Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer 13] Read Online Free PDF Page B

regular parade of those gaudy funerals for a while.”
    And it was a time to remember. Every newspaper and television station covered the rows of flowerladed Cadillacs and the rivers of tears the bereaved shed at the gravesites. The families all kept long faces, not letting a smile show through, but inwardly, with each successive carnival, the happy light in their eyes began to show and they all waited to see who the new king would be.
    While I was thinking these thoughts I was looking straight down at Dooley and he read my thoughts perfectly.
    “I was . . . working for Lorenzo Ponti by then, Mike. Ponti was the . . . smart one. He was in charge of . . . the big operation. He moved faster than the young kids . . . he kept ahead of everybody, that guy.”
    “Did he move right in when the others died?” I asked him.
    “Hell, Mike, they didn’t . . . just die. They were killed. All of them. Except Ponti. And when he goes there won’t be any more dons . . . just the young phonies who are going to be howling mad because their inheritance has disappeared. Poof! Just . . . like that.” He tried to snap his fingers, but didn’t have the strength.
    “Dooley . . . doesn’t Lorenzo Ponti know where this hoard is?”
    “He thinks he does.”
    “But somebody faked him out?”
    “Me,” Dooley told me. “I faked . . . him out. I changed the road signs . . . covered up paths, disguised everything. Someday you’ll find out. Ponti will be digging in the wrong mountain.”
    Suddenly sheer, raw pain flashed across his face and his back arched under the cover. He was beginning to look down his own black alley now and it was too fearful to believe.
    “Mike . . . these doctors . . .”
    He seemed to choke on his voice and closed his eyes. When he forced them open there was a deep seriousness to his gaze. I said, “They’re good men, Dooley. The best.”
    “But I’m not a good guy.”
    “They don’t care. You’re here and you’re their patient.”
    “Why won’t they tell me anything?”
    “Maybe they haven’t finished their tests yet.”
    “Baloney, Mike. They gave me something in the IV and I can’t feel anything anymore.” Now his eyes had an anguished look. “You know where I got . . . shot, don’t you?”
    “Pat told me,” I said.
    “Don’t lie to me . . . how bad . . . is it?”
    “Bad,” I told him. There was no sense holding back. He could see it in my face.
    “Tell me.”
    “Three hollow point slugs took you down.”
    “Tore me apart, didn’t it?”
    Once again, all I could do was nod.
    “Why didn’t they tell me that?”
    “Because they’re doctors. They have hope.”
    “They’re not here . . . now.”
    “You’re supposed to be resting.”
    “Come off it, Mike. I’m supposed to be . . . dying. I can feel it coming on, so don’t give me any crap. I got no insides left anymore. My guts are gone, right?”
    “Right,” I said.
    “How much time, Mike.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking for words of hope or consolation. He had some bigger purpose in mind.
    I said, “Any minute, kiddo. You’re close. They probably think it’s better if you just drifted off alone. It won’t hurt.”
    His smile was brief and there was a small glow of relief on his face. “Listen to me,” he said. “What would you do . . . if you had . . . eighty-nine billion dollars?”
    “Buy a new car,” I told him.
    “I said . . . eighty-nine billion , Mike.”
    Facetious words that started to come out stopped at my lips. His eyes were clear now and stared hard into mine. There was that strange expression on his face too. And he was dying. There was no doubt about that at all. What he said now wouldn’t be a lie.
    Softly, I said, “Only a government has that kind of money, Dooley.”
    He didn’t argue about it. “That’s right,” he agreed. “It’s a government, all right. It’s got people and taxes and soldiers and more money than anyone . . . can imagine. But nobody sees it and they . . .