 I parked the Studebaker in the lot behind Eddie's fruit stand. Two sulky boys with hair that looked like it had been mayonnaised gave me the eye. I knew they were Corelli's muscle, so I ignored them. That made them sulkier. I stopped into Mable's. It was a seedy place, but I'm a seedy kind of guy. I like a beer joint that smells of ancient beer. "Hey, Fred!" Doris called. The place was still called Mabel's, but Sally Hannity had bought it from the old girl back in '59, and Doris bought it from Sally in '88. "Long time no see!" she greeted me. Patty the Aged Hooker slumbered at the far end of the bar. She was in the same condition, position, and outfit as the last time I'd seen her, four years before. The withered haunch protruding from her miniskirt was dusty. Aside from Patty and Doris the place was empty. I put my hat on the bar and sat down, keeping an eye on the front door. Doris poured me a beer. "Did you hear Mickey Spillane died?" she asked, cautiously. I cracked her across the chops with my .45. She spat blood, her eyes flaring, reaching for her gat. Then she froze as I trained the .45 on her ample belly. "I guess you did," she said, raising her hands and baring broken, lipstick-stained teeth in a friendly grimace. |
| "Look, Doll Face," I told her, "he was 88 years old. I'm not surprised." "I'm surprised they got his stiff into someplace called Goldfinch Funeral Home," she observed. |
| Doris wiped the blood from her lips with the back of her hand, then leaned thick arms on the counter, looking me in the eye. "He was a better writer than he was an actor, you know," she observed, wistfully. |
| "Yeah," Doris said. "I remember them. Had some good scenes, just like Mickey used to write. But then that numbnutz they had playing Hammer got arrested for being a cokey." "And Mike Hammer didn't have a moustache," I agreed. |
| "I liked some of those better than I liked his last few novels," I said, reaching for my hat. "Sorry for the busted teeth, Doris." "I get off at 2," she told my departing back. |