“This guy is hurt,” Shayne told the cops. “Hold it-here’s another couple of guns.”
He threw out his own. 38 and Paula’s. 25. Then he tried to help the youth. His injured leg was twisted beneath him, and Shayne saw a splinter of bone.
“It’s broken,” the girl said.
The doorframe had been forced violently inward, trapping the boy’s foot. Shayne tried to lever it back. He felt the bent metal give, very slightly. Pulling with his full strength he snapped at the cops to help. They worked themselves into position. Straining together, they forced the frame back so the boy could pull his foot clear.
Shayne was the first out of the car. He picked up the submachine gun, which the cop had put down, and backed off a step.
When the cop came out of the car he looked at Shayne in disbelief. He had watched Shayne being kidnapped, and at extreme bodily risk, after a breakneck chase, had saved him from the kidnappers. Surely this was a mistake.
He started forward, and Shayne fired a burst into the ground at his feet.
Paula and the second cop worked Julio out of the wreck. That cop said something to her urgently in Spanish.
She translated: “They both have children. They are sympathetic with our aims. They ask you not to shoot them.”
“Hmm,” Shayne said thoughtfully.
The two cops watched while Paula started the police car, reversed it in a series of careful maneuvers, and brought it abreast of the upside-down Olds. She helped the injured youth into the back seat. He was still managing to make no sound.
Picking up the Luger and the other guns, Shayne backed into the car. He continued to hold the policemen’s eyes as Paula went into gear and roared away.
FIFTEEN
“I think I can’t talk to you about that,” Paula said. “You have your own aims. I must make sure first if they contradict ours, and in frankness, right now I am in a state of confusion!”
They had come down out of the mountains and turned off on a rudimentary back road, leading south. The springs and shocks on the police car had not been designed for such a ride, and though she kept weaving to stay out of the worst ruts, she scraped more than once.
Each spokelike highway radiating up from the city ended in a ramshackle working-class neighborhood, spreading up into the dry gulches and along the slopes. These were the barrios, nearly unpenetrable tangles of shacks and lean-tos thrown together from odd scraps of wood and flattened metal. Paula skirted one such tangle and proceeded to the next.
She went on. “You have all the guns. You are clever enough and tough enough, certainly, to force me to drive you where you wish. And you haven’t done this. You cooperated in your own kidnapping. So you must want something of us, more than an explanation of a few things that perhaps puzzle you. And for that, you will have to talk to someone more important than me-I am very much one of the rank and file.”
“What’s your top guy’s name, Serrano?”
“Yes, and it’s possible you might be permitted to talk to him. Tell me on what principal subject.”
“You know the answer to that. Money.”
“You want to buy our collaboration?” she said skeptically.
“In a way.”
“I don’t follow you, still. If you think you can hire us to attempt another jailbreak, to rescue Tim Rourke-”
“God, no. That other one was mostly window-dressing, anyway.”
“You saw that? Then,” she decided, “I think it will be correct to talk to you, but only after I get the approval of the committee. We are nearly there. You will have to repeat the things you’ve told me about Rubino.”
“Does Serrano speak English?”
She smiled. “When it’s convenient to him.”
“One more question. What about Alvares’ diary?”
“The torn-out page I gave Tim? That was from Lenore.”
“He thought it came from the wife.”
“We decided there was no reason for him to know Lenore was so much involved.”
For a brief stretch there was pavement, then the road narrowed again and went back to dirt. She turned uphill, into another shantytown, no less crowded and fetid than the others they had already passed. When the street petered out abruptly Paula parked, and the police car was surrounded at once by a swarm of dirty, excited children and barking dogs. A man came out of one of the wretched structures and patted the hood of the stolen car with delight. He shouted congratulations at Paula, but his grin faded when he saw the youth in the back seat.
Others gathered quickly. The explanations were conducted in Spanish. Shayne was examined curiously when he came out into the sunlight with the submachine gun in one hand. Julio was unloaded and placed in a wheeled cart, which was pulled off along a narrow rutted path.
“The doctor is that way,” Paula said. “You and I go elsewhere.” Smiling, she took the submachine gun and the other weapons. “You are now my prisoner.”
Four or five young men accompanied them, and they were followed by a crowd of children. The smell of the North American stranger had sent the numerous skinny dogs into near hysteria. Paula leaped a trickling open drain and headed up a path that wound in and out, seemingly at random, among the flimsy shelters. One hard push, it seemed to Shayne, would send the whole improbable neighborhood tumbling to the ground, like a village of playing cards.
Much of the living and nearly all of the cooking was done in the open air. They crossed a larger ditch on a plank bridge, and at Paula’s direction Shayne ducked his head and entered a three-sided lean-to of flattened oil cans. They passed through into another, equally shaky, and finally into a third. There was a chair, a cot and a table, and Shayne was told to sit down. The floor was dirt.
Several young men remained with him, but Paula continued further. He offered the young men cigarettes, which they accepted.
Paula was gone for some time. When she returned, she brought an older man wearing a simple green uniform and tennis shoes. He was stockily built, with abundant graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses. It was clear from the way the others reacted that this was the chief.
“Here is Serrano,” Paula said, introducing them. “Mr. Michael Shayne.”
Another chair was produced and Serrano sat down. Paula had exchanged her torn dress for a pair of faded blue jeans and a cotton pullover. She also had a shoulder holster-the Luger in it was probably the same one Julio had carried in the kidnapping. She sat on an upended box.
“Do we want this many people?” Shayne said.
“Yes, they are to be trusted.”
“So you took their Thompson away from them and stole their car,” Serrano said, speaking rapidly but with a heavy accent. “I wish I had been there. Now. About Andres Rubino. When he informed us you were about to give the police information about us, he was lying?”
“He was quoting me,” Shayne said, “but I was lying. Have you been in his new apartment?”
The Venezuelan shook his head.
“I sent him off to pick up some money for me. He wouldn’t have gone for sandwiches, but he couldn’t resist going for money. I knew the place had to be bugged. I never did find the mike, but I found a two-way mirror. I had Paula’s aunt there with me. Lenore Dante. We set up a conversation he was sure to believe. When he came back on the other side of the mirror we ran it off, and apparently he believed it.”
“And he passed it to us,” Serrano said. “You think he also told the police.”
Shayne shrugged. “Maybe they just happened to be there when I was grabbed. Or maybe I arranged that, too, so you’d feel grateful after I got rid of them for you. Everybody’s got to keep an open mind.”
Serrano looked away after a moment, and then he and the others, in Spanish, discussed what Shayne had said.
“We’ll send somebody to ask Rubino,” Serrano said.
“He’s dead.”
He dropped this news casually, but he was watching reactions.
“Tell us,” Serrano said, his eyes narrowing.
> “He was shot with a rifle.” Shayne looked at Paula. “Did you plant a guy on a fishing boat this morning to kill your aunt?”
“No!”
“She’s reasonably O.K., just cut up a little. I think the same guy shot Rubino and took a couple of shots at me. This was out by the farm, if that means anything.”
“I see that this won’t be disposed of in a minute,” Serrano said. “Are you hungry? Will you eat something?”
Shayne nodded and one of the young men went out.
“You must have a pretty good idea what I’m doing in Venezuela.” Shayne said. “I’ve been offered a couple of ways to make money, but my main problem is still Tim Rourke. He’s in on a bad rap. That charge should be simple stupidity. I’ve thought all along that my one chance of getting him out was to find them a replacement. Paula wouldn’t be bad, but she’s not quite big enough. You’d fit, Serrano.” He looked around the room, holding each pair of eyes for a moment before passing on to the next. “But from here I can count at least three guns, and I don’t think I could take you in. So we’ve got to work out a deal. I have a couple of proposals. Is there anything you want to have explained first?”
Serrano said, “Your remark to Paula that we had no actual plan to attack the prison.”
“I don’t know how much fire power you have available. But you didn’t do much when Alvares got the boot and the new guys were taking over, and that would have been a good time to make some noise. I understand you set up a diversion the night of the jailbreak. A bank robbery. How well did you do?”
“Rather well.”
“Yeah. Somebody told me about guerrilla movements once. At first it’s hard to tell the guerrillas from the bandits. You may have an interesting set of long range plans, but meanwhile you steal to stay alive. You wouldn’t risk an armed attack on a prison, just to spring a few people. Look around this barrio. There’s no shortage of people. Your shortage is guns and money. Paula’s aunt still thinks she sold you on the jail-break idea, but she doesn’t understand that you’re still at the bandit stage. How many people did you actually have out there, outside the jail?”
“One. To fire some shots. Does it matter?”
“Damn right it matters. Because if that was the diversion and the bank robbery was the real thing, all you needed was a couple of tear-gas bombs and a little smoke. You didn’t need to kill anybody.”
A woman came in with a platter which she placed in front of Shayne. Paula said, “In your honor, Mr. Shayne, the North American specialty.”
The meal proved to be hot dogs wrapped in corn leaves. Shayne took one, but waited to see what the others would do with theirs. They peeled back the leaves and dipped the hot dogs in a bowl of sauce. Shayne did the same, more cautiously. The sauce was fiery.
“Now can I ask Paula what was really inside those cartons of cigarettes?”
“I wasn’t careful enough,” she said. “Or I was careful in the wrong way.” She broke off to ask Serrano, “Can I say as a positive fact that when I gave my aunt the cartons they were exactly as specified? Tear gas. Smoke. A timing mechanism. A few cigarettes.”
The discussion became general, and Paula continued. “Yes, Mr. Shayne. There were several involved in the manufacture, the putting in packages. We have a small workshop. People are all the time coming and going-if one person made a change, and put in a bomb, the others would know. I gave them to Lenore to give to the wife. When she gave them back I gave them to Tim, who gave them to Larry Howe. At some point in this process the substitution was made. And that is all I can tell you.”
“Who do you think did it?”
“Perhaps Aunt Lenore,” Paula said quietly. “To have a relationship with such a man, I think she must be-how should I say it-a greedy person. I know she was once very poor. But there are other ways than to take money from someone so totally evil. Of course she claimed she was fond of him. But is it likely? Alvares?”
“And you think she killed him because of the money?”
“I don’t know. It sounds logical. To have it all.”
“She says you used to stay with her when you went to school in Miami. Did you ever see any gold bars lying around? Gold bars-that’s a figure of speech. A guy named Felix Frost tells me Alvares shut down his bank accounts a year and a half ago. We don’t know what he did with the cash.”
“Frost,” Serrano said with distaste.
“I wasn’t crazy about him myself,” Shayne said. “But he’s supposed to know what he’s talking about, and when he says the bank accounts were closed, I think that means they were really closed. He’s the one who suggested gold. Whatever it is, it’s illegal, not part of a formal estate, and so it’s more or less up for grabs. And the reason I went to all this trouble was to find out if you’d be interested in taking a shot at it.”
He swallowed the last bite of frankfurter and peeled another. After a moment’s silence several voices spoke at once.
Shayne stopped them. “Here’s the deal. However careful you are, you have to take a certain amount of chances to rob a bank. This could generate a lot more loot, with less risk. You must have ways to get in and out of the country without going through immigration, and that’s what I’m buying. I don’t have much to offer in return except a dim theory and a few guesses. But four people have died, and somebody killed them. Somebody switched those cartons, somebody knifed Lenore and shot Rubino. I think I know how I can break it open, if I can get you people to help. Is there anything to drink here?”
One of the young men quietly left the room.
Shayne continued. “At least two people knew what Alvares did with his money-Alvares himself and Lenore Dante. He’s dead and she’s pinned down and can’t get back to the United States without help. So there doesn’t seem to be any rush. But if everybody involved in this can be given the idea that I know where the money is and I’m on my way-”
“And do you know where it is?” Serrano said.
Shayne exploded. “I thought I’d made it clear that I’m working blind. I don’t even know for sure that there is any money.”
An unmarked bottle was brought in, containing a colorless, slightly oily liquid. Glasses were filled and handed around. Shayne raised his drink and knocked it back. It didn’t go off until it was all the way down, and then the explosion was considerable.
“It is called pisca,” Serrano said.
“Very smooth. All right. It’s a simple idea but I’ll explain it again. I can’t operate down here. Usually I don’t mind sticking my head up over the edge of the foxhole to see who takes a shot at me. But here I wouldn’t learn anything and I might not live through it.”
“You’ve done all right so far,” Paula remarked.
“I’ve asked some questions, and I’ve been given some conflicting answers. I keep looking over my shoulder to see who’s behind me. I wanted to see what you look like and how you handle yourselves. And to arrange something simple like that, I had to set up a complicated dodge with a two-way mirror, and I came damn close to getting five people killed in a head-on collision. Before I make any more of these great moves I want to be back where I speak the language. Palm Beach keeps being mentioned. It isn’t as good as Miami, but it’s good enough. The police chief there is a friend of mine. I keep coming across jewelry in Miami that’s been stolen in Palm Beach, and it goes back to the owners through the Palm Beach cops. So they owe me a favor. I know where to buy information and which streets run one-way.”
“You wish to transfer the entire matter to Palm Beach from Caracas,” Paula said, “like changing to a new scene in a film?”
“You make it sound complicated. All I have to do is persuade a few key people that the money is definitely in Palm Beach, and I know where it is, and I’m going after it with the help of my friends in the MIR, who’ve been cut in for a piece.”
“Then whoever tries to get to the money first-” Serrano said slowly.
“We bushwhack. We relieve them of the money and find out something. There are wa
ys of doing it if you’re willing to think about it.”
Serrano looked at him carefully. “I’m willing to think about it. What means of transportation?”
“I have a plane at Maiquetia if you can get me aboard.”
“With some of our people, of course. To watch you when you count the money.”
“As many as you like. Paula ought to be one of them. I may need her to help identify faces.”
“But there are other parts to this idea. How will you make certain that the necessary ones are informed?”
“I want you to plant it with a pigeon, so it doesn’t come directly from me.”
“A pigeon?”
“You must have a word for it in Spanish. Somebody who reports directly to Mejia. Nobody in this room, I hope, but there must be somebody else here in the barrio. Let him overhear a couple of your guys talking. Michael Shayne, Alvares’ loot, Palm Beach, in a hurry. That ought to be enough.”
Serrano frowned. “You think Luis Mejia is connected with this?”
“I don’t know about connected. But after you talk to enough cops you begin to recognize the signals. He knows more about it than he told me, which wouldn’t be hard because he didn’t tell me anything much. Why should he? But in Florida he’ll be on the other side of the table. There won’t be any problem with Lenore. There was nothing phony about those stab wounds. The guy was really trying to kill her; he just didn’t know how. Then there’s the widow.”
Serrano and the girl exchanged a glance. Serrano said, “We have a connection to one of the people in the house, a maid.”
“What kind of connection?” Shayne said quickly. “Can you phone her?”
“No. But we can be in touch within one hour.”
“Can you find out if Frost was out there today?”
Serrano considered. “Is it important?”
“I think so. Frost’s people have a tap on Mejia’s line. Anything involving me will be passed on to Frost right away. And if he passes it on to the Senora, we’ve closed another circuit. The money’s very much on her mind. It wouldn’t surprise me if she changed out of her black dress and caught the first plane.”
Caught Dead ms-64 Page 12
