He shrugged off her hand without looking away from the linebacker, who was blinking and breathing heavily through his mouth. “I’m still not making myself clear. This isn’t just a moral question. If anybody puts his hand on this lady’s ass to find out how much she’s got on under her dress, it’s going to be me.”
Kate looked for help. The bartender sauntered toward them.
“Come on, guys,” she said, “let’s negotiate this with the help of more of this nice booze. Football. That’s a neutral subject. What do you consider your greatest thrill on the football field, Doc?”
Doc, bubbling quietly, was clearly about to blow. The whites of his eyes were flecked with red. Shayne was crowding him, giving him no room to get set.
“Stop shoving,” Doc said, “or by God…”
Shayne dropped his hand onto the bar, palm up. The bartender reached under the rim of the bar, took out a flexible, black rubber club and put it in Shayne’s hand. At that moment Doc’s face went into a quick spasm. He grunted and swung his heavy forearm at Shayne’s face. Shayne stepped back and around and whipped the rubber club against his head behind one ear. There are worse places to be sapped, but this was bad enough.
The impact was hard and flat and cut sharply through the bar noises. The piano player broke off and looked over his shoulder, ready to jump. The big man’s forearm dropped of its own weight. His eyes had iced over, and his brain was in temporary short circuit. As he tipped forward, Shayne caught him under the arms and leaned him into the angle between the bar and the girl’s stool.
“Do we want to wait until he comes back?” he asked her. “I’m a big fan of yours. I saw one of your pictures eight times.”
Doc swayed, and Shayne wedged him in more securely. This was familiar country to football players. Doc had been here before. He kept moving his head, trying to understand what had happened. Apparently the rules had been changed—the quarterback had retaliated.
Shayne motioned to Max. “He’ll be okay if nobody breathes on him. If he asks about us, tell him we had to meet some people.” He dropped the rubber club on the bar. “Thanks, Jimmy. Very good timing.”
Kate slipped off the stool. “He’s going to want to tear off some heads. I feel it. Goodnight, everybody.” She clicked off, with everything moving. Shayne followed, and heads turned to watch them. Passing the bespectacled young man at the end of the bar, he remarked, “See how easy?”
“You saw her picture eight times,” the youth said bitterly. “That was going to be my line.”
The hotel lobby, into which they emerged, was crowded with plumbing supply salesmen, all wearing badges shaped like toilet plungers. The light was better here, and Kate raked Shayne with a quick appraising glance.
“I said goodnight everybody.”
Shayne grinned at her. “After sticking my neck out to keep you from being mauled? That’s not how the movies do it. The girl is grateful. She says let’s go someplace and find out if we swing the same way.”
One of the salesmen came twisting up out of the crowd. “Aren’t you Mike Shayne? Who always gets his man? Or his woman, as the case may be?”
“Move it along,” Shayne said harshly. “I’m trying to talk my new friend into having a drink.”
The salesman looked drunkenly at Kate. “Aren’t you Shirley MacLaine? You should do it. Have a drink with him. Don’t stand on ceremony. Life is too short. Do it.”
“Mike Shayne,” she said as the salesman weaved away. “That was how a sap happened to jump into your hand.”
“I operate around here. They know me.”
“I still don’t get it. I could have handled that guy.”
“Doc Black? You don’t know him. He was going to sit down after the next drink. Once down, those guys have a tendency to stay down. He’s been pushing that tackling sled around all day, and the club would have to send a tow truck for him. You don’t want to waste the evening.”
“Listen, do I hear a faint implication…”
“Nothing unnatural about it,” Shayne told her. “Doc comes in a bar, and the groupies gather. He’s so damn big. So solid. But usually they go to bed disappointed. He gets excited by all the attention and starts knocking over drinks.”
“Let’s make it more specific,” she said evenly. “Goodnight, Mr. Shayne. I have to make a phone call.”
“There’s a booth over there. Do you have change?”
She continued to look up at him. “I can’t stand smug people, even when they’re right. And you don’t happen to be right. I don’t pick up men in bars—not because it’s morally repulsive, but because it’s so damn chancy. I met Doc when he was in L.A. with the Rams. He was okay then.”
“He’s been unconscious a lot of the time since,” Shayne said, shifting ground slightly. “I thought he was about to start throwing bottles, and that’s the wrong kind of publicity for people in your line of business. If I made a mistake, I’ll go back in and apologize.”
“Better not,” she said with a laugh. “Let him recover.”
“You don’t really want to phone anybody. I don’t want to go on hitting people.”
“Well…”
“That’s a step forward. You’re thinking about it.”
She touched him suddenly under the arm. “Are you the kind of detective who carries a gun?”
“Not tonight, why?”
“I just wondered. Where would you like us to go?”
“That’s a problem. There are other bars in this hotel, and the town is full of hotels. But we’ll be bothered by people who want to tell you how many times they’ve seen your movies.”
“Mike, slow down. We’re off to a shaky start; and from now on, let’s do it like ordinary people.”
“Ordinary people have time. We don’t.”
He took her arm and drew her into a cleared space in front of a closed travel agency. “This is a pitch. I’ve just been discussing you with one of your fans, and he says the reason you’re in town is to get a part in a picture. If you get it, you won’t have any time for social drinking. If you don’t get it, you’ll take a plane out. Tonight we’re both free.”
“Damn you, will you give me a minute to think?”
“I’m trying to be realistic. A psychiatrist told me once that the reason actresses don’t like to sleep alone is that they’re used to performing in front of an audience.”
She made a fist. “One more remark like that and I’ll slug you. You’ll notice I’m wearing rings.”
“Say we go to the Deauville to see the comic who’s there this week. I’ve been told he’s good. The place will be full of tourists. ‘There’s Kate Thackera; let’s pester her for her autograph. Who’s the jerk with her, is he anybody? Do you think they’d mind if we join them?’ Or you’d run into somebody you’ve known longer than you have me…”
“Which is less than five minutes.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Which is less than five minutes, and you don’t know anything about me. What if I like to beat on my girls with high-heeled shoes? So you’ll try to slip out when I’m not looking, but I’ll catch up to you on the sidewalk and throw the other guy through a plate-glass window. Cops. Headlines.”
She was laughing. “You’re getting at something.”
“Let’s take a shortcut and go to my apartment. You’ll be fresher in the morning.”
“Or,” she said in a resigned tone, “you could stay here and have a drink in my room.”
“That would be even more practical. Then if I do anything too freaky, you can call the desk and have them come get me.”
She waited a moment and touched his arm. “I’ve been having a rough time lately. I won’t get maudlin or anything. But will you be… easy with me?”
“Yeah,” Shayne said. “We’ll hoist a few and stay off the serious subjects; and then if you’d like some solitude, I’ll empty the ashtrays and go home.”
“You may turn out to be a nice man, after all. I have bourbon upstairs. You’d better get ice.”
Chapter 4
Kate, as a celebrity of sorts, had been welcomed to Miami Beach with flowers, fruit, and a quart of bourbon in a fancy package.
“Old Grand-dad,” she said approvingly. “They bothered to find out my brand—now don’t you think that was sweet of them? But we’ve got another bottle to finish first.”
She kicked off her shoes and went to check her appearance in the bathroom mirror. She improved her lipstick and did something additional to her eyes before coming back. Shayne handed her a glass.
“Some people think I drink too much of this stuff,” she said. “But I’ve always thought it was good for me. Which picture of mine did you see eight times?”
“I forget the name of it now. Cigarette?” He held out a package.
“I thought as much.”
“But if there’s anything of yours on TV tonight, I’m willing to watch.”
“Baby, thanks. Fans like you make all the difference.”
She piled pillows against the head of one of the beds, arranged herself, and took the top off her drink.
“It’s been a rough, rough day; and now I’m going to do some vigorous drinking.”
He lit her cigarette for her. She held onto his wrist and leaned forward to blow out the match.
“I just had a sensational idea, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. You seem to be a pretty competent guy. Poor Doc—but maybe it’s just as well. Because I not only need somebody tonight, I need somebody tomorrow. A private detective might be just the thing. Are you available?”
She released him, and he went back for his drink. “Available for what?”
“I know nothing’s going to happen, but just to be on the safe side. Well, I need sort of a bodyguard, Mike. But there’s no point in going into it if you’re tied up.”
He waited a moment.
“I’m afraid I’m working for somebody else. It’s never a good idea to take on two clients at the same time.”
“You’re working for somebody else tomorrow, or right now?”
“Right now.”
She put her glass on the bedside stand and took a short-barreled revolver out of the shallow drawer. Leaning forward, she pointed it at Shayne.
“Would that other client be Larry Zion by any chance?”
Shayne laughed. “What will you do if I tell you the truth—shoot me? That gun’s loaded with blanks.”
The muzzle wavered, pointing toward a Van Gogh print on the wall before coming back to Shayne.
“Are you willing to bet on that?”
“Sure. You’re smart enough not to fool around with live ammunition in a car moving at eighty-five miles an hour.”
A look of disgust crossed her face. She pointed the little gun at her own forehead, decided against that, and aimed it at a lamp and pulled the trigger. There was a sharp report, but the lamp stayed together.
“I knew it was loaded with blanks. How did you know it?”
“There weren’t any bullet holes in Larry’s car.”
She threw the gun. It sailed past his head and hit the wall. As she changed position, her tight, red skirt rode higher on her thigh.
“So that was a con job downstairs. I should have known. What’s going to happen to me now?”
“I hope nothing much. I’m working for Marcus Zion, not Larry. I took half the fee in advance; but if anything bad happens to you, I don’t get the rest of it. He hired me to keep the peace for thirty-six hours. After that you’re on your own, but he thinks you’ll be all right. You might as well lean back and finish your drink.”
She stayed as she was, giving off static. “Larry told Marcus about the gun? That means he’s conscious again. I couldn’t find out from the hospital.”
“He came out of the coma talking. And then he thought better of it and clammed up. This is all according to Marcus. Some of it didn’t have quite the right smell. Why don’t you give me your version?”
She breathed in and out slowly, then reached for her drink again. “Why did you blow it? You had me fooled. I really thought you made that move in the bar because you wanted to go to bed with me.”
“I do intend to go to bed with you. But later. He didn’t really tell me a hell of a lot. I’m in the middle, and that can be a bad place to be. I need to know more about it for my own protection. If a bellboy knocks, should I open the door or not? Should we stay here and eat on room service or get out of town? Marcus wanted to make sure I realized that his father’s a tough and determined man who got to be head of the studio by slamming everybody else out of his way.”
“God knows that’s true.”
“Marcus himself wasn’t coming across to me too well. But I think he wants to prove he can be just as ruthless as his old man, even though they’ve had him out in the back room counting money all these years. Sometimes that kind can be scarier than the real thing.”
“Marcus Zion? Scary?”
“He tried to get me to take a gun. The way he described the setup, a gun wasn’t called for. Guns make more problems than they solve, except in the movies. But maybe he doesn’t know that. What kind of a guy is he?”
“Marcus,” she said slowly. “He’s one of those people who are always leaning over backwards. I mean he’s more cautious than he has to be. Being Larry’s only son can’t be easy, but people don’t exactly feel sorry for him—he’s too cold a fish.”
He had given her something to think about. She was rattling the ice in her glass and frowning.
“Is Larry out and around?”
“I think so. There’s some kind of business reason why he doesn’t want to stay in the hospital. Marcus was being so careful not to be overheard that I didn’t catch all of it.”
She hit the bed with her open hand. “He was doing sixty at least when he went into that barrier. Ordinary people get killed if they run into a pole at five miles an hour. That car was spattered all over the landscape. And he came out of it with a broken leg and a concussion.”
“The Zion luck,” Shayne said. “Marcus thinks it may win him some votes.”
“Great; I’m delighted. But that wasn’t my object.”
Suddenly she came off the bed, bringing her drink. Stooping above Shayne, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. When she straightened, she moved slightly so her breast touched his face. Then she drew away.
“You hit a nerve, Mike… I wish I hadn’t had so many drinks… We’ll figure out a way to handle this. Ask me some questions.”
“Were you trying to kill him?”
“Of course not. Not that I look on him as an actual human being. Wiping out Larry Zion would be on the same ethical level as swatting a mosquito. The things he’s done…”
She returned to the bed and sat down with one foot tucked up under her. “I didn’t know that exit thing he ran into was going to be where it was, around the bend. All I wanted to do was convince him I wanted to kill him, Mike.” She concluded doubtfully, “There’s a difference. There really is.”
“You mean you wanted to scare him into giving you a part in this movie?”
“That’s right. He used to shoot lions in Kenya, and my theory about that is that he did it because he’s a coward.”
“What makes a part in this particular movie so important?”
“He promised it to me. That’s the only reason he bought the novel. And I need it badly right now. Dear God, I need it. And it’s a gorgeous part. The one woman on a ship filled with mangy, heterosexual pirates. It’s a gamble, a pirate picture in this day and age; but even if it bombs, whoever plays Doña Isabella is going to get great reviews. And Mike, it was set! The contracts were all drawn. Then all of a sudden…”
She drew the flat of her hand across her throat.
“Who got it instead?”
“His current discovery. Her name is Alix Hermes; and she’s half-Greek, half-Italian, and all bitch. She’s made a couple of artistic pictures in Europe which I’ve seen, unfortunately. Don’t expect any objectivity out of me. I’m t
old the New Republic critic adores her.”
“Do she and Larry travel together?”
“Everywhere. And Larry’s one endearing trait is that he always believes his current bed companion has great box-office potential. The idea is: if he wants to ball her, so will the audience.”
“Were you on that list?”
She gave him a quick glance. “Did Marcus say something? No, the girls I’m thinking about have been bracketed with him. Nobody thinks of Alix as anything but Larry’s girlfriend. It’s a long-standing thing, six months at least. By playing my cards very carefully, I stayed out of the category. Of course when I broke into pictures, it was a lot like the Middle Ages: the master had first refusal on every virgin on his property. I didn’t have the leverage to set a precedent and say no. It isn’t that important to me anyhow. We had one or two tepid weekends in the desert. Boat trips and so on. All I tried to be was barely adequate, no raptures or convulsions; and pretty soon he stopped phoning me.”
“Marcus says the director wants you for the part.”
“Baby, because he wants the picture to make money! He’s worked with me. He knows what I can do. There’s a big fight scene. I’m in man’s clothes, which get torn, naturally. I’ve got a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other, and I could be absolutely tremendous! Nobody wants to take a chance with that Greek stick. They’ve argued and argued, but Larry’s in charge of production, and he makes the decisions. He switched me out, and he can switch me back in, but only if he’s really persuaded that I want it badly enough to kill him to get it.”
“And if he’d died in the wreck…”
“I’d be on the set tomorrow. I can see you think it sounds a bit extreme. Mike, let me tell you what that man did to me—and the fact that he’s done worse to other people doesn’t make me feel any better. He doesn’t have quite as much muscle as he had in the old days when he didn’t have to explain to anybody. He couldn’t yank me out at the last minute and drop Hermes in because she’s the new girl in town. But if he could make me look bad up there on the screen, where it counts… So he killed me in my last picture; and that’s the exact, literal truth. You know how movies are made. They shoot miles and miles of film, cut it up into slivers and put them back together in the cutting room. The dailies were marvelous. Everybody said so. But the cutter was under orders to make me look like a bum.”
Kill All the Young Girls Page 3
