“I will, if you don’t mind.” Shayne lit a cigarette and asked, “What is the beginning?”
“It’s my husband, Steve, Mr. Shayne. He’s in Miami and in terrible danger. If I could only find him… get him to face up to it and come home and seek the protection of the law which he fully deserves…” Her face went to pieces suddenly and she lowered her head and sobbed convulsively while her hands writhed together in her lap.
“My husband isn’t a bad man. Steve’s weak, perhaps… but not bad. He didn’t really do anything so terribly wrong. Nothing that he should be punished for.” She lifted her head abruptly and looked at him with tears streaming down her cheeks. “He didn’t do anything wrong at all. Just got in with the wrong crowd and gambled more than he could afford… and then when those crooked gamblers had won all his cash, it was they who urged him to gamble on credit. He told me all about it, Mr. Shayne. Poor Stevie! He actually thought they were being kind-hearted and generous to him… giving him a chance to win back what he’d lost.
“It wasn’t until he was in ’way over his head that he finally realized how cleverly they had trapped him. They cut off his credit suddenly and demanded payment. My husband isn’t a wealthy man, Mr. Shayne, but he has a fine position of trust with a Savings and Loan Association, and they callously suggested he could get the money there if he couldn’t raise it elsewhere.
“That he could steal it.” She spat the word out with venomous contempt. “You can imagine what that did to a man like Steve. Honestly, Mr. Shayne, he’s one of the most honest and upright men who ever lived. He was flabbergasted at first. He laughed at them. He simply couldn’t believe they were serious. But they warned him that they were. They threatened reprisals… not only physical danger to him, but they threatened his family also. Me and our two children. They warned him that if he went to the police for protection none of us would ever be safe again.
“It was the Syndicate, you see. Perhaps you don’t realize how things are in Chicago. Crime and gambling and all that is completely organized. They have a regular army of what they call ‘enforcers’ and they are actually above the law in Chicago. Most people don’t realize it, but it’s as bad as it ever was back in the Capone days.”
Shayne nodded slowly, his trenched face bleak. “I have a pretty good idea how things are in Chicago. We’ve managed to avoid that sort of thing in Miami, but it’s a constant struggle to keep the Syndicate from getting a foothold. So your husband told you this, Mrs. Renshaw?”
“About three weeks ago. We sat up and talked most of the night. I blame myself for what happened. Steve wanted me to take the children and get out of town fast. I have relatives in California where I could have gone. He thought he could throw them off the track and join me later. But I was a fool, Mr. Shayne. A self-righteous, trusting, goddamned fool!
“I shamed Stevie into staying in Chicago and facing it out. I couldn’t believe that the local police weren’t capable of protecting us. It seemed utterly insane to me for us to run away and hide from underworld forces, no matter how well organized they were. I urged Steve to defy them to do their worst. And they did. The very next day, Mr. Shayne.”
Mrs. Renshaw dropped her eyes and her voice dropped to a whisper. “We have a lovely daughter twelve years old. She was coming home from school when a car drove past on a street corner and a container of acid was thrown at her and two friends who were walking home together. It burned… one side of Marcia’s face badly, and spattered her two innocent companions. That’s the sort of fiends he has against him, Mr. Shayne. How can you fight that? What can a decent person do?”
Shayne shifted in his chair and avoided her gaze. He said, “I get the picture, Mrs. Renshaw. What did your husband do?”
“He disappeared. Without telling me he was going. I would have gone with him. I would have taken our children and disappeared with him, but I’d failed him before and he didn’t trust me again. He left me a note explaining what he was doing… that if he left his job and simply vanished, he thought they’d give up and leave him alone. Because if he no longer had his job, you see, there was no way they could hope to force him to pay the gambling debt, and he was convinced they would see reason and leave us alone thereafter.”
“Was he right?” asked Shayne grimly.
“In a way. We haven’t been molested since. Though I’m convinced our house is continually watched, and I suspect the Syndicate has a tap on our telephone. That’s why… when Steve telephoned me from Miami three days ago… I cut him off fast. Even so, he had time to tell me they had trailed him here and he was remaining in hiding in hourly danger of his life. You must find him for me, Mr. Shayne, before they do. Before the Syndicate’s murderous ‘enforcers’ locate him. I can convince him to go to the police for protection. I know I can. Steve will listen to me. He’s like a frightened little boy. He just isn’t thinking straight. He’s no match for them. He’s had no experience in this sort of thing. He can’t go on this way.”
“You didn’t tell the police about his call?”
“He made me promise not to. He’s utterly terrified of what the Syndicate will do if we dare go to the police.”
“What did he tell you?” demanded Shayne sharply.
“Simply that he is using the name of Fred Tucker down here. He would have said more but I… I’m afraid I cut him off because I’m afraid our telephone is tapped.
“Well, first I went to a private detective in Chicago to solicit professional assistance. I felt so inadequate to come down here alone and attempt to find Steve, and thought I needed the advice and aid of someone who knew about such matters. I know how corrupt the city police are in Chicago, but I thought a private detective would be different. Still, I thought such a man might decline to help me find Steve if he knew he was bucking the Syndicate by doing so, and before I consulted him I decided that I would not tell him the truth.
“I didn’t know anything about how to find a reliable detective in Chicago, of course, nor did I know anyone I could ask, and so I picked the name of a detective agency at random out of the yellow pages. He advertised that divorce cases were his specialty, with a line about tracing ‘erring spouses’… and I had already decided that was how I should represent myself… as a wife whose husband had deserted her.
“I confess I was appalled by the appearance and manners of the man when I met him in his office, but he did appear competent and didn’t ask too many probing questions, and assured me that he had many contacts in Miami which would make it a very simple matter to locate my husband.
“I’m convinced now, Mr. Shayne, that he has connections in the underworld and that he somehow put two and two together and realized that my erring spouse was really the man on whose head the Syndicate has put a price. I think that was why he was eager to take my case and didn’t even demand a retainer in advance… just travelling expenses. A lot of little things happened on the trip down that made me suspicious of him. He’s not a nice man, Mr. Shayne. He frightens me, and now I’m terrified that he will find Steve before the police do.”
“What is his name?”
“Baron McTige, he calls himself. He is uncouth and ruthless, and, I’m convinced, utterly amoral and predatory.” She paused, and Shayne saw her hands clenching themselves together in her lap. “We flew down together, you see, because I insisted on coming with him even though he insisted he could handle the matter alone. And when we arrived yesterday he… he made the most outrageous proposals to me, Mr. Shayne, and revealed his true colors for the first time. I… discharged him from the case, though he had the audacity to sneer at me and inform me that I had a legal obligation to pay him whatever fee he wished to demand after he found Steve. And he’s here in the city now, tracking him down, Mr. Shayne, for the sole purpose, I’m sure, of fingering him to the Syndicate, if he succeeds.”
“Who suggested you come to me?”
“No one. Well, that is… it is funny, really, but McTige actually gave me your name. It was on the plane coming down and I sug
gested that perhaps he should get in touch on arrival with a competent local detective who would know more about where to look for Steven. This was while he was still trying to keep in my good graces, and he said that if we should decide we needed help that one of the best detectives in the country had an office in Miami, and he mentioned your name. And this morning in desperation I did make some inquiries among local people and discovered how well-known and respected you are… and I just made up my mind to come to you and lay my problem in your lap. Please, Mr. Shayne, you will help me, won’t you?”
“I’ll try,” promised Shayne. “Describe your husband.”
“Steve is forty-two,” said Mrs. Renshaw precisely. “And he looks just about that age. Weight one hundred fifty-six; height five feet ten inches, and he walks with a little bit of a stoop which, curiously, gives one the impression that he is taller than he actually is. Clean-shaven, brown eyes, and brown hair that is getting a little skimpy in front.” As she gave the physical description one had the impression that each word was memorized and was being repeated by rote.
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Baron McTige has two, which I foolishly gave him. He refused to return them to me yesterday when I told him I no longer wished him to look for Steve.”
“What about personal habits? What sort of places would your husband be likely to frequent?”
“I simply can’t imagine, Mr. Shayne. Actually, Steve is very shy and retiring. Particularly with women. He had absolutely no vices… outside of gambling.” She broke off, biting her lower lip. “He’s very retiring, and modest in his spending habits. Dresses ultra-conservatively, and just detests spending money on clothes for himself. Why, I’ve actually had to drag him down to a store to replace a forty-dollar suit that had grown shabby after two years wear. I just don’t know,” she said slowly. “I guess I just don’t know very much about Steve, do I, Mr. Shayne?”
“Was your husband attractive to women?” Shayne asked bluntly.
“In a nice sort of way. I always thought he aroused their maternal instincts.” She paused a moment, then added uneasily, “Particularly in younger women. I could never really understand Steve’s attraction for them. But there was a sort of gallantry about him that was somehow pathetic, I guess. Something that had to do with a father fixation, perhaps. If I were a psychoanalyst perhaps I could give you a Freudian term for it.”
Shayne said dubiously, “None of this is very helpful, Mrs. Renshaw. If your husband does follow the behavior pattern you anticipate, he can easily make himself indistinguishable from a hundred thousand other retired, or semi-retired, tourists in Miami.”
“I know,” she murmured with downcast eyes. “That’s what I pointed out to Baron McTige. But he seemed so positive he’d be able to manage.” She lifted blue eyes which appeared to have gained new depths since she had entered his office.
“They say you can accomplish anything in Miami, Mr. Shayne. Please help me find Steve before the Syndicate does. About your fee, Mr. Shayne. From the very beginning I felt there was something peculiar about Baron McTige waiving a retainer. I feel I should have sensed the fact that he had personal reasons for taking the case. So, under the circumstances,” she told him with a wan smile, “I’d feel very much better about everything if you’ll permit me to pay you a substantial retainer.”
Shayne said, “I’ll be completely frank with you, Mrs. Renshaw. I’m not a knight on a white charger, but I do detest and abhor the Syndicate and will do anything in my power to keep it from gaining a foothold in Miami. Frankly, I’m delighted to have a chance to get in their way, and my fee will depend entirely on how things work out. Leave your Miami address with my secretary, and I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow at the latest.”
She said, “I do thank you, Mr. Shayne,” and got to her feet slowly. She looked less outwardly composed now, but curiously stronger and more assured than when she had entered the room.
Her blue eyes were misty as she held out both hands to him impulsively and said, “I do hope you know how much better I feel. I’m not alone any more. It’s been so horrible… the aloneness… since Stevie went away. But now… you will find him, won’t you? And the children will have their father back and… things will be just as they were before this nightmare happened to us.”
Shayne squeezed her hands tightly and said, “I sincerely hope so, Mrs. Renshaw. I’ll get right to work on it.”
He stood by his desk and watched her walk out with her shoulders held back proudly and a gallant lift to her head, and he wondered what sort of man Steve Renshaw really was, and whether finding Steve would solve any problem or not.
He heard a murmur of voices in the outer office, and then the closing of the door, and Lucy Hamilton came hurrying in, her eyes bright with interest and undisguised curiosity.
“I got every word of it down, Michael. How can such a coincidence happen?”
He shook his head gravely. “You know my theory, angel… that nothing is really coincidence. Look far enough and you’ll always find a basic cause and effect.”
“And you don’t call this a coincidence? That two women whom you have never heard of before… and who have never heard of each other… turn up here within an hour of each other asking you to find the same man for them?” Lucy looked at him incredulously.
“Cause and effect,” said Shayne serenely. “If we dig deep enough we’ll dispose of coincidence. Now then, why do you suppose Sloe Burn picked me out to solve her problem?”
“That’s easy. She told me before you got here when I asked who referred her to you. ‘Whah Mistuh Shayne is the best detective in town, hain’t he? Eve’ybody says so. That’s why she came to you.”
“There you are.” Shayne spread out his hands. “And Mrs. Renshaw came for the same reason… because this McTige character gave me a high recommendation. Where’s your coincidence now?”
Lucy said softly, “You have an insufferable ego, Michael Shayne,” but she was smiling in response to his grin as she spoke.
He said abruptly, “See if Will Gentry’s in, angel.”
“And…?” She paused in the doorway looking over her shoulder at him.
“Tell him to stay in for fifteen minutes. I’ll be over.”
3
MIAMI’S CHIEF OF POLICE, Will Gentry, was in a relaxed and genial mood when he greeted Shayne in his office at police headquarters a short time later. He was chewing on the soggy butt of one of his favorite, evil-smelling cigars, and it was near the end of a day that had been comparatively crime-free, and there were no pressing cases to keep Gentry away from a quiet evening at home with his family.
“What’s with you, Mike?” He waved a beefy hand at the redhead. “And your beautiful secretary?”
“Lucy sends her greetings.” Shayne settled his rangy body in a straight chair beside the chief’s desk, and lit a cigarette. “That’s a mighty smug look you got on your face, Will.”
Gentry lowered rumpled lids over his eyes and held them closed for a moment. Then he rolled the lids back up like miniature Venetian bunds, and warned his visitor, “If you’re the bearer of bad tidings, just turn around and go out quietly, Mike. Clients pay you to handle their troubles for them, not to dump them onto the department.”
“I’m not dumping anything. Not yet. Just want to know what you intend to do about foreign guns walking the streets of Miami planning a kill.”
Chief Gentry sat very still behind his desk. Then he took the soggy cigar butt out of his mouth and looked at it as if surprised to find it there. In a deceptively mild tone, he said, “First I heard about it. What sort of guns would you be referring to, Mike?”
“Syndicate boys. From Chicago. Two of them to be exact. Moving in here as though they have reason to expect the same sort of protection from your men that they buy in their home-town.”
Chief Gentry clamped his teeth back over the cigar. His ruddy complexion deepened a trifle and his voice became less mild:
“Have you any informati
on about Syndicate payoffs in Miami?”
“Not directly. But I hate to see them get started here, Will. Let them pull one job and get away with it… and next thing the whole mob will be moving in.”
“Give it to me, Mike.”
“All right. I’ve got it pretty straight that a couple of Syndicate enforcers are in Miami on the trail of a scared little guy who ran out on a gambling debt in Chicago. Goddamn it, Will, he came to Miami because he thought this town was closed up tight and he’d be safe here.” To get under the chief’s skin, Shayne injected a note of righteous indignation into his voice that made Gentry wince. “This was after the goons splashed his young daughter with acid on a street corner in broad daylight while she was walking home from school.”
Shayne leaned forward and clenched his fist on Gentry’s desk, his eyes and voice hard. “That’s the sort of thing that’ll be making headlines in Miami if we don’t stop it fast.”
“One isolated case, Mike. You can’t make a Syndicate invasion out of that.”
“But you’ve spent years putting the fear of God into them,” Shayne reminded him harshly. “The word’s been out to stay away from Miami. What’s changed that suddenly? Why has the Syndicate decided it’s safe to send a couple of boys into your territory to do a job now?”
Chief Gentry reacted exactly as long experience had taught Shayne that he would. He snatched the cigar butt from his mouth and glared at it balefully, then flung it angrily at a spittoon in the corner.
“If you’re intimating, that we’re opening up… it’s a lie. The lid’s on just as tight as ever, Mike.”
“Prove it,” Shayne challenged wolfishly. “Stop them before they get started. You know that’s the only way to handle a grass-fire.”
“Sure I know it. And even if you are sitting there egging me on to pulling your chestnuts out of the fire for you, I’ll do it just to keep Miami clean. Who are these two characters you’re talking about?”
“Hell, you don’t expect me to provide names and complete descriptions do you? All I know is they’re here… walking the streets openly and ready to gun down this scared little citizen who thought he’d get protection by coming here.”
Killers from the Keys Page 2