Killer Mine by Mickey Spillane Page B

always there with a ready hello and handshake. Gus was gone from the neighborhood long enough to warrant a greeting upon his return, and Doug died because he recognized him. From little acorns do big oaks grow. A corny cliché, but true.
    We told Henry Wilder good night and went downstairs to the street again. The sidewalks were just starting to take on a sheen from the light rain that had started to fall. While we walked I gave it to Marta in detail and let her process it mentally the way I did and her conclusion agreed with mine.
    “I think you have it, Joe.”
    I shook my head and turned my collar up against the wind. “I don’t know,” I said. “Something’s loose in the picture. I want everything to fit tight”
    “Does it always?”
    I grinned and looked at her. “Most of the time.”
    We got to Papa Jones’ candy store as he was closing. Most of the lights were out and he was stuffing his daily receipts into his pocket when we walked in. He gave Marta a smile, but when he saw me his face went suddenly tight and his shoulders jumped under his too-loose suitcoat. He was remembering me from a long time ago and the time when he broke my nose with the awning rod and I promised to come back and tear him up but never got farther than breaking his front window with a rock.
    “Ease off, Papa.” I said. “The past is past. It’s different now.” To prove it I let him see my badge in the wallet and his face went sideways in a curious change of expression. He finally swallowed hard and croaked, “Joe?”
    “Nobody else.”
    “A… cop?”
    “Haven’t you heard? I’ve been around a few days.”
    “I… been out,” he said. “Ronnie’s been taking care… of things.”
    Marta turned around and explained, “Ronnie’s his nephew.”
    Papa Jones glanced at both of us nervously, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his coat. Cops always make them nervous. “So… what do you want with me? I’m closing up.”
    “Remember Gus Wilder, Papa?”
    His false teeth clicked and he nodded. “Sure, I remember him.”
    “See him lately?”
    “He left here a long time ago. He…”
    “I didn’t ask that”
    Papa Jones took on new confidence then. “I ain’t seen him since.”
    “Know him pretty well, Papa?”
    He tried to get my angle, but couldn’t figure it and said, “So enough. He used the phone here all the time. Bought cigarettes and things like that.”
    “Phone number been changed lately?”
    He scowled and shook his head. “Same since you kids used it. The phone got changed, but not the number, why?”
    “No reason.”
    “So what’s the phone? Everybody uses it. That René Mills, Stuccio… hell, the whole neighborhood uses it. Who got their own phones around here?” he demanded defensively.
    “Sure, Papa. Well look, if you see this Wilder, you call us, hear?”
    “Yeah,” he said, but didn’t mean it. “Why don’t you ask his brother where he is?”
    “That’ll be taken care of. Just do like I said or I’ll keep that old promise. You remember it?”
    He did, all right. “Damn bunch of bums, you kids were,” he muttered. Then his face got a little pale and he watched me closely.
    I grinned and took Marta’s hand. “Come on, kid.”
    Papa Jones slammed and locked the door the minute we were out and yanked the shade down fast. Marta said, “You make quite an impression.”
    “I always did with him.”
    “What did you make out of it, Joe?”
    “It’s tightening up. Like he said, everybody uses the phone. Gus Wilder could have done just that and been spotted by René. He would have waited until Gus came out so Papa Jones wouldn’t see them together and tapped him then. It even explains why Gus had the phone number in his pocket… a secondary number he knew in the neighborhood if he wanted to make a contact in case his brother’s phone was tapped.”
    The sky rumbled again and the lightning flashes moved closer. The main force of the rain was starting to sweep in on the city,