Lady, Be Bad ms-58

by Brett Halliday

  “This is the best way to negotiate,” he said, continuing to move his hand. “It’s more friendly.”

  Both his arms were around her now. She shivered.

  “Mike, I’m thinking about votes and money and how to apply pressure. I’m too keyed up.”

  “So I notice.”

  She twisted away and said shakily, “I don’t know if that’s the pot talking or what. You’re a lovely man, but let’s stick to the big questions for tonight, o.k.?”

  “O.k. I had something else I wanted to ask you.” He reflected. “Can’t remember it now.”

  “You’d better talk to Sam. I’ll get him.”

  “I’d rather talk to you. Sam’s not a girl.”

  “But he’s the one who signs the checks. Do you want another joint?”

  Shayne relaxed against the pillows. “I think I’m about ready for a large brandy.”

  “Coming up.”

  She turned back at the door. “Did I hear you say something about some girl with a gun?”

  “It’s all right, I took it away. There are too many loose guns in this country. Her name’s Anne something. If you see her tell her I’m harmless, just trying to get along, like everybody.”

  “I wouldn’t say you’re exactly harmless. I’ll be back.”

  She left the candle. The instant the door closed Shayne was off the bed, moving fast. He wrenched the heavy dresser around and jammed it against the door. Using his flashlight, he searched the room, concentrating on places where a small tape recorder could be hidden. He turned the furniture over, examined the bed frame and the curtain rod and looked for breaks in the molding or loose floorboards. He unscrewed the face plate of the single electric outlet.

  Finding nothing, he doused the light and blew out the candle. He slid the screen out of the window, and swinging quietly onto the shed-roof, moved to the next window. He was inside by the time he heard Sam’s people trying to break into the room he had just left.

  CHAPTER 7

  The bed was still being used.

  Shayne listened at the door, then opened it a crack. Seeing a man lounging in the next doorway, he latched the door again silently and turned the key.

  The girl in the bed had seen him in the sliver of light. “Why don’t you join us, dear?” she said matter-of-factly.

  Shayne was quiet, hoping she would think he had disappeared.

  “I know you’re still there,” she said. “Come on, I think my date had too much to drink.”

  “I’m just passing through,” Shayne said. “I’ll be leaving in a minute.”

  The girl giggled. Shayne moved away from the door.

  He heard more footsteps in the next bedroom. A voice called from the window, “See anybody down there?”

  “Not yet,” a voice answered cautiously from below.

  A match flared in front of Shayne. The girl who was holding up the match to inspect him had a shock of long, untidy red hair which partially concealed her face. Her body was showing, however. Shayne gave her a half-salute.

  “Grover asked me to look around and make sure everything’s satisfactory.”

  She peered past the little flame. “It’s not too satisfactory up here. I didn’t see you downstairs.”

  “I just came. Watch out, you’ll burn yourself.”

  She shook out the match and took one more step, which brought her into contact with Shayne.

  “I didn’t mean that about joining us-I was trying to be cool. I thought you were some kind of peeping tom. What’s the trouble next door?”

  “One of the girls stole a wedding ring. We can’t let that happen.”

  “Heaven forbid.” She took hold of Shayne with both hands. “And you’re a goddamn liar, because I wasn’t so busy I didn’t see you climb in the window. Listen, I’ve got a good idea.”

  She explained it briefly, without relinquishing her grip on his arms.

  “That sounds very interesting,” Shayne said, “but I’ve got to be moving. A lot to do.”

  “I don’t think you work for Grover. I think you’re a prowler. I think I’ll scream.”

  As she sucked in her breath, her breasts touched him in the darkness. He found her mouth and kissed her.

  “Don’t scream. You’ll spoil the party.”

  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Tell me again who you are, and this time make it convincing.”

  “I’m doing free-lance research for the Drew Pearson column,” Shayne said. “If you’re really interested I’ll show you my credentials. Who’s in the bed?”

  “The Honorable Sig Olsen from Balmain County,” a voice announced, “and I’m not as comatose as some people seem to think. I’m resting, had a hard day. Come on back. Count to three. One, two-”

  “Right away, honey,” she said, still holding Shayne’s arms. “We don’t want an audience. I’ll get rid of this guy first.”

  “I’ll start over. One, two-”

  “I think he’s serious,” Shayne said.

  “So am I,” the girl said. Coming up on tiptoe, she bit him on the neck. “I’m so turned on it isn’t funny. He sounds o.k., but he’s gone. All he can do is talk.”

  After a pause the voice from the bed said, “What comes after two?”

  The girl whispered in Shayne’s ear, “You’re on the wrong side, aren’t you, Buster? Whoever you are. Be nice to me or so help me I’ll start yelling. And which would be worse?”

  Shayne heard footsteps on the balcony, and Lib’s voice: “He’s still somewhere in the house.”

  The girl went on, “If they knock I’ll tell them we’re busy.”

  “One, two-” the man in the bed said sleepily.

  “What I mean is,” the girl said, “do you have any choice?”

  Some time later, leaving the girl asleep, Shayne went to the window. Something moved in the shadows below, and he saw the eye of a cigarette.

  Going to the door he unlocked it and checked the balcony. It seemed to be empty. After waiting a moment he eased out.

  The party was beginning to pick up momentum. Four men, including one of the power company repairmen, were singing barbershop harmony. On the other side of the main room Shayne saw Grover Kendrick sprawled on one of the wicker sofas, his head in a girl’s lap. With his flashlight, Shayne picked at Grover’s eyes until Grover turned his head and saw him. Shayne pointed toward the porch.

  At the foot of the stairs, Shayne was hailed by Matt McGranahan. The senator was redder in the face than usual, and his cheeks seemed plumper. He needed something to hold onto, and he used Shayne.

  “Isn’t it a fine party, Mike? It’s like the old days. Money’s no object. It’s taken twenty years off my age.”

  “Have you seen Lib?”

  McGranahan shook him. “She was looking for you. What a gorgeous dish, Michael. She makes me think of a Scandinavian girl I met in my first session of the legislature. She could grind her ass and generate enough electricity to start an eight-cylinder motor. Great heavens above, I used to come home from some of those parties walking on my knees. The railroads would come up and spend upwards of two hundred thousand clams in sixty days. The champagne flowed like tap water. A long time ago now, before they invented computers. Where’s your drink, Mike? There’s a well-stocked bar.”

  “Matt, I’m working. It’s been good to talk to you.”

  “The year we put through pari-mutuel racing,” McGranahan went on nostalgically. “Many a back-country lawyer went home from that session a rich man. The girls, Mike. They brought in busloads of Cuban girls, you wouldn’t believe your eyes. Young, talented, lovely, every color of the rainbow. It was a happy time. Nobody was mean about it. Nobody was ashamed. In many ways politics in this state has gone to hell.”

  “Are you going to vote for the casinos?”

  McGranahan winked. “Ask me after the prayer tomorrow. I’m going to have to look at my hole cards, I’m going to consult my conscience, and then I’m going to vote for the side that seems to make the best sense. Because it�
�s when they get bidding against each other that things start to sparkle. Right now I lean in Sam’s direction. He does things with style. And Lib Patrick is the world’s most beautiful gal. They’re prepared to be generous, and in the right way, the happy way. None of that horse manure about consultant fees or retainers. Cash! That shows real acumen, and people like that deserve to win. They’ll run a happy casino.” His grip loosened. “Mike, you’re an old, old friend. I want to introduce you to an English bird. Real class.”

  “I’ve already met her.”

  “Are you having a good time, Mike? If there’s anything you want, mention it to Lib. Tell her you’re a friend of mine, and I know she’ll arrange it.”

  “Right now I need some air,” Shayne said.

  “God, when I remember that pari-mutuel party. Those Cuban gals.”

  Shayne freed himself. Sam Rapp had entered by the front door. His shoulders drooped, his eyes seemed glazed. Shayne stepped out onto the screen porch, where Grover was waiting.

  “Not here,” Grover said.

  He went to the end of the porch with Shayne following. At the corner of the building, Grover beckoned again and went among the parked cars. He opened the door of a Dodge convertible.

  “It’s probably safe here.”

  “Let me pick the car, Grover.”

  “I don’t blame you for being suspicious. Why I ever let myself get involved with these people-”

  Shayne moved on, and chose a long official Cadillac. They entered the front seat through opposite doors. Grover started talking even before turning around.

  “I’ve been thinking it over. It took a minute to register. I don’t think I trust you, but if I could just buy some time-I’ve got a splitting headache. That’s what gin does to me. Why do I never drink anything but Martinis? To punish myself, probably. Could you persuade that reporter to hold up publication of the story about the money I borrowed from Eddie Myer?”

  “Maybe. But Tim doesn’t like to kill a story unless it gets him a bigger one.”

  “I seem to be in a jam here, don’t I? I wish you hadn’t mentioned Boots Gregory. I hear he’s not only mean but stupid, and that’s a bad combination.”

  He pulled at the stump of a cigar. In the sudden glow, his face looked younger and more vulnerable.

  “I don’t believe in being hypocritical. Let’s not pretend the special interests don’t run this state. They always have and they always will. Never mind what they teach in social studies.”

  “There goes my last illusion,” Shayne said. “Move it along, Grover. I don’t have time to talk about political theory.”

  “No, no,” Grover insisted. “You have to understand or you’ll make the wrong move. My old man has his complexities, like the rest of us. You have to be careful or he’ll skin you and nail your hide to the barn door.”

  “Speed it up.”

  Turning, Grover said in a measured voice, “If you don’t want to listen to what I’m saying, get the hell out of this car.”

  “I’m listening,” Shayne said impatiently.

  “All right. That forty thousand from Eddie Myer and my little speculation in Aero-Electronics have nothing to do with this. It’s in a different category. The legislature meets only sixty days every biennium, which leaves me some time to fill. Dad doesn’t expect me to hang around Leesville drawing up those exciting wills and making out those melodramatic tax returns. I made a couple of deliberate goofs, to get the point across. I met Lib through McGranahan. Don’t get the wrong idea. We haven’t been to bed together. The Regency may not be the liveliest hotel in Miami Beach, but it’s comfortable-”

  “Grover, do you understand that they’re all around us? Skip the things I already know.”

  “Bear with me a minute, can’t you? I’m not the one who pushes the Aye or Nay button in the vote tomorrow. The fact that I had a little bad luck in the stock market has no bearing on how Dad votes on any matter. Believe me! Admittedly, he’s not a rich man. You know how much they pay senators in this state, and the law business in Leesville is not, shall we say, lucrative. But he has a position as majority leader, there are expenses he can’t avoid, and he accepts contributions from people who would rather have a responsible man in that office than some demagogue.”

  “I get the idea.”

  “But bear this in mind. No matter who contributes to this fund or how much, Dad doesn’t let it affect the way he votes. He votes according to his convictions. His convictions usually coincide with those of his backers, but what’s surprising about that? He’s economically and politically conservative, and so are they. No one could buy a statement like the one he made on the casino bill. He believes exactly what he said-that it may be the one way left to save Florida from disaster. A financial contribution from your people won’t change that, not one iota.”

  Shayne was beginning to listen more closely, not so much to the words as to the tone.

  “What would he be willing to do, and how much would it cost us?”

  “He’d keep hands off, is the thing. The statement’s equivocal enough so those on his side of the aisle who usually follow his lead can vote as they like. There are at least six votes still uncommitted. They’re waiting for the word. All right. Dad will make clear that this is not a party matter. If you like I’ll conduct the negotiations. Fifty thousand should cover it.”

  “Who do you think would give me fifty thousand?”

  “Please.” He pitched his cigar out the window. “Don’t spar with me, Shayne. I happen to know that Sheldon Maslow has authority to draw up to a hundred, no questions asked. I’m running a risk here! This is your best deal. You won’t improve it by quibbling.”

  “If Sam bought off the loan shark for you he’s not going to like this.”

  “Sam doesn’t worry me. As you pointed out, he’s old. You must realize that Lib is doing the masterminding, and she can handle him.”

  “Let’s get this straight. For fifty thousand you’ll-”

  Grover fumbled with a three-cigar package. It shot out of his hands.

  “I’m nervous as a witch. Say yes or no, will you? That fifty thousand is a firm figure. What the hell happened to those cigars?”

  They had fallen on Shayne’s side, and he picked them up for him. At that moment the door opened and a bright light hit him in the eyes. A state highway patrolman was pointing a flashlight and a gun at him. The gun was far enough into the light so he would be sure to see it.

  “Don’t shoot,” Shayne said wearily. “I was about to leave anyway.”

  “There,” the cop said, as though gentling a horse.

  He had a face like a side of beef, crosshatched with capillaries. His stomach, straining against the buttons of his shirt and pants, bulged menacingly toward Shayne. He put his flashlight on the ledge over the dashboard and took the cigar package out of Shayne’s hands. Warning Shayne not to move, he opened the box.

  At this point Shayne was hardly surprised to see that it was full of money.

  CHAPTER 8

  Shayne glanced at Grover. “That was pretty good timing. What was the signal, when you threw away the cigar?”

  “What are we talking about?”

  “A word of advice, Grover. You’re playing with some pretty rough people. You may not be up to it.”

  Grover laughed. “For a private detective, you’re really naive. Where’d you get the idea my father would sell his vote? That’s not how he does things.”

  The highway cop took the folded bills out of the package. “Green. My favorite color.”

  “I want a receipt for that,” Shayne told him.

  “A what?” the cop demanded, looking down at him.

  “The theory is that I was about to bribe Grover with that money, and you caught me in the act. I don’t want any evidence to disappear on the way to the barracks.”

  “I hope you’re not going to deny-”

  “I’ll plead later. If you’re arresting me I want a receipt for the money. If this is a shakedown, say so and
I’ll be on my way.”

  “Give him the receipt, Boyer,” Grover said. “And then carry him out of here. I have a headache and it’s killing me.”

  Mumbling, Boyer counted the bills on the Cadillac’s fender.

  “Fifteen thousand. I heard you offer him fifty. Where’s the rest of it?”

  “Well, look at him,” Shayne said. “Would you trust him with the full price until you were sure he could deliver?”

  The patrolman, not at all happy about it, sprawled a receipt on a page of his notebook. Shayne asked to see his identification, to verify his signature. A woman screamed. In a reflex action, Boyer snatched out his gun and whipped around.

  “God!” Grover exclaimed.

  Leaping out of the car, he set off for the building at a head-down run. Two girls, only partly dressed, burst out of the side door. There was an ugly flickering light in the main room.

  Boyer thrust the money into his side pocket. Then he paused and came back to Shayne, reaching for his handcuffs.

  “Better get on your radio, fast,” Shayne said.

  “I don’t need any advice from you,” Boyer said viciously.

  Shayne pulled his hands out of the other man’s reach. “You can use some help. Everybody’s drunk in there.”

  With an obscenity, Boyer laid his gun alongside Shayne’s head. “Any more of your mouth and I’ll put lead in your skull! You draw down those big fees, and think you can come up here and push us country boys around. Put your hands where I can get at them!”

  There was a crazy light in his eyes. Shayne lowered his hands slowly. He offered his left wrist because he had already worn handcuffs once that day and his right was chafed.

  “The other one, the other one!” Boyer said.

  He clicked the cuffs shut and wrenched Shayne’s arm across his body to lock him to the steering wheel.

  This had taken a few seconds, and in that short time the fire had made astonishing headway. The end of the building was ablaze. People spilled out doors and windows. There was a low ominous crackle behind the smoke. The roof caught with a whoosh.