Killer Mine by Mickey Spillane Page A

their own kind sometimes. This time, knowing they had the mob’s protection, they’d figure nobody would have the guts to try to move in.”
    “What’s the connection?”
    “This guy who pulled the hijack was waiting when the driver holding the loot came out of his motel, stuck a gun in his ribs, made him drive to a spot where he had a car parked, belted him cold, took the money and ducked out”
    “Recognized?”
    “No, he was masked, but when he pulled the gun out a five-dollar bill and a piece of paper came out of his pocket with it. There was a phone number on the paper listed to a candy store run by Sigmund Jones in your neighborhood.”
    “I know the one. René Mills kept a pair of whores upstairs over it.”
    “Making sense?” Mack asked me.
    “It’s there, all right. Does Gus Wilder tie into it at all?”
    “When you check the dates it does. Wilder jumped his bond two weeks before the Montreal robbery. He might have known what was cooking inside the mob and was on the spot when it happened to pick up some hideout money. Wilder was damn hot. He knew the mob wasn’t going to let him stay alive if there was any indication that he’d talk about their activities. At the same time he didn’t want to take a big fall. If he didn’t talk, the upstate department was going after him on other charges, so the only choice he had was to jump bail.”
    “So the mob detailed their boys to look him up,” I stated.
    “That’s the picture we’re getting here. All he got is his brother to turn to.”
    I said, “He called Henry asking for five hundred bucks.”
    “Could be reasonable, Joe. He wouldn’t want to throw hot money around just yet. That, or he asked for the money before the hijack. Check out the dates on your end, will you?”
    “Tonight I’ll call you back after I see Henry Wilder.”
    “Right. See you later.”
    I hung up, closed the call box and went back to McNeil and Marta. The wind had come up a little stronger and I felt the touch of a raindrop against my face. McNeil said, “Anything I can do, sir?”
    “Just keep your eyes open. I got that funny feeling that something’s going to break.”
    “Sure will.” He started to walk away, stopped and turned back. “Incidentally, Benny Loefert and Will Fater had a long talk with Al Reese tonight”
    “Where?”
    “In the back room at Bunny’s place.”
    “Who passed on the word?”
    “A little guy named Harry Wope.”
    “I know him.”
    “He thought you might like to know.”
    “Tell him thanks.”
    McNeil saluted again and went back to his beat.
     
    Henry Wilder didn’t appreciate the interruption. Since I saw him last he seemed to have curled up inside himself and reluctance was in every word he spoke. Gus hadn’t contacted him again and as far as he was concerned he hoped he never heard from him. When I got around to asking when he had the last call he thought about it a minute, then placed the day. I ran it through my mind and let it fit the pattern. Gus’ call had come after he jumped his bond and before the Montreal job, so Mack Brissom could have hit it right. Gus had no place to go and headed back to the only place he knew where he thought he’d have a reasonable place of security, buried in the anonymity of a decrepit section of the city.
    So what happened? I thought. If Gus had lived here he’d know his way around and the people who lived here. It was doubtful that he’d trust anybody, even his stepbrother, so before he moved in on him he’d hole up somewhere else long enough to feel Henry out. Trouble was then, René Mills saw him and knew about him skipping his bond and made a deal with him. If Gus was packing the Montreal money, René would have wanted it for himself and set up the scene to grab it. He would have had Gus move in with him where he could be on top of everything and his greed bought his own death.
    It fitted, all right, even to Doug Kitchen. Doug was a gregarious kind of guy who knew everybody and was