Frank Morrison Spillane ( March 9, 1918 - July 17, 2006 ), better known as Mickey Spillane, was an American author of crime novels, many featuring his signature detective character, Mike Hammer. More than 225 million copies of his books have sold internationally. This short tale is dedicated to him and his creation, Mike Hammer. This is not a Mike Hammer tale, but build from his influence.
1. Lady In Distress
The weather was colder that evening, and coupled with the bad traffic; I reckon a stop at Jake's place would be a relief from this madness. I pulled up my coat lapel as I stepped out off the pavement from my side of the street to cross over to Jake's. You can't missed it as the neon lights on the front of the diner reads his name loud and bright. There was much to worry on the cars, as they are are all parked on the evening crawl, but its the bicycles that worries me most. They are silent and hits you like a fragging locomotive. I opened the door to the diner and walked in. The heater was blasting me with its hot embrace which was curing me of my earlier predicament.
"Mike, come on in. Your coffee would be served in a jiffy." I loved Jake; the man looked like a doctor with the white frock on. He told me that its his right to wear one instead of an apron. "You going to stand there and cost me more electricity or sit down here for your coffee."
Jake do sound like a doctor when he's upset. I took off the coat and hung it at the hook near the door before walking over to the counter. Jake knows my seat; by the end and with my back to the music box. The music box was playing a Ray Charles number; one of Jake's favorite. You do not change the disc unless you want to go home with a plaster cast. I could bear with his music as I actually like any music that sounds like one.
I found my favorite seat; facing the whole room and knowing who else was having their coffee with me. I was shot in the ribs because I forgot that rule then, and it constant throbbing reminded me to never repeat it.
"Here's your coffee, Mike." Jake passed me his potion of brewed beans that delivers the kick into your head. When I took my first sip, I laid out who's who in the room. Its not the rush hour here, so I am looking at only three other persons in the place besides me and Jake. There was the dark skinned guy in a business suit having one of Jake's menu dish, banging away at the laptop he had on the table top. Two tables away, a middle aged couple dressed for the weather having their early supper. Not much to speculate on, but that was soon to change.
She was a red head all curled just below the ears; dressed tight and seductively in red, with matching shoes and dark overcoat. Her hair was done in an expensive way, and that bag must had been worth half of my office rental. She walked up to the counter and ordered a coffee without looking at the menu offering before taking a seat there. She sat there with one leg touching the flooring with the hem hiked up high on her thigh. She was holding her head down on the counter. Jake placed the coffee in front of her and then walked over towards me.
"How's your coffee?" Jake always asked that on every customer like a doctor would asked of their patient. I did not reply as I was watching the lady' legs. She touched her coffee cup but did not drink it. Most times, it showed that the person was not feeling well, or worse; in tears. Just as I was concluding my thoughts, she reached for her bag and pulled out a pack of wets. She used it to wiped her eyes; smearing the mascara on those lashes. She must had noticed it as she took her out her makeup case to re-do those lines. I was to get up and walked over when the door opened to admit in another person.
"Jane, what are you doing here?" The man did not even removed his coat and walked up to red lady. He laid his right hand on her left shoulder. "You got a client waiting. So move your butt or I would place my hot rod on you."
"Stop, Darren." Red Lady pulled the hand off and pulled up her coat. "I ain't working tonight. He wants a fuck, you do it."
That cost the lady a slap across the back of her head before she was jerked off the counter seat. She fell onto the flooring and the man kicked at her with his right leg. That was enough for me to murder most times, but I held back that evening. I only gave him my left hook at the back of his head and then the right jab into his right ribs. The man fell over on his left side, and Jake had to deliver the last blow; he did not keep the baseball bat for ornament.The bat knocked him cold. That left me the red lady which was still sobbing. I am always the gentleman; I offered her my shoulder and took her to my apartment round the block.
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It was eight in the morning when she woke up and walked into the kitchen dressed only in one of my working shirts; I only have five for each week and she took my Friday one. I was making coffee while there are toasts and marmalade on the table. She sat down without an invitation from me; heck, who does when they have taken also your shirt to sleep in.
"Coffee, toast and if you want, there's beer in the fridge." I offered her the menu available in my apartment; typical of a single man with no ladies in his life. My guest took to the shelf and took my remaining two bottle to the table. She flicked off the bottle cover and gulped down half the bottle before she raised her eyes to look at me. I matched her eyes with mine as I nursed my hot coffee in the cup.
"Thank you. I would be leaving soon." She looked at the toast and then added in her next statement. "Thanks for the bed."
The couch was comfortable in my apartment, as it had been my place of rest for a long time. I nodded to her statement and picked up the coffee. She pushed the half finished beer aside and grabbed the toast. She was hungry the way she gobbled down the toast. I offered the marmalade but she declined it and grabbed another toast.
"Marilyn Jane Forester." I am not only a kind Samaritan with a hard left hook but also a private detective with meager fees paid by the few cases I can garner monthly. "If you are in trouble, I may be able to help."
I also do charitable works; its pays for my missing Sunday appearances. She glared at me before she stood up from the kitchen table. She pulled off the shirt and displayed her body to me.
"Help yourself." Her vulgarity may had turned on other men, but I was not keen. I am also not biased in my gender but I preferred my sex with more consenting approach. I got up and walked towards her. I pulled the shirt off her and turned her towards the bedroom.
"Get dressed and leave my place." That was the last I seen of her until the following evening. She was found dead in an alley three blocks from my apartment. That make it my business as the police rammed down my apartment door later as she was last seen leaving my apartment. I spent the night there playing good cop dumb detective.
The next morning I was back in my office. The unit was on the second floor of decaying downtown block; five hundred feet of space separated into two offices; one for me, and the other for my associate; a tattoo artist cum secretary named Vinny. Don't let her name spaced you out into thinking otherwise; she's prefer to go home and fed her bitch pet alone.
"Vinny, we're gonna steer away from these penny-ante divorce cases for a while. I've got a line on something better. That girl I picked up was mixed up in something big." I slammed the door on coming in. I was in a foul mood from one night of screwing around with the real cops. Vinny was heating up her equipments and glared at me as she does not favor slamming of the door.
"Does that mean I am getting a bonus, Boss?" I hate it when she took that cynical tone. "I heard of your extended night at the Precinct." Her sister who stays with her works there on Night Shift. She was not a lady to hold back on her view.
"You think this chick would lead you to the hen coop loaded with eggs. Bitches attracts to you, huh?" Trust Vinny to know about bitches.
"She's a walker and she's dead. I make that my business." I have an affinity for pimps; I cracked their fingers in utmost painful conditions.
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