Candida came back. Making no comment, she handed him a tumbler partly filled with straight whiskey. She had brought the bottle and two more glasses. She let Shayne make his own.
Begley emptied his glass without pausing for breath. He stood up, steadying himself on the back of the chair until he felt it was safe to let go.
“I don’t want to say anything more before I’ve talked to my principal. He’s in town, as it happens. Candida’s been handling this account. Now that I know which way the wind is blowing, I think I’ll let you talk to her about it. I’ll sound out Perkins. Let Candida know where I can reach you.”
“Will he take your advice?” Shayne asked.
“I imagine so. He’s a reasonable sort.”
He was trying hard to keep up the pretense of being a top man in a competitive business, but the cracks showed. He straightened his jacket.
“Incidentally, Shayne,” he said, turning, “I’m thinking of cutting back on the more freewheeling aspects of the business. The take, frankly, is not that good. If I go back to recruitment full time, I see no reason why I should impinge on you or you should impinge on me. There’s enough legitimate money lying around for both of us.”
“I thought you wanted it all.”
“No, just my fair share.”
He went out. A moment later Shayne heard a motor start in the court. He poured himself a drink.
“He’s getting ready to dump you,” he said, drinking.
“Oh?” she said coldly.
“It’s his one out. You had charge of the Deedee business, and he’s going to maintain that the duty work was strictly yours. If he moves fast enough, he may even get away with it.”
“Very transparent, Michael. I know you’d like to drive a wedge between us. It’s the oldest ruse in the world. Far from being dumped, as you put it, I’m being made a full partner.”
Shayne gave her an amused look. “In return for what? For giving me Walter Langhorne?”
She gave a tired sigh. “It’s true Hal and I have different views on how to proceed. It’s been wearing, to say the least. I’ll need a couple of anacin before I can deal with that remark. Please help yourself to the whiskey. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Shayne lifted his glass to her and sat down on the sofa. As soon as she was out of sight, he kicked off his shoes and followed, taking his drink.
He made no noise on the stairs, but a floorboard creaked beneath him in the upstairs hall. Candida was on the other side of the bed. She whirled, holding the empty safe-deposit box.
“Damn you!” she said. “Damn you, Mike Shayne! I thought you were a little too sure of yourself.”
“Does it make that much difference? Deedee and Fitch and Despard have all been talking to me steadily for the last hour.”
She threw the metal box on the bed. “I thought it would be safer here than at the office. How wrong I was! What are you going to do with it?”
“Put a few people in jail,” he told her, coming into the bedroom. “Whether that includes you is going to depend on how much you tell me. I don’t want to take this extortion setup to the cops. The wrong people will be hurt. In my book—and it’s an argument I have with certain vice cops in this town—the crime called ‘entrapment’ is worse than a little extracurricular sex between a middle-aged man and a teenage girl who doesn’t give much of a damn as long as there’s money in it. What’s Begley’s idea of a solution that will satisfy everybody?”
She bit her lip without answering.
“Walter Langhorne wouldn’t be bad, as a matter of fact,” Shayne said. “He’s in no position to complain. We might be willing to settle for Langhorne. What’s your objection?”
“Because he—”
She stopped.
Shayne said, “Because he didn’t do it or because you liked him?”
“I did like him. I liked him terribly.”
“Spies aren’t supposed to like people,” Shayne commented. “It gets in the way.”
She shook back her hair. “They aren’t supposed to trust anybody, either, and I don’t trust you, Mike Shayne. You talk about a solution that will satisfy everybody. That’s pure hypocrisy, and you know it. Somebody has to win, somebody has to lose. If we let you beat us again, we’re finished. Don’t get Hal Begley, because all a private detective named Shayne has to do is clear his throat and they fall to pieces. Any intelligence assignments that came our way from then on would be the dangerous ones other firms had already turned down.”
“What’s wrong with being a simple executive recruiter?”
“It’s so damn dull!” she burst out. “You ought to understand that, if anybody can. Mike, spell out the alternatives, will you?”
“I have Deedee. That’s a front-page story even without Despard’s name. It’s libel-proof.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I used to think there was no such thing as bad publicity. Hal Begley, the Agency That Gets Results. But this, I’m afraid—”
Meeting him at the foot of the bed, she took the glass out of his hand. She shuddered after drinking from it.
“How can you drink it straight like that? Well, Mike. I’ve been making mistakes. Having you beaten up was a mistake. Trying to hurt you with Deedee was a mistake.”
He grinned at her.
“And what’s that expression supposed to mean?” she asked. “Don’t you think I mean it?”
“You keep telling me things.”
She looked puzzled, then shook it off. Her tongue flicked across her lips.
“Mike, it may very well be that you have too many cards in your hand. Can I have a little time or do I have to decide this minute?”
“What’s going to change five minutes from now?”
“I was thinking of longer. Could I have a couple of hours?”
“Why?”
“Mike, to catch my breath! I don’t know how you did it, but suddenly everything’s upside down. Yes, Hal wants me to tell you the report came from Walter, with some circumstantial story you won’t be able to check in less than a couple of days. But I’ve been refusing to do it that way. Either I’ll tell the truth or tell you to go to hell.”
“Tell the truth, Candida, it’s simpler.”
She shook her head shortly. “Simple is the one thing it’s not. I’m honestly not trying to be clever. I don’t trust you, and I’m not asking you to trust me. You can keep your eagle eye on me and see that I don’t make any phone calls behind your back.” She put a hand on his bare arm. “I’m in earnest. Let’s sit down and do a little civilized drinking and talk about something altogether different.”
Shayne was still grinning. “I knew you’d do it with a twist. And after a few civilized drinks, you wouldn’t holler for help if I started unbuttoning your sweater. Isn’t that part of the idea?”
“Would that be so horrible?”
“What’s Begley going to be doing in the meantime?”
She ran her cool hand up his shoulder. “Conspiring, probably. Does it matter? I truly don’t know what Hal has in mind. You’re giving me too much credit. I merely happen to think we both need a brief intermission.”
Their bodies weren’t quite touching, but a steady arc of static electricity jumped the gap. Her lifted breast on the other side of the thin evening sweater touched his chest. She moved again, setting up a tiny friction and increasing the charge he was getting.
“You don’t want to drink,” she said. “You have only one hand. You may need it.”
She took the glass and put it on the headboard. She came twisting back and drifted in against him.
“Mike,” she whispered, her hand sliding around his waist. “God, I like people who—”
Shayne was thinking that there was actually nothing Begley or anyone could do during the next half hour that would make much difference. When her mouth came up, he had every intention of kissing her. At the same time, he wasn’t taken by surprise when the bare arm which she was raising to slip around his neck jerked in at him suddenly, and th
e hand proved to have a bookend in it.
He fell away from the swing, and the bookend grazed his head. He pulled her to the floor after him. The bookend, a bronze bust of Beethoven, bounced on the carpet beside him.
He was laughing. “If you don’t stop trying so hard, you’ll end up with circles under your eyes.”
He pulled her in against him, his hand on her bare neck, and kissed her hard. She struggled for only a moment, then gave herself to the kiss. He felt some of the tension leave her. Rotating, she slipped the rest of the way to the floor, taking him with her.
A moment passed before he raised his head. “Now maybe we understand each other. It begins to dawn on me that you aren’t worried about those pictures of Despard and the girl. That’s not why you tried to knock me out. What you don’t want me to study is the time sheet.”
She shifted, pinioned to the floor by the heavy sling. “Who told you about it? Jake? Jake, of course. I shouldn’t have kept it this long. I thought we might need it for authentication.”
“Doesn’t United States Chemical trust you?”
“Why should they?”
“Who sold you the report? Young Hallam?”
“Mike, that cast weighs a ton. It’s crushing me. Before I say yes or no, will you please think about the implications?”
“I’ve already thought about them.”
“Then can’t you see why—”
The phone rang.
CHAPTER 13
She looked up at Shayne for a moment. When the phone rang again, she replied with a low-voiced obscenity, a curt Anglo-Saxon expletive that is not usually part of the vocabulary of nicely reared girls.
“Just when we were getting somewhere.”
“Don’t answer it.”
“It’s probably Hal. If I don’t answer, he’ll be back to see what’s going on.”
He moved the cast and let her up. She kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.
“If you can’t remember where we were, I’ll remind you.”
“Why don’t you quit him, Candida?”
“What a silly question. Tomorrow morning I become a partner and start drawing half the profits. That’s pretty good for a small-town girl.”
The phone had kept on ringing. She picked it up but finished what she was saying to Shayne, her hand over the mouthpiece. “And I don’t need to be told what will happen if this collapses. He’ll pretend he doesn’t know me. That’s why I hope to keep it from collapsing.”
She said hello. Shayne heard the unmistakable voice of a professional operator.
“Michael Shayne?” Candida said, her eyebrows rising. “Right here.”
She handed Shayne the phone. After the operator checked his identity, a man’s voice said, “Hallam. I’ve been trying to locate you. Jose gave me this number.”
“I’d better call you back,” Shayne said. “Things have been happening.”
“So I understand. Yes, I’d appreciate a call. I’m at the Mayflower. Let me tell you why I’m calling first, and if you have any questions, you can ask them when you get back to me. I want you to suspend operations.”
Shayne said in a flat voice, “Are you sure that’s what you want, Mr. Hallam?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Hallam was clearly not used to being asked this question. “I’ve just conferred with the lawyer who’s representing us with the Patent Office, and the consensus is that we stand to lose more by legal action than we could possibly hope to gain.”
“I thought there was more to it than that.”
“You’re quite right,” his client said coldly. “Taking everything into account, balancing pros and cons, we’ve decided to cut our losses. Your fee, of course, will be paid in full.”
“You mean provided I lay off?”
There was a moment’s cautious silence. “I don’t know that I care for your tone, Shayne. I brought you in at a handsome retainer to perform certain services. These services are no longer required.”
Shayne held out his empty glass to Candida. “Get me another drink, baby. This is going to take a little time.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to miss anything. What’s he doing, firing you?”
“Trying to,” Shayne said. “I’m sometimes a hard man to fire.”
He hadn’t covered the mouthpiece. Hallam’s voice put in, “I assume you intended me to hear that. Are you talking to Miss Morse? The girl who gave the orders to have you beaten up last night, if my information is correct.”
“Well, she’s a damned good-looking girl,” Shayne said, grinning.
She acknowledged the compliment with a movement of the cigarette she had just lighted.
“Good-looking or not,” Hallam snapped, “I don’t consider it wise to discuss this in the hearing of a paid agent of United States Chemical. Call me back from another phone.”
“I will later. I don’t want to break this off. It’s picking up momentum.”
“And it’s obvious that you’ve been drinking. Very well, I’ll put it as simply as possible, to make sure you understand me. I’m resigning as your client. Conceivably there may be a change in management after the next board meeting. This decision may be reversed, but until then you are no longer in our employ. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear enough,” Shayne said noncommittally. “When are you coming back?”
“Tomorrow. There’s nothing more I can do here. But I’d like a more definite statement of your intentions, Shayne. You have eight thousand dollars coming, I believe. Do we mail you the check or not?”
Shayne let him wait a minute.
“Better not,” he said softly and broke the connection.
“What was that all about?” Candida asked.
“You know as much about it as I do. Let’s take a look at that time sheet.”
“No, wait. I’m trying to think if it makes any difference to me that you no longer have a client.”
“That’s no problem. I can always find another. I’m thinking of what’s his name?—Perkins, of United States Chemical.”
She was frowning at him when the phone rang again. He offered it to her but she shook her head.
“It’s probably for you.”
Shayne picked it up and said hello. Jose Despard’s voice answered.
“Your line’s been busy. Does that mean the old man reached you?”
“Yeah, a minute ago. How did you talk him into calling me off?”
“What’s that?” Despard said warily.
“He cancelled my retainer. That’s his privilege. It doesn’t mean I automatically drop dead.”
Despard gave a low whistle. “Well, well. It wasn’t my idea. Now I’m trying to figure out where this leaves me.”
“You’re right where you were,” Shayne assured him, “except that I now have the negatives of those shots they took of you and Deedee.”
Shayne heard him swallow. “How much will you take for them?”
“They’re not for sale. I’m not in that business. What did you call him about, something involving his son?”
“Now how did you know that? Well, it’s narrowing down. You told me to sit down and think. I went to a bar—I can’t think at home. On my second brandy I remembered something about Forbes. He has certain beatnik proclivities, I don’t know if you know that. Dubious connections with civil-rights pickets and the like. There’s a girl. Needless to say, there’s always a girl. I don’t know her name, but I’ve dredged up something I’d completely forgotten about, that he needed money to pay for an abortion.”
“Last April?” Shayne said quickly.
“No, earlier. Around the turn of the year. He took me to lunch and asked me for a loan of eight hundred dollars. The girl wanted it done in Puerto Rico. I thought eight hundred was a bit much. I sympathized, I always feel sympathetic toward a fellow sinner, but to come up with eight hundred in a hurry I’d have to sell some bonds. To put it mildly, Mrs. Despard wouldn’t O.K. going into capital for an illegal operation for somebody no one in
the family has ever met.”
“So you didn’t give him the money?”
“No. And there was another consideration. He’s an only child. That has a lot to do with the scrapes he got into while he was growing up.”
“What kind of scrapes?”
“Cars, girls, nothing too serious. His mother always took care of it, his father after she became sick. We finally decided he had to start toeing the line. I say ‘we’ because it was a family decision. My brother-in-law asked us to cooperate, and we agreed. From that point on, Forbes had to take responsibility for the things he did.” A note of embarrassment entered his voice. “I know you’re probably thinking I’m no person to talk, but I take my duties as a parent seriously. I have three fine kids. Getting good marks in school.”
“Did his father pay for the abortion?” Shayne said impatiently.
“I called him tonight to find out. He said no. But he may not want to admit it. There’s a pattern—he’s constantly telling the boy he’ll stake him this one last time, and then never again. I don’t suppose any of this means anything? It was just an idea. I mean, if she hit him for eight hundred in December, maybe it was only the beginning.”
While Despard talked, Shayne watched Candida repair her eye makeup at the mirror. She put down the little tools and picked up her lipstick.
“Where are you, Despard?” Shayne said. “I think we’ve got hold of something, finally.”
Despard gave him the name of the bar and agreed to wait.
“One more question,” Shayne said. “How long had you known Walter Langhorne?”
“All my life. My sisters were closer to him than I was, but we did the same things—picnics, dances. Now don’t double back on me, Shayne. Stick to Forbes. Walter Langhorne didn’t sell that report.”
“We’ll talk about it,” Shayne said wearily.
Candida looked across at him as he hung up. “You’re still working?”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw.
“The Mike Shayne I’ve always heard about,” she said, “doesn’t make a move without being paid in advance.”
Guilty as Hell Page 11
