This Is It, Michael Shayne

by Brett Halliday

  Shayne set his teeth hard together. “You boys must be new,” he grated. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”

  “We’ve seen you around, shamus,” the bulky man assured him. “Do you walk in the manager’s office quiet, or do we make it a pinch?”

  “Is it a pinch?” Shayne demanded hotly. He twisted his right wrist unobtrusively and strained to free it, but the tall man gripped it solidly and brought his other hand across to close over Shayne’s fists as though he guessed the redhead wanted to drop something from it.

  “It’s a pinch if you want it that way,” he said.

  “What charge?” Shayne growled.

  “Drunk in a public place will do long enough to go over you,” said the bulky cop implacably.

  They started forward, and Shayne went with them. “Wait’ll I see Will Gentry,” he said bitterly. “You two mugs will be pounding the pavement by this time tomorrow. You must be damned new in Miami, or you’d know Will and I are just like—” He tried to lift his right hand to demonstrate.

  “Don’t get your guts in an uproar, Shayne,” the tall man advised. “You’ll get your chance to complain to the chief.”

  They reached a paneled door marked Manager. It stood slightly ajar. They pushed it open and shoved Shayne inside.

  “Hello, Mike.” Will Gentry sat solidly in a swivel chair behind the manager’s desk.

  Shayne’s eyes glittered with anger. “So this is the way you decided to play it,” he said savagely.

  Gentry shifted his dead cigar to the other corner of his mouth and agreed imperturbably, “This is the way I’m playing it.” He narrowed his eyes at Shayne’s clenched fist and added, “Open it up and let’s see the note, Mike.”

  Chapter Six

  A Stranger Takes a Hint

  “WHAT NOTE?” Gentry glanced inquiringly at the two officers.

  The bulky one nodded emphatically and said, “He didn’t drop it. Soon as he started out I followed him and watched his fist after I gave Allen the office, and he grabbed him at the door.”

  “Open up, Mike,” Gentry ordered.

  The trenches in Shayne’s cheeks deepened. He drew in a long breath and said:

  “So you did tap my wire. I had a hunch you were going to pull something like that. That’s why I kept the guy from giving anything away over the phone. I didn’t mind you casing the joint here and trying to pick him up,” he went on angrily, “but you should have warned these clucks to leave me alone until I got the line I needed. We’ll never solve the case now—the way you’ve messed it up.”

  “What about the man who passed the note?” Gentry asked the bulky one.

  “I’m not sure which one of four or five guys might’ve done it. I stayed close as I could without interfering, but there was such a—”

  “I imagine the note will give us the information we need,” Gentry broke in happily. “He’ll spill what he knows when we get him to headquarters.”

  “But there isn’t any note,” Shayne told him. “Whoever he is, he may not even be here yet. Or if he was out there, he saw me get picked and beat it.”

  “No one has beat it since you were picked up,” Gentry assured him. “I’ve got men blocking the exits. Give it to me, Mike.” He creaked the swivel chair forward and held out his heavy hand, palm up.

  Shayne shook his red head slowly. “I’ve never lied to you, Will. In all the years—”

  “You lied to me tonight,” rumbled Gentry, “when you swore Miss Morton hadn’t succeeded in contacting you today. Don’t forget I’ve got a transcript of your telephone conversation to prove it.”

  “You’re a fool, Will.” Shayne spoke the words flatly, regretfully. “If you weren’t so damned bent on proving me a liar you’d realize I was playing the guy along, pretending I knew all about him when I didn’t know anything. You’ve ruined my one chance to get any real information out of him.”

  He held his arm out and slowly spread his fingers out. His hand was empty.

  Gentry stared in disbelief and surprise, then his beefy face grew dark with anger. “That won’t do, Mike. I’ll have Allen and Bates search you right here if you don’t hand it over.”

  “Isn’t that getting pretty high-handed, Will?” Shayne’s voice was deceptively gentle. “You can push me so far—”

  “And farther if I decide to.” Gentry bit the words off curtly. “I’m not fooling, Mike. If you make any trouble, you’ll run your business for the next six months from a cell in my jail.” He nodded to the two officers. “Get the note off him.”

  Shayne shrugged, then stood still as the men moved in, suppressing his rage as they explored every pocket, and every possible place where a small note might be concealed, their faces showing anger and complete consternation when they started taking off his shoes and socks.

  Allen stood up, scratched his head as protruding eyes went over Shayne as if he expected to see the note pinned, on his suit, and reported, “It’s not on him, Chief. I don’t get it.”

  “I swear he couldn’ve got rid of it,” the bulky one began.

  “There never was a note,” Shayne grated. His temper went out of control as he put on his socks and shoes. He tied the last lace, stood up and smoothed his coat, lit a cigarette, stepped over and lowered one hip to a corner of the desk.

  “Your men messed everything up by moving in before any note was passed. Our man is probably out there now biting his nails and wondering how in hell he’s going to make contact.”

  “He’s still bottled up,” Gentry muttered. “We can go over the lot of them—”

  “And find out what?” Shayne demanded hotly. “All we know about him thus far is that he’s some man who has had some connection with Miss Morton that makes him a logical suspect for her murder. No name. No description. Nothing. So you’re going to shake down a barroom full of men looking for what?” His voice was savagely jeering.

  “From the way you talked to him on the phone—”

  “Nuts. You know damned well I was playing him along.”

  “You admit guessing your line was tapped and that you deliberately prevented him from naming a time and place to meet where we could have picked him up,” Gentry exploded.

  “Of course I did. The one thing I don’t want is for you to pick him up.”

  “Because he offered you ten grand to keep him put of the investigation.”

  “Maybe. That’s reason enough. But there’s another reason. You’d realize it if you took time to think. You grab him and he clams up. Without an alibi for the time between six-thirty and seven he admits he’s definitely on the spot. So he won’t tell you anything. Why should he? But he’ll spill his guts if I get to him alone and handle him right. He thinks I already know what his connection is.”

  “And Miss Lally knows, too,” Gentry reminded him. “All we have to do is ask her—”

  “You’re not going to ask Miss Lally anything,” Shayne cut in. “Don’t you see? This bird will make a deal with me only so long as he thinks I can keep his part in it quiet. It’ll all be off the minute he learns that either Lally or I have talked to you.”

  “You mean the ten-grand deal will be off.”

  “I mean the ten-grand deal,” he conceded. “And maybe the inside dope that’ll solve a murder for you. Who in hell are you, anyway,” he added angrily, “to talk about ten-grand like it was peanuts? How much does the city pay you to mess around and prevent me from catching murderers?”

  Will Gentry’s face was purple. He glared at the two officers and roared, “Report back to headquarters and put on uniforms. Show up for patrol duty tomorrow morning.”

  Shayne waited until the door closed behind them, his face turned aside to hide a grin, then leaned forward and said soothingly:

  “You can’t help making mistakes when you have to depend on a couple of farmers to be intelligent, Will. For God’s sake let’s quit fighting and put our heads together the way we’ve done in the past. I never let you down; and if I can pick up a hunk of cash for myself,
why should you get in my way?”

  “I don’t like the way you’re holding Miss Lally out on me,” he said grudgingly.

  “I wanted this chance for somebody like the character who phoned to contact me,” Shayne said persuasively. “Let’s assume he’s the one who has been sending the threats to Sara Morton—and ended up by murdering her. He evidently feels that Miss Morton suspected him. He hears over the radio that she consulted me today, and feels sure she passed her suspicions on to me. But as long as he thinks I’m the only one who knows, who has enough extra information to take whatever Miss Lally knows about him and add it up to murder, then he’s frantic to get hold of me and make a deal before I spill it to the cops.”

  “For ten thousand dollars,” Gentry reiterated harshly.

  “All right. For ten grand. Let him pay it. I’ve got a newspaper reputation for making deals like that and he feels safe. But you know I never protected a killer.” Shayne took a final drag on his cigarette and rubbed it out in an ash tray, eased himself farther onto the table, and nursed a knobby knee between his hands while Gentry made up his mind.

  “How do you propose we handle it now?” Gentry asked slowly.

  His profile was toward Gentry now. Without turning his head, he said, “I don’t see any way of doing it—unless you make up your mind that a guy who hasn’t double-crossed you in nearly fifteen years isn’t going to start now.”

  “Suppose I grant that, Mike?”

  Shayne shifted his position to face Gentry again. His eyes were very bright. “Then we work it this way. If our man was out there we can be sure he tore up the note when he saw me picked up by your men. Your men have the place bottled up and he couldn’t have got away.

  “Call your men off, then you and I will put on an act. We’ll go out together—and you’ll be sore. We’ll go into the bar, and you refuse a drink and demand for the last time that I tell you where Miss Lally is. I’ll make a crack about the privacy of information received from a client, then announce I’m going home to bed. Play it right, and he’ll call me again to make another appointment as soon as I get home. And for God’s sake pull your man off my telephone line.”

  Gentry grunted noncommittally, then said, “We can try it,” dubiously. “When will you let me know what you get?”

  “If he calls and you trust me to meet him without interference, you’ll be hearing from me shortly. Pull your men off, then let’s go into the act.” Shayne swung to his feet.

  The foyer was empty when they went out together. Gentry stepped to the outer door and spoke a few words to a man standing just outside, then came back and they went into the barroom with Gentry saying angrily:

  “One of these days I’m going to run you in, Mike, so help me. This is murder, and I’ve got a right to any information you’ve got.”

  “I’ve given you everything I’m going to. Come on and have a drink—just to show there’re no hard feelings.”

  “I mean it, Mike.” Gentry stopped, his lower jaw thrust out pugnaciously. “I’m asking you for the last time where Miss Lally is.”

  Into the sudden quiet, with all eyes turned toward them, Shayne said, “And I’ve told you she’s too upset to be questioned tonight. Don’t bother to put a tail on me when I leave here,” he went on contemptuously, “because I’m not going near Miss Lally. If you won’t drink with me, I’m leaving.”

  Shayne stalked out through the foyer, slowed when he was out of sight of the barroom patrons, and dallied on the way to the car he had parked so strategically for getting away as soon as he knew where to go.

  He stopped with his hand on the car door when the doorman’s voice came over the loud-speaker ordering a car to the front. The name sounded like Harsh, or Garsh.

  He got in and circled, drove slowly toward the front exit, and saw a wide-shouldered man of medium height waiting beside the doorman. He continued without increasing speed, turned right, and stopped a hundred feet away.

  When the other car turned right, he pulled away from the curb, loafed along at twenty miles an hour for a dozen blocks, watching the rear-view window with interest and noting that the driver stayed consistently a block behind him and showed no desire to pass.

  Shayne sped up and drove on a few blocks until he reached a short street that dead-ended against the bay. He turned right and drove to the end, parked at an angle with his bumper touching the rail, and shut off the lights and motor.

  A moment later another car turned in and came slowly toward him. He straightened and bent a little forward to let the headlights outline his head and shoulders.

  The car drew up beside him and a man got out. Shayne opened a door to let the man slide in beside him, saying casually:

  “I had an idea you’d take the hint and follow me.”

  Chapter Seven

  A Man on a Spot

  SHAYNE RECOGNIZED HIS VOICE when the man asked anxiously:

  “What went wrong, Shayne? I had a note ready and tried to put it in your hand, but you closed up tight—refused to accept it. Then you started out and those men picked you up.”

  “Dicks from headquarters,” Shayne explained. “I spotted one of them watching us just when you tried to push the note in my hand. It wasn’t safe to take it. They didn’t get anything out of me about you, and I had an idea you’d stick around for another try.”

  “Wasn’t that Chief Gentry you were quarreling with?” he asked nervously.

  “That’s right. He’s pretty sore because I refused to tell him why Miss Morton called me today. And I’m keeping Miss Lally away from him until I hear your story and decide what I’m going to do.”

  “I didn’t kill her, Shayne. I shan’t deny to you that I’m glad someone did. I was a fool to threaten her last night, but I lost my temper—as any man would under the circumstances.”

  “And you can’t prove you’re innocent,” said Shayne. “Your threat, coupled with her death in less than twenty-four hours, puts you right on the spot.”

  “I have no alibi until seven o’clock. God! If I’d only known it was going to happen—Exactly when was she killed?”

  “We’ll skip that for a minute. Even if you can prove you didn’t kill her, you’re willing to pay ten grand to keep your connection with the case quiet?”

  “I’m willing to pay that amount to someone I can trust to keep their word. You, for instance. They say you’re unscrupulous about money, but never double-crossed anyone who trusted you. It wasn’t because of the money that I refused to meet Miss Morton’s demand,” he blurted out angrily, “but because I don’t believe it’s ever worth while to pay tribute to a blackmailer. Once they get the first payment they never stop until you’re sucked dry. But I don’t suppose she told you that part of it,” he ended bitterly.

  “No—she didn’t mention she was blackmailing you.”

  “Naturally not. I wonder how many times she’s pulled this same stunt in the past—posing as a reformer and going around the country collecting medals for cleaning up rackets while she runs a blackmail racket on the side.” He sighed heavily and relaxed the tension that had kept him sitting erect.

  Shayne offered him a cigarette. He declined with thanks, and Shayne took his time tapping one on the steering-wheel, striking a match, lighting it, and blowing a cloud of smoke through the window, waiting to see whether he would volunteer any more information.

  “You’d better tell me the whole thing your way,” he suggested when the silence grew awkward. “Then I can balance your story against what I already know and decide whether I can afford to cover up for you.”

  The man cleared his throat. “Tell me—first—did that secretary hear me make that crazy threat last night?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t mention it to me. What makes you think she might have overheard?”

  “Why—I gathered she was sleeping in the next room. The Morton woman called through the bathroom for her to come in after I shot my mouth off. I could hear her plainly when she responded, but I left before she came in.�
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  “Then she didn’t actually see you?”

  “No—but I imagine she heard the whole thing. I didn’t realize it was a connecting bathroom and—well, I had one too many drinks under my belt and guess I talked pretty loud. But how could I know someone else was going to murder her today?” he ended defiantly.

  “We’ll assume for the moment that someone else did.”

  The man took a long cigar from his pocket. Shayne’s match book was still cupped in his palm. He hastily struck one, held it to the cigar, and studied the man’s features by the brief flare.

  He saw strong, irregular features that went well with the heavy shoulders. Around fifty, Shayne guessed, and just before the match flickered out he met Shayne’s gaze squarely.

  He pulled on the cigar until the end glowed evenly all around, then said quietly, “I presume you know I am a moderately wealthy man, Shayne. Head of my own company, Burton Harsh Associates—real estate and building promotions. One thing Miss Morton probably didn’t tell you, and it isn’t generally known, is that right at the moment our cash resources are spread pretty thin. During this inflationary boom we’ve been pyramiding investments until we’re top-heavy. Not that we aren’t fundamentally sound,” he added quickly. “We’re quietly unloading, and within ninety days will be in a position to weather any sort of crisis. But right now—as of today—a scandal such as the Morton woman threatened—might easily sweep away everything. If our creditors were to come down on us all at once—force us to liquidate—” He paused.

  The last statements were labored and jerky, and when he failed to continue and give the catastrophic results, Shayne sat quietly for a while and tried to remember what he had heard or read about the man. The name of Burton Harsh was vaguely familiar, and he gradually recalled having seen it prominently listed in charity drives, meetings of local business leaders, and civic betterment associations.

  “There is that angle,” said Harsh. “And don’t think Morton didn’t know all about it. She’s been digging inside information about my organization for a week. No matter what else can be said about the woman, she did have a faculty for ferreting out facts.