Win Some, Lose Some ms-69

by Brett Halliday

  The fire had almost been brought under control when the bare-chested youth climbed onto the wagon and took a shot in the stomach, dislodging the hose as he fell. A moment later the trailer was blazing again. The tire exploded, blowing out several of the riveted panels. The entire interior was now one mass of flame.

  Shayne heard a stifled exclamation from Frieda. The van on the highway was beginning to move.

  “Somebody’s driving off with our fat man,” she said.

  “Let’s go get them.”

  They returned to the truck. He let out the clutch the instant the motor took hold, and they shot forward. He felt a wash of heat as they passed the fire. Somebody jumped aside. He had a gun in his hand, and so did Frieda. Neither one fired.

  Downey, his hand raised against the heat, backed away. He saw the pickup start for the gap in the fence and yelled to Pam, “Werner-the son of a bitch is taking off. We should have got rid of that bastard when we had the chance.”

  Then Werner himself came running past. He gave Downey a look with murder in it and disappeared in the darkness. That might be a good example for everybody to follow. The fire trucks would be showing up any minute now.

  Pam was still on her knees, looking pale and sick. To bring her out of it, Downey flicked the side of her face with his fingers as he went past. “Let’s go, let’s go-”

  The damn place was as bright as day. He had counted two people. Two vehicles had driven off. But suddenly he was convinced that there was someone he hadn’t counted, a marksman, who even now was aiming a high-velocity rifle at his spinal column. He felt conspicuous and fragile. He broke stride and dodged about in the beans like a running back.

  Then he was in the shadow cast by the water wagon. He ran along that. He was out of condition for this, and after a time he had to drop to the ground to wait for his breath to come back.

  The highway was empty now, but that couldn’t continue long. The van and the pickup had passed out of sight. Who the hell were those guys? He would have said Benjamin and Vaughan, but that pair was locked away for the night. He just didn’t know anymore. He got a certain arrangement in the kaleidoscope, and then somebody bumped his elbow and everything came out different.

  The trailer was burning like a beacon, with the flames standing straight up. Pam and Werner were nowhere. Downey was alone in the vast field-no friends, no transportation. He had only a vague idea of the geography around here. When he went anywhere, he went on paved roads. He decided to return to the county road that passed under the Interstate, and follow that to see where it led. He trudged off, beginning to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to try and live on the pension.

  He heard Pam and Werner snapping at each other ahead and ran to catch up, glad to know he wouldn’t be alone on the walk. He neglected to call out who he was, and they went headlong.

  “It’s Jack!” he announced.

  He heard the click of a hammer coming back, a scary sound anywhere, and he did another complicated dive and roll. He drew his own gun.

  “Hey, let’s not split up. We can still pull this off. Maybe not the full million, but hell, let’s get our expenses out, anyway.”

  He went on talking as he crawled. He had really given up back there when he realized that Canada was being fried in his own deep fat. He was only talking to ground some of the electricity in the air. But he began to see possibilities, and by the time he reached them, he had nearly convinced himself.

  “You’re still thinking about money?” Pam said with scorn. “Jack, you’re insane.”

  “A better word would be stubborn,” Downey said. “Everybody knows that about me. Once I take hold of a thing, I never let go.”

  “We’re all still alive. That’s more than can be said for some people. Let’s go our separate ways.”

  “Can’t do that yet,” Downey said plausibly. “We’re going to be traveling in the same car. Werner, how’s the arm?”

  “I’m O.K.”

  “I thought I’d suggest, as soon as we hit a road, why don’t we find you a place to sit down, and we’ll go get the car and come back for you? No sense in us all walking.”

  “I don’t want to feel left out.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Werner had pocketed his gun, but he kept his hand in that pocket. Downey did the same, until he persuaded himself that everything was cool. Reaching the road, they turned east. Sooner or later they would be bound to see signs.

  “Now why should anybody want to set that trailer on fire?” he said. “Because they knew Canada was in it! Are you following me this far? He’s stepped on so many faces, the town’s full of people who’d like to see him burn.”

  They were listening, at least. If he was this tired at the start, how would he feel at the finish? They could droop along and admit that their feet hurt. But he was the noncom, he had to pretend.

  “We could go home and get some sleep,” he said, “and by the time we woke up, everything would be buttoned up tight. Damn it, this was a great idea of yours, Werner. I for one don’t want to give up just because we had a little setback here.”

  “A little setback,” Werner repeated in an amazed voice.

  “Not so little, I guess. Here’s what I was thinking. We’ve got the letter ready. Let’s go ahead and send the fucking thing. When the wife gets it, she’ll call a committee meeting. One man on that committee is going to know there’s no point, because Canada is out on the Interstate in a burnt-out trailer. But he can’t say so without giving it away. They’ll go ahead and collect the money-”

  “First making sure he’s alive,” Pam said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. With a number that big, they won’t deliver the money until they’re sure he’s alive, but they’ll collect it. They’ll have it on hand. One million cash. Now they’re disorganized. Their security won’t be of the best. Do you see what I’m driving at? It’s a police matter. I’ll be in on it. I’ll see how they act, and I’ll keep in touch with you guys so you can move on a minute’s notice. Who the hell knows? Maybe I’ll give you a call and tell you to put on the masks. We won’t go for the guy this time, go for the money.”

  He was forcing it. He didn’t believe himself it would happen. Enough was enough.

  He had guessed about ten miles. It was more like fifteen. Dawn was about due by the time they sighted the car. Several times, approaching headlights had made them dive for the side of the road. Toward the end, they were hopelessly lost. He couldn’t keep talking the whole time, but he thought he finally convinced Pam. Werner, probably not. He had to keep an eye on that boy.

  “Nick, Nick.” Greco pulled him out from under the water wagon and came down beside him. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

  Greco had to feel an effect from the way Nick was looking at him. It was touching. Nick had gathered some bean plants and was pressing them to the wound. It was no substitute for regular bandages. If Greco attempted to carry him, he was going to get blood and slime all over his clothes. Nick’s acne stood out as though it had been stippled on. The medal on his chest winked in the firelight.

  He tried to make it a real smile. “Think I broke the ankle.”

  Greco looked. A foot usually sticks out in the shape of an L. This was more of a W.

  “Uh-oh. You won’t do any walking on that.”

  “I took care of their Goddamn water for them, didn’t I?”

  “Nick, the way you skinned up on that thing-”

  Indeed, thanks to Nick’s exploit, they had accomplished what they had set out to accomplish. Greco felt a pulse of affection for the goofy kid. Nothing faggish about it, it was more of an army thing, one soldier to another. That didn’t help with the main problem. The nearest hospital was Miami, and they sure as hell were in no condition to hitchhike. How would they answer the questions when they got there?

  The soggy mass on Nick’s stomach shifted, and if Greco’s own stomach hadn’t been somewhat uneasy by now, he could have looked inside and seen what his friend had
eaten for supper. Nick was getting paler by the second. Greco could see he would have to do all the work. He folded the limp body into sitting position and tried to lift. It was too slippery. Nick was unable to give him any help at all.

  Greco was casting about for some marvelous solution. He couldn’t come up with one. It would be hard enough to get out of this himself without being held back by a gut-shot cripple who from the look of it was going to die anyway. Even if he had an ambulance waiting, which he didn’t, Nick would be out of the picture before they were halfway. And leaving him here wouldn’t be much better. They’d get his fingerprints and check the hotels. They’d signed in at the Doral under their right names, which had probably been dumb. DeLuca? He wouldn’t even help with the lawyer.

  He smelled Nick’s burned hair, and that gave him the idea. He had somehow managed to hoist his friend up on his one good ankle. Nick was already close to collapse, and they hadn’t gone anywhere yet. He tried to get his weight distributed properly, but Greco thought, why bother?

  The two had gone to the same high school. Greco let Nick tag along on a couple of small deals. He sponsored him, in a way. Nick had a brother who dealt, and he could always get whatever he wanted for parties. They’d been having such a great time in Miami.

  “Have ourselves a ball with that money,” Nick said feebly when Greco stopped to get a less slippery grip. “Mexico-” Trying to smile, he said it again like the Mexicans. “Meh-hico.”

  True, there had been some stoned talk about taking the girls to Mexico City after DeLuca paid them off. It wouldn’t happen now. Greco started moving again, and when Nick understood, he whimpered in disbelief. Greco ran him straight at the fire. It was too hot to go all the way. About four feet from one of the sprung panels, he dug in and let go, giving Nick a hard final push combined with a lift.

  It was a terrible look that Nick gave Greco, and at the last moment he was screaming. He went inside in a shower of sparks. Greco would remember that look and that scream, but it was just something he would have to learn to live with. He was doing his friend a favor, as well as himself, getting it over in an instant instead of leaving him to die slowly in pain.

  A car was slowing on the highway. Greco ran toward it, and when he got within negotiating distance, he took out his gun. He must have been fairly wild-looking by now. There were two people inside, a kid at the wheel and the thin, jangly looking man Greco had forced out of the Dodge van. He waved his weapon, and they both got out.

  “Not again,” the thin man said. “What happened to everybody?”

  Greco couldn’t have answered that question even if he had wanted to. As soon as the car was empty, he jumped in and took off.

  Chapter 15

  The van was moving erratically between lanes. Shayne, in the pickup camper, closed with it rapidly, flicking his headlights. With a competent driver and its initial advantage, the van could have outrun them, but whoever was at the wheel was having all he could do to stay on the highway. As Shayne came into position, he saw that it wasn’t somebody hijacking Canada, it was Canada himself.

  He overflowed onto the steering wheel. He gave them a dazed look. Frieda nodded pleasantly and showed him the gun.

  His mouth opened, and he stamped on the gas. Shayne was a half-length ahead now. He bore in sharply and herded the van off the asphalt. The fat man finally went to his brake. He stopped well off the road.

  Frieda descended, the gun still out. Shayne pulled past and parked. Canada recognized him when he came into the headlights.

  “Mike Shayne. Am I glad to see you! I thought-”

  “We’ll talk in a minute, Larry. If we stay here, we’ll collect a crowd.”

  “Do you know what happened? They jumped me, they chloroformed me-”

  “They?” Shayne said coldly. “What do you think this is, a rescue?”

  Canada looked uneasily from Shayne to Frieda, and to the gun in Frieda’s hand. “You aren’t going to try to tell me-”

  “Get in back and shut up.”

  Canada’s jaw fell open. “You mean that was you in those masks? I don’t believe it.”

  Shayne clicked his fingernail against the door. “Move, Larry.”

  Canada had difficulty freeing himself. He sidestepped between the seats. Frieda came in back with him, returning the gun to her shoulder bag. Canada made a hard landing on one of the beds, looking misunderstood and confused. His white suit had been disheveled to start with, and it had deteriorated badly in the last several hours while he was moved from his smashed Cadillac to the sand pile and on into the van. He licked his full lips.

  “You wouldn’t have anything to eat, would you?”

  “Later,” Shayne said from the wheel.

  He crossed the median and headed back toward the fire. Three cars had stopped. Rourke saw him, walked away from the group casually, and crossed the highway.

  “You had me worried,” he said, coming in. “Then I saw the place where you cut your way out. That’s a good rule. Never get trapped in a burning trailer without the right tools. How are you, Larry?”

  “You’re in on this, too?”

  “You’re my project for the month. Maybe we ought to get moving, Mike.”

  “No, I want Larry to see it. Struggle up, Larry.” Canada forced himself out from the wall, and Frieda parted the curtains.

  “All right. A trailer. It’s on fire. So?”

  “The people who set it on fire thought you were in it.”

  He saw a flashing light coming fast and went into gear. The cops were only interested in what was happening on the southbound lanes. They would find one burned-out Ford, one trailer still burning too hotly for anyone to come near it, one abandoned pickup camper. They might also find one dead body, but by now, Shayne thought, everybody else had undoubtedly scattered.

  After another moment Canada said quietly, “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “You arranged it?”

  “That particular twist we arranged. The rest more or less just happened.”

  He left the big highway at the next exit and turned north again at once, remembering a fishermen’s turnoff along the canal. After parking, he and Rourke both went in back, leaving the overhead light on so they could all look at each other.

  Canada’s eyes were rolling, and he was struggling to stay upright.

  “If you’ve got some coffee,” he said. “Everything keeps going in and out.”

  Shayne set the coffeepot back on the stove. Canada leaned forward, supporting his head in his hands. His nostrils widened as they took in the coffee smell.

  “All right, what is it? What’s going to happen to me now? The same thing that happened to Eddie Maye? Maybe I’m trying to talk myself into something, but I really doubt it. Mike Shayne? Tim Rourke? It isn’t your kind of thing.”

  “And you may not know Frieda Field,” Shayne said. “She’s been following Phil Gold around for a couple of weeks.”

  “She has, has she? I suppose she followed him all the way to Homestead tonight. That’s one small point taken care of. You don’t know who those people were any more than I do. Let’s get back to town.”

  Shayne laughed. “You still don’t understand the situation. If you don’t want to think of this as a kidnapping, call it a citizen’s arrest. Only we aren’t going to turn you over to anybody. This is the whole judicial system right here-state’s attorney, grand jury, criminal court. You can claim your constitutional privilege if you want to. That’s up to you.”

  The coffee began to make noises. He filled a cup and gave it to Canada. Frieda looked in the icebox and brought out a coffee cake and a half-dozen hard-boiled eggs.

  Canada came fully awake for the first time. He set to work, washing down bites of coffee cake and egg with great slurps of the bitter warmed-up coffee. No one joined him-he so clearly wanted it all. In an amazingly short time, he had consumed the whole cake and all the eggs, and sat back, his eyes bulging.

  “Larry, that was interesting to watch
,” Shayne said.

  Canada looked at him evilly. “You don’t know a thing about it, do you? Let’s hear the rest of the bad news. A citizen’s arrest. What are you arresting me for?”

  “No particular charge. We think you deserve it, but we haven’t been able to come up with anything that will stand up in court. The lawyers won’t let Tim print some of his best anecdotes. I didn’t plan to kidnap anybody tonight. Somebody else shook that tree, and you fell out. You’re right, we probably won’t shoot you. We’re going to hold you for ransom.”

  “Come on,” Canada said uneasily.

  “People have been talking about a million dollars. I think that’s a bit high, but you have a wide circle of friends. If they’re as loyal as I think they are, I’m sure they can raise it.”

  “Oh, you’re a bastard, Shayne.”

  “Am I?” Shayne said evenly. “Now I’ll tell you what I think about you. You moved into the top slot because the previous guy did something stupid and we put him away for fifteen years. People congratulated me on that, and there was an editorial in Tim’s paper. But ask yourself, Larry. Are you any improvement? The same stuff still goes on, with different people. I can be philosophical about that. But I don’t want to get you on some petty bribery rap and have somebody else inherit your contracts.”

  “I never thought of you as a bleeding heart, Shayne.”

  “No, it’s a new thing. As long as you stuck to dope and bookmaking and extortion, you didn’t bother me too much. But I don’t want you to build that spur through the Everglades.”

  Canada’s eyebrows worked. “If I back out, do you think that will stop it? Hell, no. That’s Interstate money, ninety percent federal. It’s been approved at the top. If I don’t get it, somebody else will.”

  “This isn’t an argument, Larry. We’re working out a deal. Who’s trying to kill you?”

  “Never mind. That kind of thing I take care of myself.”

  “Maybe I’d better tell you some of the things that happened while you were asleep. I think I’m finally beginning to sort everybody out. I don’t have any names yet. I’m hoping you’ll help me on that. There seem to be two separate sets of people. They want different things. What’s the last thing you remember? The guy with the bullhorn-when he was trying to talk you out in the open, he told you they weren’t trying to kill you. That has to be true. Paid hit-men would have cut you down the minute you stepped into the doorway. Now skip a few hours. Everybody thought you were tied to a bed in that trailer. One side wanted to put out the fire. The others wanted to let it burn. And they weren’t fooling around. They were shooting at each other.”