Violence Is Golden

by Brett Halliday

  “Pretty terrible. I’m in the spotlight. I’ve got a couple of names I want you to check. George and Naomi Savage. J. Moss. Joe Lassiter, the pilot. See if there’s anything in the files. I’m at the Hilton. But be careful when you make contact, because I still don’t know who’s playing on whose team, and that goes for a sensational blonde I seem to be shacked up with.”

  He saw Mary Ocain come out of the elevator and said hurriedly, “Got to go now.”

  As he folded the door open, the Negro clergyman who had been sitting across the aisle on the plane swerved toward him, smiling.

  “We never got around to introductions,” he said. “I’m Crane Ward.”

  Mary Ocain stopped at the newsstand and looked at the paperbacks while Shayne and the minister shook hands. They continued across the lobby to a cigar stand, where Shayne bought cigarettes. George Savage, standing beside several unclaimed suitcases, was watching them.

  “Are you coming out to the Old Fort with us?” Ward asked. “It’s meant to be extraordinarily interesting, one of the first Spanish structures in this hemisphere. I’d be happy to offer you and your friend a seat in my carriage.”

  Mary glanced at her watch and started for the coffee shop. Naomi Savage, still with her clipboard, intercepted her.

  “I know who you are, you see,” Ward said with a touch of shyness. “I like to unwind with a good mystery at the end of the day, and I find more and more that, when I open a newspaper, I turn first to the crime news. So the name Michael Shayne isn’t new to me. In an unprofessional way, I might be termed an aficionado. While I certainly can’t condone some of your methods, there’s no question that they get results. You’ve probably accomplished more good, without intending to, perhaps, than nine-tenths of the people in—” he hesitated, and said self-consciously, “in my own racket.”

  Shayne snorted.

  “I’m sincere,” Ward declared. “Possibly I tend to idealize your role because I have come to the end of my own career. I like to think that, with a slight change in circumstances thirty-five years ago, I myself might have chosen a life of action. I have no intention of asking any prying questions. If you’re on a case, I know I couldn’t be of any real assistance. But there’s one thing perhaps I can do. There’s been a great deal of buzzing about you and Miss Hochberg. Hypocrisy, in my humble opinion. The church would have to be blind to reality to maintain that all sexual intercourse outside of wedlock is evil or ugly.”

  Naomi and Mary started toward the street. Mary gave Shayne a significant look as she passed.

  “I’ve heard some uncharitable and un-Christian remarks,” Ward was saying. “I didn’t want to rebuke them directly. They aren’t members of my congregation. They may not even be Episcopalians. But one advantage of this reversed collar is that it confers a kind of dubious status. I would like to sponsor you and Miss Hochberg, to take some of the heat off, as it were. If we are seen together, I think it might stop some of this malicious gossip and make your trip more pleasant.”

  “Christa wanted to do some shopping,” Shayne said. “But I’ve been down here a dozen times and I’ve never taken the trouble to go out to see the Fort. Today I think I’ll surprise myself and go.”

  The harbor had silted up since the sixteenth century. It was only used now by shallow-draft fishing boats. The old Spanish fortifications still dominated the headland looking out to sea. The governor’s palace had been partially restored and was in use as a museum.

  About half the members of the tour, like Christa, had decided to skip the side trip and go shopping for bargains. The others rode out in chartered carriages. It was a hot, dusty ride. Before leaving, Shayne had filled a flask with cognac, and after clopping along the narrow road for twenty minutes, he offered the clergyman a drink.

  “With the greatest of pleasure,” Ward said, accepting the flask. He took a healthy swallow. “In recent years I’ve had a high-prestige parish in a commuting suburb of Chicago. I not only drink, I play a murderous game of bridge, and I’ve forced myself to learn a sedate version of the twisting dances the young people do nowadays.” He laughed. “Religion in a modern suburb is a terribly competitive thing.”

  He proved to be well informed on Shayne’s major cases and questioned him closely about why he had done certain things and not done certain others.

  “Most of the time I was guessing,” Shayne said. “When I guessed wrong, I scratched everything and started over. But it’s surprising how many criminals really want to be caught.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “It’s part of the point. I don’t mean that they feel guilty about something else and they want to be punished. Take an imaginary case. Say you’re only pretending to be an Episcopal minister. The best disguise isn’t necessarily the most perfect one. When somebody offered you a drink in the middle of the morning, it would be smart to accept—only a real minister would feel secure enough to go out of character. If you see what I mean. But even if it worked, it wouldn’t be really satisfying unless the rest of us knew how clever you’d been. And that’s where I come in. I’m always willing to admit that a murderer is smarter than I am, so long as we’re talking into a tape recorder.”

  Ward looked at him shrewdly. “I really am a member of the Episcopal clergy, I’m a little sorry to say. But I still have some of the wits God gave me, and I’ve kept fairly fit by way of tennis and mountain climbing. I think I can lay claim to being on the side of the angels. If you ever need a strong right arm—”

  He added, “Although I’m sure you and Miss Hochberg joined this tour solely because you wanted to visit the Latin-American capitals, and you’re carrying a gun only as a matter of habit. Now would it be out of character to ask for another drink of that excellent brandy?”

  They collected on the steps of the restored museum. Naomi Savage was an excellent guide, well informed and full of enthusiasm. While she was talking, she went through a nervous routine with her glasses, sliding them along her nose, pushing them back firmly, then taking them off to swing them by an ear piece. Mary Ocain hovered about in the background taking pictures. Outside in the ruins, she asked Shayne to pose on a tumbled heap of rocks looking out to sea. She gave him careful directions, then took several shots from different angles.

  “Those were great! Now. Back up against that big rock and look at me without smiling. Straight at the camera. I want to get the contrast of textures.”

  She advanced, squinting into her viewfinder. The others had scattered. Looking around to make sure there was no one within earshot, she said in a muffled voice, “Where can we get some privacy? I have a roommate, who clings to me every minute. I’d rather not be seen having a long conference with you because I’m a little scared, to tell the truth. No, I’m not. Not really. But I do think it wouldn’t be an unintelligent idea to take a few precautions.”

  “That’s always a good idea,” Shayne agreed.

  The camera clicked. She moved the film ahead with a practiced flick of her thumb.

  “Turn your head a bit more. Steady. Try to take me a little more seriously, Mr. Shayne. I’m onto something, I know I am. I’ll plead a headache and tell my roommate I have to lie down. Then I’ll look for a back way out of the hotel. I saw a nice-looking ice-cream parlor on High Street, Cranshaw’s. It has high-backed booths. I think we’d be safe there if we don’t go in together. At two. Two sharp. Everybody else will be swimming, according to the schedule.”

  She lowered her camera. “Thank you for posing. If we live through this, and why shouldn’t we, I’ll send you some prints.”

  Naomi Savage, swinging her glasses again, cut Shayne off as he returned to the carriage.

  “I think we should have another of those informative little chats, Mr. Shayne. I know that scene on the plane was carefully calculated, throwing it at me in the crudest possible way to see how I’d react. And, of course, I reacted like an amateur. Which isn’t surprising, because that’s what I am, a complete and utter amateur. My room number is 1031. Will you j
oin me there as soon as we get back?”

  “Sure.”

  Christa was reading a London paper in the lobby, her long legs crossed, looking cool and composed. She folded the paper when Shayne dropped onto the sofa.

  “How was your morning?” he asked.

  “Unproductive. Yours?”

  “I made a couple of dates, including one with Mary Ocain in an ice-cream parlor. Did you find out anything more about her?”

  “She definitely teaches school. She’s traveling with another social-studies teacher from the same school system, Milwaukee. What are social studies? She didn’t explain. They have a thirty-day leave to develop curriculum materials. That means photographs, primarily, I think, but I didn’t understand every word she told me.”

  Shayne scraped his chin. “Mary could get to be a real problem unless I can cool her off. She’s beginning to think of herself in terms of those girls in the James Bond movies.”

  “Heavens,” Christa murmured. “She doesn’t have the figure for it.”

  Shayne asked if she had succeeded in planting the bug in the Savages’ room.

  “Not yet. It’s only two doors from the floor clerk. But I talked to George for a time, and if you want me to do it that way, I think I can get him to invite me up. But the wife must definitely be busy elsewhere. He is a little afraid of her, I think.”

  “Let me have it—I’ll see what I can do first. Naomi has something to tell me. If you see George on his way to the elevator, head him off and keep him entertained.”

  “It’s folded inside the newspaper. But it’s dreadfully old-fashioned, I feel quite ashamed. Unless it’s out in the open, it doesn’t pick up voices clearly across the room. I hope you succeed. I will be pleasant to George if I must, but he definitely doesn’t excite me.”

  She touched Shayne very lightly, giving him a message.

  Shayne checked the combination microphone and transmitter in the elevator. It was the shape of a small pillbox, with a grilled top. There was an on-off switch and a double suction cup by which it could be fixed to a flat surface.

  Naomi was barefoot and wearing a short flowered kimono when she opened the door for him.

  “I have exactly five minutes,” she said. “I’m taking my flock to the beach, and there are always two or three who begin to get nervous if things don’t happen on schedule.”

  She was nervous herself and trying hard to control it. She straightened her glasses, pointed Shayne toward a chair, and said she was sorry there was nothing to drink.

  “And there isn’t time for Room Service,” she said. “I’m definitely squeezing you in.”

  Shayne showed her his flask. “Cognac. Get a couple of toothbrush glasses.”

  “Mr. Shayne, as I say, do we have the time?”

  Reaching out, Shayne removed her glasses. She snatched after them, then gave an uneasy laugh.

  “I know. I’m developing a thing with those glasses. It makes people jumpy. I can’t actually see much without them.”

  She went into the bathroom. Shayne looked around quickly. The room was furnished with ordinary Hilton hotel furniture. The phone was on a small table beside one of the beds. The underside of that table would be the best place for the bug, but before he could do anything about it, Naomi came back with two plastic glasses. She murmured something about drinking in the middle of the day and swallowed the cognac with a shudder.

  “Well.”

  “Well,” Shayne repeated. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  She fussed with the hem of the kimono. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you knew—”

  “No point in it, Naomi.”

  “All right, I won’t delay you. You told me to talk it over with my husband. I’ve done that. He feels we’re in a rather good position to ignore you. We hold certain cards you may not know about.”

  Shayne drank. “You’ll have to put that in plain English if you want me to listen to it.”

  “You and Miss Hochberg are two people. George and I are also two people, but does that mean the sides are equal? No, it doesn’t. There are others, and you don’t know who they are, do you? I don’t think your information goes that far. And I’m on my home ground, so to speak, Mr. Shayne. I’ve been to South America many times. I have friends. I speak the language. We’ve already made some changes as a result of your warning, and we can make others. We’re neither of us made of jelly!”

  “So you don’t want to play it my way?”

  “That’s not precisely what I’m saying. But we won’t consider paying you a percentage. That would presuppose mutual trust, and we don’t really trust each other, do we? But I’m prepared to discuss a flat sum.”

  “A hundred thousand bucks.”

  He could have slapped her and got the same effect. Some of the color left her lips.

  He went on, “Payable when you make delivery. I don’t know why you think you can’t trust me. I need a deal like this right now. I’ve been doing too much of the cops’ work for them lately. I can’t function unless everybody on both sides of the law believes I’m flexible. The real problem is, can I trust you? I don’t want to walk up to the payoff window and have it slammed in my face.”

  “I really doubt if that happens too often.”

  Shayne grinned. “Because I don’t have a trusting nature. You’re a nice-looking girl with your glasses off, but I don’t intend to take your IOU.”

  “How do you suggest we do it?”

  “I can’t make any suggestions without knowing a little more about your plans.”

  “You surely don’t think I’m going to tell you, do you? Just like that? Maybe you don’t know as much as you say you do.”

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who would con anybody?” Shayne said, still grinning.

  “Yes, frankly.” She stole a quick look at her watch. “Meanwhile, time is passing.”

  “Stop fidgeting, Naomi. They can find the ocean by themselves. Have another drink. We’ll think of something.”

  “They not only have to find the ocean, they have to get mats and suntan oil and umbrellas and refreshments. Well—I can be five minutes late. Perhaps one more drink.” Shayne uncapped the flask and poured. She continued to watch him closely. He needed an instant alone to plant the transmitter.

  “Go ahead and get ready. Leave the door open and we can go on talking.”

  “I’m ready now. I’ve got my bathing suit on. You said you wanted a hundred thousand dollars. How firm is that figure? I think it’s way high—you wouldn’t be taking any of the risks.”

  “Honey, if they connect me with that kind of payoff, I can kiss my license goodbye. I think one hundred just about fits. I didn’t say I had to have it this minute. I don’t think you have the authority to make that big a payment yourself.”

  “To put it mildly.”

  “OK. I’ll back off for now and let you make the arrangements. I’ll keep in touch with you through the day, but I won’t be looking over your shoulder every minute. Let’s make tomorrow morning the deadline. From the minute we land in Venezuela, I’m going to move in with you. Tell George not to be jealous. It’s business. If you try anything foolish, I’ll shoot you.”

  “Now the melodrama. I was waiting for it.”

  “Yeah. And there’s a distinction I want to make. I’ll kill you if I’m sure you’re trying to double-cross me. I can get away with that, and you’d better believe me. But if I’m not sure, I’ll just put a slug in your knee.” He tapped her bare knee with one fingertip. “There are some delicate connections in there, and a thirty-eight caliber bullet can do a hell of a lot of damage. So don’t try anything.”

  “I imagine you think you’re scaring me.”

  “I hope I am. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but the kind of bet I like best is a sure thing.”

  She stood up, tightening the belt of her kimono. “I think I understand your proposition. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

  Shayne looked up at her, grinning c
rookedly. He still had the transmitter in his pocket, and he wasn’t that good at sleight of hand.

  “Don’t feel you have to pay me off too soon. Sticking to you could be a pleasure. George is just going to have to understand.”

  Coming to his feet, he took her by the waist and kissed her. Her breath caught. He tightened his hold, moving his hands on her back, and forced her almost naked body hard against his.

  “It’s always better to set up a personal contact.”

  She stared up into his eyes, her lips parted. He could see her decide that this was the one way he might prove to be vulnerable. She gave herself orders. Her arms came around his neck and pulled him down.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Mike. Then we can start over from the beginning.”

  He turned her gently and they sank together onto the bed. The knot of her kimono opened.

  The scraps of red cloth that served her as a bathing suit were quickly unfastened. Dressed, she had seemed a little ordinary, too much of a businesswoman. Undressed, she was altogether different. The back of one hand over her eyes, she waited for him. Shayne slipped the little electronic gadget out of his side pocket, activated the sending switch with a flick of his thumb, and, as he changed position on the bed, pressed it into place beneath the table. Then at last he kissed her. She brought her arm down and touched the back of his neck.

  A long moment later he raised his head and said in a softer tone than he had used with her so far, “You don’t really want to do this, do you?”

  Her lips moved. Her body arched slightly as she looked into his eyes.

  “Touch me,” she whispered. “You’ll find out how much.”

  Her eyes closed and her hands moved on his body.

  “Mike?” she said questioningly.