knew what I wanted to ask, but shook his head again. “Later . . . you’ll find out why. It isn’t . . . important now.”
A little red light flashed on the panel behind his head. It stayed on about two seconds then went off. Nobody came in so I ignored it.
He said, “Nobody really knows . . . how they did it. Cash and valuables got moved by truck with different crews so that no one knew where it came from or where it was going. Except the last crew.”
“What happened to them?”
“Like the old pirate days. Their skeletons are still there. When their job . . . was done . . . so were they.” He rolled his eyes up to mine again. “Now stay shut up . . . okay?”
I gave him the nod again. “All their heavy money . . . was in paper. They cashed in everything they had and turned it into dollars. They pulled out . . . all their numbered accounts in Switzerland, Bahamas, Cayman. The cash flow was still coming in from gambling and drugs and all that . . . crap, you know?” I nodded again. “That’s what fooled . . . the young bucks. The . . . walking around money was there, but the capital had disappeared.”
“Can I talk now?” I asked him.
“Go ahead.” He seemed a little breathless and glad for the break.
“When did they find out?”
“Maybe six months before the shootup you were in. The computers came up with it. At first they . . . they thought it was . . . like a mistake. When the machines said no way, then they . . . thought they were being ripped off. The stuff . . . really hit the fan then. All those hot shots liked to go nuts. Now . . . let’s see what you remember.”
All I could do was watch and wait. But he made sense. There was a genuine unrest in the upper echelons of the underworld fraternity a couple years ago. Everything was cloaked in total secrecy that even had the IRS concerned. No matter how hard they dug into mob records they kept coming up blank.
Dooley said, “The dons were getting old by then. When they . . . died off it all . . . seemed natural. Their deaths were the things old men were supposed to die of. You know, strokes, heart attacks, falls down stairs.”
“I remember that. There was a