Armed... Dangerous...

by Brett Halliday

  Shayne felt a sudden pounding behind his eyes. “What do you mean, you’ve lost her?”

  “She’s in a building, and I can only cover one exit at a time.”

  Shayne swore under his breath. “Where are you?”

  “Downtown. We came down on the Eighth Avenue. She went in a bank on William Street, across from the Chase Manhattan. Geneva Credit and Deposit. That was at ten-twenty. It’s a funny bank, Shayne—you go in and there’s a kind of living room, with easy chairs and a fireplace yet. This senior citizen sitting at a desk with black cuffs. No sign of the woman. I told him I was looking for a place to cash a check and pulled the hell out.”

  “How many exits?”

  “One other I can’t see. But there are tunnels everywhere in this part of town. If she wants to leave me sitting here, God knows she can do it. She did some hanging around looking in windows before she went in. Whether she spotted me or not, I couldn’t tell you.” He added abruptly, “Here she comes.”

  The phone clattered in Shayne’s ear. He looked at his watch.

  “Get anything?” Rourke asked.

  “An address. What’s Power’s number?”

  Rourke told him. “That’s a direct line. He doesn’t want any news from you or me coming in through the switchboard.”

  Shayne gave the mobile operator the number. In a moment Power’s crisp, controlled voice said hello.

  “Mike!” he exclaimed when he heard Shayne’s voice. “Wait a minute, I want to close the door.”

  A moment later he was back on the line. “It’s getting so I don’t even trust myself. Everything under control?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Shayne told him. “We’ve got a tentative address for the banker. Jamieson can give you the details. About Kraus.”

  “Oh, you saw that? Did she see it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I don’t know how you’re situated, Mike, but if there’s any chance of keeping her in the dark, for God’s sake do it. The name shouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. So far it’s not much of a story. The trouble is, he left a confession. I’m doing my damnedest to keep it from the press, and so far I’ve succeeded.”

  “Does he mention Michele?”

  “Luckily, no. But we know he was feeding her information, because we’ve seen them together. The proverbial bad apple. He’s been living well over his income, and the note explains where he’s been getting the money. Do you have time for this, Mike?”

  “A couple of minutes. Go ahead.”

  “He’s been stealing drugs from the case files. Steamed open the envelopes and substituted cornstarch for heroin. I doubt if it amounted to much in terms of volume, but once he took that first step they could put on the pressure and he had to go along. Last night he apparently decided he couldn’t go through with it. The note doesn’t mention the robbery. He must have thought his suicide by itself would take care of that, we’d have to cancel the shipment to check through to find out how far the substitutions went.”

  Shayne said, “Is there any chance that it wasn’t suicide?”

  “A chance,” Power said doubtfully. “He wouldn’t be the first informer to end up with a hole in the head instead of ten percent of the loot. It’s an idea, Mike, but we’ll have to put it aside for the time being. Is there anything I ought to know about tomorrow?”

  “No, except that it looks damned good. As far as I can see, she’s thought of everything.”

  “I hope not everything,” Power said.

  He wished Shayne luck and the detective put back the phone.

  “Mike, to finish up about Kraus,” Rourke said. “I talked to the Bronx legman who phoned in that story and I picked up a few points. The girl’s name, for one thing.”

  “You mean the fiancée?”

  “That’s too big a word. They were going together, that’s all. They had a date last night. I thought I might go up and talk to her, but I really meant it when I said we ought to change places. Getting the feel of this kind of situation isn’t one of the things I do best. Hell, I’ll do what I can.”

  Shayne thought about it, his hand on the door latch. “I might be able to get out tonight, late. Could you bring her over to Staten Island? There’s an intersection down the road from the house. A tavern, a couple of stores. Don’t be surprised if I don’t show up. It depends on how it goes.”

  He gave Rourke directions, and Rourke promised to try to have the girl there around midnight.

  “Hey, I almost forgot. I brought you a jug.”

  He took a pint of Courvoisier out of his coat pocket and handed it to Shayne. The detective opened it and took a long drink.

  “That’s sweet liquor,” he said, handing it back regretfully. “Keep it for me. I’m disguised as a blended-whiskey drinker.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The bored blonde in the ticket cage did a double take as Shayne bought a second admission. Even with dyed hair he carried an atmosphere that made him easy to remember. An unlighted cigarette in his mouth, he went up to the mezzanine. There were several pairs of young lovers there, a flock of alert, chattering homosexuals, several sleeping derelicts, a small handful of people actually watching the screen.

  Shayne took a seat in a half-empty row, and soon closed his eyes. Presently a would-be pickpocket slid into the seat next to him. Shayne opened his eyes.

  “Get far away from me, kid.”

  The boy bridled. “Did—did you sign a lease on this seat?” he demanded, stuttering.

  Shayne looked at him in the flickering light and the boy scurried away. Ten minutes later Michele took his place. Shayne’s eyes were closed again, but he could smell her perfume amid the reek of tobacco and other odors.

  “How’s the picture?” she said.

  “How’s the picture,” he said in disgust, sitting up and stretching. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “With pleasure.”

  She had brought a thin cowhide dispatch case. She resisted for an instant when he took it from her.

  “Ladies don’t carry luggage when there’s a man along,” he said.

  One of the homosexuals cut a slanting look at him as they passed up the aisle. “Isn’t he masculine?” he remarked to a friend.

  Outside the theatre, Shayne said, “I want to buy a couple of shirts. Why don’t we decide where we’re going, and I’ll meet you?”

  She took his arm. “Darling, you are sometimes funny. I would hate to mislay you at this stage. With the money in that case, plus a passport, you could disappear to Brazil and grow a big beard to go with a new name.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” Shayne said.

  “Because you know I would not allow it,” she told him. “You need more than shirts. I like to go shopping with a man, but I warn you. I have definite opinions.”

  She signaled an eastbound taxi. “Brooks Brothers,” she told the driver.

  When Shayne protested she said sweetly, “It is expensive there, but you have money to spend. This I can say of my own knowledge. And what would you spend it on otherwise?”

  “Girls. Booze. Hell, I don’t know. I never have any trouble spending money.”

  “Spend some of it on clothes, to please me, darling.”

  Shayne looked at his unpressed gabardine. “What’s the matter with this suit?”

  “What was the matter with the movie?”

  The taxi took them up Madison Avenue and Michele marched Shayne into the citadel of correct gentlemen’s apparel. He submitted meekly, to the extent of six shirts, ties and a pair of Peale shoes on the main floor. The second floor yielded two suits, and the third, a sports jacket and slacks. Shayne balked at walking shorts, but gave in on a Locke hat. On the top floor, Michele exerted her full charm and exacted a promise that cuffs would be put on the pants by the end of the afternoon. Shayne paid cash all the way, and on the down-ride bought an English suitcase to put everything in.

  Another taxi took them back to the Port Authority garage, where they transferred to Michele’s Chevy
. She was bubbling with excitement.

  “And now, darling!”

  “Now we buy a bottle and some sandwiches and go to bed.”

  “Yes! Hurry.”

  He drove uptown on Eighth Avenue, stopping first at a delicatessen, then at a liquor store. In the liquor store he bypassed the shelves loaded with cognacs, and picked out a fifth of mediocre bourbon. Farther up Eighth, he turned into one of the big motels.

  “Darling?” Michele said. “I thought my apartment. I might have a phone call.”

  The same thought had occurred to Shayne. She couldn’t be told about the death of Herman Kraus if nobody knew where she was.

  “I’m thinking about that dame in the hat,” he said. “Remember? She had a good long look at me, and I’m still wearing the same suit. I don’t want it to happen again. This time she might not faint.”

  “Oh, merde, you are right, of course.”

  He registered as Mr. and Mrs. Matt Maguire, of Rochester, New York. They were given a room on the eighth floor. It was a motel room, with no particular pluses or minuses. As she passed the TV she automatically switched it on. A solemn man was reading news bulletins. Shayne turned it off.

  “Who wants to look at that crap?”

  He pulled off his tie and jacket and made the drinks. Then he opened the dispatch case.

  “Seven thousand, five hundred,” she said, watching him, “minus seven hundred and three.”

  “What seven hundred and three?”

  “You took eight hundred and three from me last night, and gave me back a hundred.”

  Shayne grinned and dumped the packages of bills on the bureau. “Just for the hell of it, I think I’ll count it. Anybody can make a mistake, and the thing about you, baby, if there’s a mistake I know it’ll be in your favor.”

  “You’ll find it all there,” she said coolly.

  He counted it carefully, verifying that count with a second one. His expression became more and more thoughtful.

  “Where’d you take your commission, off the top?”

  “My commission? The word hardly applies, does it? The terms were clear. You agreed to them.”

  He shook out a cigarette. It was the last in the package, and he wadded the package angrily and threw it across the room.

  “Whose capital are you using? What the hell are you trying to pull off tomorrow? I don’t like this keep-him-in-the-dark business. You’ve got the moves all worked out. What I’m starting to wonder, are there a couple of moves at the end you didn’t tell me about?”

  “What is your complaint, exactly?” she said with no change of expression.

  “There are too many twists in this thing! I don’t want to end up in some waiting room at LaGuardia with egg on my face. The payoff, the payoff. Where do I draw the rest of the fifteen thousand?”

  She said coolly, “If you wish, you can pick it up when you deliver the truck. I can have it there in cash, waiting. The passport is in order. I have arranged for us to leave together, but if you prefer to stay in New York and take your chances, I think in a moment or two I could manage to forget you.”

  “That I believe,” Shayne said, blowing out smoke.

  “But what brought this on? I have done as I promised. Perhaps you think it is easy to produce an American passport on twelve hours’ notice. It is far from easy. What has come over you all at once?”

  “It hit me,” Shayne said, biting it off. “This is new country for me, kid. I went on one other joint job once, just once. Two other guys, and if you went by what they said they were very hard boys. It was a nice score, a hundred and twenty for the three of us. Then my wheelman got picked up on a murder rap, and on that they really had him. Before the D.A. let him cop a second-degree plea, he had to tell them every last thing he ever did, including my name and address. And the second guy wasn’t satisfied with forty G’s. He decided to go for eighty, only I jumped just in time. Two inches of the knife blade broke off between my ribs—I can show you the scar. By the time I finished with him I think he was sorry. I ended up with eighty. What I mean is—I made myself a promise. It had to be something I could do myself from then on, or forget it. Don’t worry, I’m not copping out,” he said when she started to speak. “But hell, from your own point of view, you’ll get better service if I know more about it.”

  He gestured at the window. “That isn’t a chessboard out there. It’s a city full of cars and people. You tell me to turn left at such and such a corner. What if somebody’s digging a hole in the street and I can’t turn left? You’ve got to leave some of it up to me. And if I don’t know any more tomorrow than I do now, I can guarantee you I’ll make the wrong move.”

  “To be specific,” she said.

  “A garbage truck, for God’s sake! With two cops on the tailgate! OK, is it the kind of garbage you want me to dump in the sewer if I get in trouble? If I can’t get in touch with you, who do I get in touch with? What kind of protection have we got?”

  She put down her drink. Coming over to his chair in her stocking feet, she kissed the corner of his mouth. “You are making a large Alp out of a small bump in the ground, you know. Number one: we have no protection. Let us be careful not to be caught. Number two: I can’t see what difference it makes, but if you must know what will be in the truck—”

  She began unbuttoning his shirt. “It will begin its journey at a police warehouse, and end at an incinerator. The police in New York have collected certain evidence against some important people, and these people, I must tell you, do have connections. They are the existing organization in certain illegal areas.”

  “Are you talking about the Mafia or something?”

  “Oh, the Mafia. It is true that many of them are Sicilians, South Italians of the second generation in America, but it is not the kind of group you think of when you say Mafia. This evidence, some is serious, some is merely business information. By pulling strings, by spending money, they have persuaded the police to burn it, and my friends, who would like a share in the profitable affairs controlled by the Mafia, wish to seize it before it can reach the incinerator.”

  “Why? I must be dumber than I thought. I don’t get it.”

  “Darling, one doesn’t ask why. The Mafia people are vulnerable, you know. The times have passed them by. In the days of jet travel, they think and do business in the old slow way. My friends will say to them in effect, ‘Here are Xerox copies of certain documents in our possession. Retire.’ Now. To answer another question. If you find yourself unable to reach the transfer point, do not empty the truck in the sewer. Call me at a number I will give you.”

  Shayne uttered a coarse expletive. “I’m over my head here, baby. It’s not my kind of deal. The sooner I get back in my own league, the better for everybody.”

  “You set your sights too low, darling,” she said, smiling. “Wait till you see yourself in your new clothes.”

  Shayne’s voice had begun to lose its edge. “I’ve had chicks try to change me before. I forget their names.”

  “I don’t want to change you. I want to change your surroundings. You have no objection to being rich, surely?”

  “I’ve been in the chips once or twice,” he said. “But a funny thing about stickup dough. It’s not like real money.”

  “I get you real money,” she said. “And the real money today, you are right, is honest money. That’s what these Mafia primitives will never understand, with their codes, their quickness to commit murder for something of utterly no importance, like an insult.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Shayne said. All the anger was gone from his voice.

  “I tell you then.” She left her perch, whirled around with her arms raised, and came back to the arm of the chair and kissed him hard. “You make me feel excellent. When I was a young girl there was no money in my family. Only a few lucky ones had work in that region, so my mother went away to the city. She was a handsome woman, men gave her money, she sent some to us in our village, so we ate not badl
y. But always she thought her manner of living sinful. Wrong, right, what did it matter, who decided it was right to sit in the house without a sou and go to political meetings and come home hungry? My father said it was society one should blame, the system of government, but I learned from my mother, not my father. He died of pneumonia, it was called. Some years later I was the friend of a rich man, who had tankers and passenger vessels and three yachts and much besides. He started from a hungry family like mine. He taught me about making money, it amused him. First, he said, you accumulate a small sum so you have something to risk. That one time it may be necessary to break a law or so, which is all right if you go in fast and get out fast. But after that you hire lawyers, who take excellent care that you no longer break laws. If it is necessary to be cruel, be cruel, but within the law. I listened carefully. And I have many ideas. I have come to know many useful people. I think I do well.”

  “Baby—” Shayne scowled, trying to put his thoughts into words without going outside the character he was pretending to be. He gave it up with a disgusted wave. “If that’s your idea of living.”

  “It is very much my idea of living,” she said. “I know women are not expected to become rich except when a rich husband dies of an early heart attack. It is all right for a man to be hard and ruthless, not a woman. I need a man to work with me, who is not a slave of sentimentality, who can move, who can do what is necessary.”

  Again Shayne let his voice take on a hard edge. “And who shot a cop in the States? I can see how you figure, baby. I’ll have to jump when you crack the whip, or New York gets a long-distance phone call, the full details on where they can find me.”

  She said quietly, “I hope I can think of some way to show you that isn’t so.”

  “I hope so too, baby, but that’s all right. I’m a hard man to push. Right now you and I are going in the same direction. Maybe we’ll make it as far as Portugal. But don’t make any long-range plans. I’ve never been with a dame longer than two months.”

  “But two months! It is an age!” she said with a delighted smile. “Darling, I knew we would agree.”