Three men moved Sam down the stairs. Sam was making them work. His hair was unbrushed and he hadn’t been given much time to dress—he was wearing nothing under his jacket, and no socks.
Shayne recognized another Gregory man, part of the commando unit that had tried to ship him out of Tallahassee the previous day. Shayne unlatched the car’s rear door from inside and they loaded Sam, none too gently. A big man with a badly cauliflowered ear got in front beside Shayne.
Shayne pulled the wheel hard, and smeared rubber on the pavement in his haste to leave the neighborhood. The transmission shifted for him. After turning the first corner with another scream from his tires, he stamped hard on the brake and the car shuddered to a stop.
He unlatched the door with his elbow, pushing it open to bring up the dome light. He picked the boy’s gun off his lap and swung around, thumbing back the hammer.
“I know you’re all going to hold still.”
“Mike Shayne!” Sam Rapp said.
Mixed with the surprise in his voice, there was a note almost of dismay. He stared at Shayne, and his look of disbelief and alarm, so unexpected at that moment, gave Shayne his first real hint of what was behind everybody’s peculiar behavior.
The man beside him had time to move his hand inside his coat before Shayne gave him his first look down the barrel of the gun. Sam swallowed an obstruction in his throat and was the first to speak.
“No shooting. Mike, I appreciate the thought, but will you be good enough to go home and take a couple of Seconal?”
“I take it you don’t want to collect their guns for me.”
“I don’t, frankly. These guys have been in trouble since they dropped out of third grade. Guns mean something to them. It’s like part of their manhood, know what I mean? You think it would be easy to take their guns? They wouldn’t let me.”
One of the men beside him growled deep in his throat.
Sam said, “Somebody’d get hurt. I want to die of cancer, like everybody else.” He raised his hands very slowly, not wanting to set anything off, and put them on the back of the front seat. “Mike, I thought I explained it to you. The wild old days are gone forever. There’s been too much shooting already, and that goes for both sides. Senators are skittish people, sensitive people. After they hear the morning news I wouldn’t want to bet which way they jump.”
“There won’t be any shooting,” Shayne said. “And if there is, it’ll all go one way. The boys understand that.”
“No, they don’t,” Sam insisted. “I’m sorry to say they’re not very smart. They work for Boots Gregory, and you know Boots—if there’s one chance in a hundred to foul a thing up, he’ll do it. If they come back without me and without any guns, why he’s likely to fly into a fury and slaughter them all. As much as I like Boots.”
Shayne scraped his jaw with the front sight of the revolver. “I don’t think you want to be rescued.”
“I wouldn’t mind being rescued, but not like this. There’s been too little communication between me and Boots. That’s what made all the trouble. We’ve got to call a halt before something bad happens. Sit down together with a drink and a cigar and figure out what’s to our mutual advantage.”
“Sam, did you kill Senator Maslow?”
Sam blinked slowly. “Ask me again after they vote.”
“One more point before I say goodnight. Listen to this carefully because I want to say it only once. Somebody called Judge Kendrick and threatened his life unless he votes against the bill. To make it more convincing, he blew up a perfectly good Lincoln and shot a deputy sheriff in the meaty part of the leg.”
“That’s what I was saying! Shooting deputy sheriffs is the wrong way to go about it. This close to the vote, it’s insane.”
“His voice sounded familiar,” Shayne said, “but I still can’t place him. Here’s the complication. Kendrick said you’d already threatened him. You promised to kill him if he votes against the bill, and here somebody else is promising to kill him if he votes for it. A problem. The guy’s best move now will be to knock you out of the way before the vote so Kendrick will have only one threat outstanding. Do you follow that?”
Sam’s fingernails had whitened. He said quietly, “I never threatened Judge Kendrick or anybody else.”
“I know that, Sam. It wasn’t Kendrick’s idea. I suggested it, to stir things up. You should have explained last night. I don’t want to be shot in the back while I walk away, so I’m going to gather up a few guns before I go.”
The man beside him twitched, and Shayne fired just wide of his ear. The bullet drilled a hole in the window.
“Don’t let that remark of Sam’s about masculinity bother you,” Shayne said. “You’re bringing Sam in, and that’s the main thing. You don’t have to tell Boots you’ve been gelded.”
He reached out, took the man’s wrist between a firm thumb and forefinger, and tugged it gently until it came out of his jacket. Then Shayne pulled the gun. He drew the other two in the same way. Starting the motor, he drove back to the motel.
The youth he had slugged was on his hands and knees between two parked cars. Shayne got out and heaved him into the back seat.
“He’s still a little groggy. Somebody else had better drive.”
After the men rearranged themselves inside the car and drove away, Shayne hunted up a trash container and dumped the four weapons. He was hot enough without them.
CHAPTER 13
The window of Sam Rapp’s room on the second floor of the motel was still lighted. Shayne went quietly up the stairs and along the gallery. After checking the lock he tapped on the door with the lockpick he carried on his key ring. He stepped into the light so he could be seen from the window. The blind was drawn aside. It fell back in place and Shayne began working on the lock.
Professional thieves seldom bother with motels, and motels seldom bother with locks that are difficult to open. Two twists, a slight reverse pressure and another twist, and Shayne opened the door.
Lib Patrick, at the phone, swung around. She was wearing a sketchy nightgown, stopping above her knees. Her hair was in rollers for the night.
She touched the rollers self-consciously. She started as the switchboard acknowledged her signal.
“Oh. Well, so sorry to bother you. Could you tell me the time?”
She looked at her watch after hanging up. “One minute fast. Mike Shayne, damn you, why do you have to be like this?”
Shayne closed the door. “What do you have to drink?”
“Just whiskey, but you don’t want any. I’ll be glad to tell you the time. It’s damn late.”
Both twin beds had been used. She said defensively, “If you want Sam, he’ll be back in a minute, which is why I don’t want to settle down with a drink. He just—”
“He just stepped out to be kidnapped,” Shayne said. “I was here when it happened. That wasn’t much of a slap he gave you. I can’t see the marks.”
He opened the closet door, picked a dress off a hanger and tossed it to her. “Put this on, Lib. We’re not staying.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Baby, if you think you’re going to kidnap me—”
He snapped his fingers. “Things are about to blow. I’m in a position to make some real trouble for everybody, so if you want to live to enjoy the money, you’ll have to be nice to me. I want to know what happened to Maslow. The rest of it is none of my business.”
She was hesitating. “If I made so much noise that somebody called the cops—”
“I’d have to tell them Sam had been kidnapped, after slapping your face and calling you a bitch. You’ve done a great job, but it won’t stand up under a grand jury investigation, where everybody has to tell the truth or go to jail for perjury. You’ve got to win me over. It’s your only play.”
“Is it?” she said, confused. “I’m not so sure. Why can’t you relax, like other people? Don’t you ever need any sleep? Everything was going so well before you showed up.”
“You knew
it was a gamble. But don’t fold up yet. Get dressed. I’m expecting the highway cops, and that would be bad for both of us.”
She gave him a direct look. “I think you’re bluffing, but do I want to take the chance?”
Picking up the dress, she started toward the bathroom.
“Out here where I can see you, Lib.”
“O.k., o.k. I might jump out the window or take sleeping pills. I’ll try not to blush. I don’t suppose you’d like to turn off the light?”
“No.”
She pulled off her nightgown. After wriggling into the dress she stepped into high-heeled shoes, picked up her bag and a half-empty bottle of bourbon, and was ready.
“Bring your car keys,” he told her.
Outside, she continued to work on her rollers. Shayne moved carefully until he was sure there were no more cars than there had been when he arrived. She showed him a sleek Italian convertible.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
He headed toward town, feeling conspicuous in the showy car, with the elegant girl. She finished with the rollers and began combing her white hair.
After half a mile Shayne pulled into a gas station and body shop, closed for the night, and parked between a wrecker and a battered French sedan, a casualty of the battle of the highways.
Lib offered him the bourbon. Shayne drank and handed it back.
“I haven’t been kidnapped for years,” she said. “I haven’t drunk out of a bottle since I’ve been with Sam. Mike, I know you’re about to ask me some questions I don’t want to answer. I’ve got to convince myself I’m doing the right thing. Tell me in so many words what you’ll do if I stand on my rights.”
“I still have to talk to Tim Rourke, and then we’ll set up a surrender scene, which ought to get good TV coverage. I’d better surrender to the state attorney, it might be safer. He’ll want to know if I have any theories about what’s been happening. Why have you and Sam been acting like characters in a bad 1935 gangster movie? My new theory on that is that you’d be surprised and annoyed if the bill actually goes through.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Mike Shayne, you’re a sweet, virile man, and smarter than you look. And I do know I can’t stop you with compliments. First question.”
“This is a multiple choice. The late Senator Sheldon Maslow was (a) a dedicated, fearless crusader against crime, or (b) an unprincipled spieler who knew he couldn’t get anywhere in politics without using blackmail and dirty karate.”
“B,” she said promptly.
“Can you support that?”
“Let’s see,” she said slowly. “Sooner or later I hear most of the talk, and naturally Sam and his friends have been talking about Maslow’s anti-crime committee. Could he be reached? And they felt he could. I don’t mean they could walk in with a bundle and get him to cancel a subpoena. But he’s been trying to build a statewide organization, and there were hundreds of indirect ways. You ought to be talking to Sam, not me.”
“Sam’s been kidnapped.”
“I forgot. Mike—I mean I just overheard little bits now and then. It’s a man’s world, and the women are meant to stay out on the rim and look charming. I had one contact with Maslow myself. When was it? The night before last.”
“You told Grover about that, the look Maslow gave you in a restaurant.”
“There was more to it. He called up and said he wanted to see me. We met at a drive-in movie. He got in my car in the middle of the second feature, and it was a picture I wanted to see, too. He had a box of popcorn for camouflage, and he kept munching away. He wanted my advice about Grover. That’s what he said he wanted. His idea was that Grover and I had been—that we were—well, sleeping together. Not true, incidentally, and stop looking so skeptical.”
“It’s dark. How can you tell how I look?”
She snapped on her cigarette lighter and looked at him over the flame. “Just as I thought. Skeptical. I’m a pretty moral person, as it happens, but because of Sam nobody believes me. I always have to tell people I’m scared to stray because Sam would kill me if I did, but he’s really pretty reasonable about that, too much so, in my opinion. I’m off the subject.”
“Maslow was sitting there eating popcorn.”
“According to him, Grover barged into his hotel room with a deputy sheriff from his hometown, one of those mean red-necks from the back hollows—”
“If his name is Turner I know him.”
“I don’t know his name. They both had stripped-down shotguns in a shopping bag. They sat down and assembled the guns without saying a word—this is in Maslow’s hotel room, with Maslow pretending not to be frightened to death—and then they fired at imaginary birds, still without saying anything.”
“Maslow has a Xerox copy of some payoff figures, the judge told me. He claims they were faked.”
“They were sort of faked. I could explain, but didn’t you say you’re in a hurry? Maslow thought they proved something, and Grover, the idiot, picked this way to warn him not to push his luck, that shotguns have been known to go off. And Maslow wanted me to tell Grover to cool it. With sound effects from the popcorn.”
A highway patrol car whooshed past, its red beacon revolving.
“They’re a bit slow,” Shayne said. “Did you tell Sam about this scene at the drive-in?”
She missed a beat before answering. “No. He was worried enough. I asked Grover about it, and he claimed it hadn’t happened. So take your pick.”
Shayne, in the darkness, added a new piece to the puzzle. “Lib, who’s your real opposition? I don’t mean Jackie’s committee. Who’s putting up the dough?”
“You mean they didn’t tell you?” she said, surprised. “Are you doing this for love or something? Al Luccio.”
Shayne slapped the steering wheel. “From St. Albans.”
“Sure. My God, Mike, we thought you knew! His syndicate put four million into a new casino, and the grease on that came to a million even. That’s a real nut to work off. Now the big rollers from New York leave their wives and kids on the Beach and jet over to St. A. for the gambling. If we get gambling on the Beach, Luccio can turn his pretty new casino into a farmer’s market. As someone may have mentioned, there’s money at stake here.” She laughed. “Poor Al. He’s squeezed for cash. That’s why he’s going around baring his teeth. He’d like to be cool, but he can’t compete.”
“Al Luccio,” Shayne said under his breath.
“Hey, I told you something you didn’t already know! Pay me back, Mike. I know you owe Boots, but stay away from him till the banks open, at nine. That’s not much to ask. I’ve tried to be helpful.”
“I’ll check on a few things, and if you’ve been telling the truth—”
“Cross my heart.”
“Nine o’clock will be cutting it close.”
“You’ll have an hour before they convene, and the chaplain goes on and on. I’ve never listened to longer prayers. Boots is at some old-timey cabins on the road to Chattahoochee. He thinks he’s in hiding, the jerk. Mike, you don’t think somebody actually murdered Maslow?”
“Yeah—too many people wanted him dead. My first choice is still Sam.”
That jarred her. “Mike, don’t go around saying things like that! I thought you were beginning to get some sense. Why Sam? Why not Luccio? Why not Boots Gregory? Anybody had more reason to kill him than Sam had, and who says he was killed? Didn’t you hear about the coroner’s verdict, or whatever they call it? I think we ought to talk some more, and not out here where some cop may wonder what a Ferrari in good condition is doing in front of a body shop. I know we can’t go back to the Skyline, but there are other motels.”
He started the motor. “I need a car. I’ll borrow this one and drop you at a cabstand.”
Reaching across, she turned off the ignition. “Seriously.”
“I’m serious. On top of that, you’re a moral girl, and you don’t go to motels with strangers.”
“Not usually,
” she admitted, her hand still on the key. “But this time I have a reason.”
She didn’t resist when he moved her hand. “Everybody else has been trying to block you out and you’re still hanging in there, aren’t you? I didn’t really expect—” She kissed his shoulder. “I wish we could play on the same team sometime.”
He heard the wail of a siren. He waited. It seemed to be moving in the opposite direction, and he backed out onto the highway. But he drove more cautiously, watching the mirror. Soon after they entered the city limits, another siren joined the first, and this one was much closer. He turned abruptly into a driveway between two houses and cut his lights.
“Get down.”
They slid down in the seat and Lib’s hand found his. “Damn, damn,” she said. “If it’s the cops, does our deal still hold? Nine o’clock?”
“If it’s the cops, all deals are off.” After a moment he sat up and turned on the lights. “It’s a fire. We’re all getting jittery.”
He backed out. A long hook-and-ladder clamored across the nearest intersection.
Shayne drove downtown and found an all-night cabstand at the bus depot.
“I hope I convinced you,” Lib said. “Be generous to those less fortunate than yourself. Nine A.M. Not eight fifty-eight.”
“I’ll see how it goes.”
She got out, a rewarding sight with her lovely unconfined body and white hair. A driver scrambled to open a cab door.
CHAPTER 14
The night clerk at the Prince George sent Shayne to a small bar off the lobby. It had closed officially hours ago, but Tim Rourke had hired the barman to stay on so he could use it as a command post. The barman, only the bald spot on the top of his head showing, was sound asleep at one of the tables. Rourke, one hand in a cast, was sprawled out along a banquette, a drink balanced on his chest, his head in a blonde girl’s lap. The light was bad, but Shayne thought the girl had been a guest at the party at the Kendrick fishing lodge.
Rourke waved his glass. “Mike, the night’s about over. They’ll be voting in another four hours. Did you meet Rosalie? Mike Shayne.”
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