Fourth Down to Death

by Brett Halliday

  “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “I know they were dickering last summer. I guess they couldn’t get together on the price.”

  “He made a minimum of fifty thousand last week betting against Miami. Have you heard that?”

  James seemed only mildly interested. “I know he bets. But he’s not a fixer.”

  “Do you know the red-headed girl he takes to dog races?”

  James smiled slightly. “When I knew her she was a brunette.”

  “I asked you a question when you were pretending to be unconscious. Have you been climbing into the sack with Mrs. Zacharias?”

  The quarterback kicked the rug into position and lay down on his back. “Sit-up time.”

  “You don’t want to talk about that?”

  James laced his fingers behind his head and sat up and lay down, sat up and lay down.

  “I just don’t see the bearing.”

  “I’m trying to draw a diagram. I’ve got a half-dozen people, and I want to know how they connect.”

  “You can make that one a dotted line, Mike. I’ll tell you about it sometime, but not tonight.”

  He did a dozen rapid sit-ups, then slowed down. “What are you going to do about Truck?”

  “Turn him in, probably.”

  “You know if you tell Sid, he’ll have to fire him, and we need Joe. Isn’t that why Sid gave you a percentage instead of a fee? Maybe you won’t agree with me, but why not go to Joe tomorrow and tell him you might be able to forget what you saw, depending on what kind of game he plays?”

  “Are you still willing to have him in front of you?”

  “When he’s giving a hundred percent, no one can pass him. New York’s front four aren’t too scarey. If I see Joe’s man coming at me, I’ll lie down and have another concussion.”

  “And use the same electroencephalograms?”

  “Right,” James said, standing up. “My doctor got them out of his files. The patient who had that coma never came out of it.”

  Shayne finished his drink. “Is there anything else you want to volunteer, Ronnie?”

  His exercise period over, James plumped up his pillows and returned to bed. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Mangione had a gun,” Shayne said soberly. “He was willing to use it. He and Joe had an argument about whether or not they ought to take me out in the Glades and feed me to the pelicans. Joe just sat there chewing gum. Nothing bothered him until he got a phone call, and then he announced he was going to break Lou’s back. He would have done it in another minute. People wouldn’t be this tense if they were betting pennies. I think you’ve told me about one tenth of the things you know, and a carefully selected one tenth.”

  “You didn’t expect my life story, did you, Mike?”

  “I don’t usually get it. But you don’t think this might be a little too big to handle alone?”

  “I’m doing all right. It’s only a boy’s game, after all. If you’re going, tell Dody to report back. You interrupted something when you broke in. And after I get that out of the way,” he added, “I have a few questions to ask the girl.”

  Shayne stood up, and for a moment stayed at the bedside, looking down at James and scraping his thumbnail across his chin.

  “All I can do at this stage is look as though I know more than I do, and hope somebody panics. Do you have any suggestions about who I ought to see next?”

  “I’ll tell you one guy on the club I don’t like,” James said after a moment. “Dr. Len Bishop. He’s a lousy doctor. He thinks he’s the world’s greatest football expert, but he never personally played the game. On top of everything else he has cold hands. Why don’t you growl at him and see what happens?”

  CHAPTER 7

  Shayne left the room.

  At the elevators opposite the nurses’ station, Dody Germaine was talking to a tall man in a physician’s pink jump suit. Shayne started toward them, walking quickly.

  The elevator door opened, and the man in the jump suit glanced at Shayne before stepping in. He carried very little weight for his height, which was six feet three or four, and he was bent forward at the waist, like a carpenter’s rule not fully extended. He was balding, with a pockmarked face that gathered itself to a point in a long sharp nose.

  The door slid shut.

  Dody murmured, “Mike Shayne, eh?” and started to pass him.

  “Who was that?” Shayne said.

  She gave him an amused look. “One of the staff doctors, I think. I don’t know too many people in the hospital, actually. I come to work, I lock myself in, apparently, and some hours later I go home.”

  The duty nurse called, “Wasn’t it Dr. Bishop, Dody?”

  Dody gave a pretty shrug. “He told me his name, but he’s a mumbler.”

  “Where do you go for your coffee break?” Shayne said. “I want to talk to you about that blood on your uniform.”

  “I couldn’t take time off now, Mr. Shayne. I just came on, and I’m a conscientious girl.”

  The nurse at the desk said, “Are you Mike Shayne, by any chance? I wouldn’t know you in the bandage. Somebody was trying to locate you a minute ago. Do you want me to see if the board’s still holding the call?”

  “Please.” When Dody tried to get around him, he blocked her with a forearm. “Not till we’ve had some coffee.”

  “I told you I didn’t want any. Don’t make yourself unpleasant. I do work here, you know.”

  “What I’m interested in is what you do before and after work.” She made an attempt to go under his arm and he put it around her, locking her in place. “I’m taking this to the cops in a minute or two, unless you can talk me out of it. They love arresting people with names like Mangione. They can tell the papers he’s reputedly a member of a reputed Mafia family. It’s a prestige arrest, and your name will be mentioned.”

  “Why on earth would my name be mentioned?”

  “You’re reputedly his girlfriend. You reputedly picked him up in a Volkswagen and let him bleed all over your clean uniform.”

  The other nurse held out the phone. Shayne forced Dody into the alcove behind the desk. The duty nurse said in a low voice, “What’s going on, Dody? Should I interfere?”

  “I wish you would!”

  “Don’t,” Shayne told her harshly, and planted his foot so she was unable to move her chair.

  He picked the phone out of her hand and said hello. A switchboard girl asked him to hold on, and in a moment more the exuberant voice of Stitch Reddick, the commissioner’s investigator, exploded in his ear.

  “Shayne!” He was shouting to be heard over the sound of music and other conversations that were taking place around him. “This isn’t such a genius-type idea, you know, talking through a switchboard, but I’ve got to find out. Is there money available? I said, is there money available?”

  “For what?”

  “You didn’t just come down from the boondocks, Shayne. You know for what.”

  “There’s money around,” Shayne said briefly. “I’m not authorized to spend any of it, but if you can come up with a quiet solution, a deal is certainly possible.”

  “I can’t reach Zacharias.”

  “He’s away overnight. You’d better talk to me, Stitch. Where are you?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. I’m not too anxious to talk to you, man, after the way you stood there smoking while that Truszowski bitch smashed up a perfectly good tape recorder.” There was a sound of drinking, the clink of a glass being put down. “If you’d exerted yourself a little, we’d be in better shape, but never mind. A concept’s beginning to take form. Not only that, I’m in a position to prove it.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Enough of your sarcasm, Shayne. We underpaid staff people keep plugging away day in, day out, not getting much in the way of understanding or appreciation, but sometimes all that patience pays off. I don’t expect to get any glamorous publicity out of this or any of those huge Michael Shayne fees. The main thi
ng I’ve got to consider is what’s best for organized football.”

  “I understand you, Stitch,” Shayne said impatiently. “Where are you?”

  There was a thump, and more drinking noises.

  “Maybe I’m in the process of changing my mind. It’s comfortable here. The bourbon’s flowing. The only reason I called was to find out if you could set up a meeting with Sid, and since you don’t seem to be able to do that, the better part of valor may be to let it simmer overnight.”

  Shayne said quickly, “Did you send Mangione in with an envelope to trap Joe Truck?”

  “Did I send Mangione—? Shayne, you’ve lost your marbles. Who’s Mangione?”

  “A kid from up north who wears hair spray and pointed shoes. That was a phony scene in there, and if you didn’t arrange it, somebody else did.”

  “I can’t hear you too well. But Joe Truck is very peripheral in this, very peripheral. I think I can guarantee that the story I have to tell will make Sid’s real hair stand on end under his hairpiece.”

  “I’ve been picking up things,” Shayne said. “I may have that story myself by tomorrow morning, and then you won’t have anything to sell. You’d better see me. Stitch, not only is this going through a switchboard, a couple of people are right here listening, including a girl who may have some money on the game. Did you know there’s a chance Ronnie James may be playing?”

  “James may be playing!” After a moment Reddick sighed. “You son of a bitch, you know something I don’t. I thought I was in possession of the essential facts. But I’m not selling facts, am I, I’m selling whether or not I pass them on to the commissioner. Come on over. I’m soaking up bourbon and atmosphere in what is laughingly called a pub. Half-a-Sixpence, on Route One, somewhere in the vicinity of 17th Avenue. I’m a drink and a half from pass-out time, so don’t dawdle… I know you want me to make sense. Be thinking how high Sid can be persuaded to go for absolute silence.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye. Shayne gave back the phone.

  He still had Dody in an iron grip. He moved her out of the alcove. The other nurse said, “What’s with your patient, Dody?”

  “I left him sleeping like a baby,” Dody told her. “Temperature ninety-eight point six.… All right, Mike, I accept your invitation for coffee. Let up a little—my arm’s going to be black and blue. One fast cup, and I’m screaming and kicking all the way. It’s such a waste of time. I’m not telling you anything.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Damn sure. I’m an interested party! Who’s this Stitch you were talking to? What was all that about using Lou Mangione for bait, or whatever? I don’t know why I ask. With a detective the information all flows the other way… And not only that,” she added, “the coffee here is terrible.”

  “In that case—” Shayne said.

  They were passing a men’s room. He knocked the door open and pulled her in. She was too surprised to resist until they were inside.

  “Anybody here?” Shayne called.

  There was no answer.

  “What happens now?” Dody said coolly. “Am I going to be raped?”

  “I’ll take a rain check on that,” Shayne said. “We need some privacy because I may have to do some shouting.”

  He pulled her around and slammed her back against the washbowls. Her breath came out in a puff. She looked at him in disbelief, her cap askew.

  “Different things sometimes work,” he said. “Good-looking girls hate to be hit in the f ace.”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  Shayne hit her with the heel of his hand. Her head banged back against a mirror. She let a small moan escape, and caught the edge of a washbowl to keep from falling.

  “And when Lou Mangione does it,” Shayne said, “he’ll use knucks. That’s the feeling Lou gives me.”

  Throwing back her hair, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and touched the reddening spot on her cheekbone.

  “Don’t do that again, please, Mike? I was wrong, I shouldn’t have been so snippety. I know this is how you earn your living. But don’t romanticize Lou Mangione. If that’s your idea of the Mafia, for heaven’s sake—”

  “The smaller they are, the less they have to lose. He was carrying a gun. He fired at me with it. He wasn’t trying to hit me, but after thinking it over he decided to do it again, and this time not to miss.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “I thought so myself. Where’d you take him?”

  “He’s here, under heavy sedation. Various things are broken, ribs and so on.”

  “What’s your interest in Dr. Bishop?”

  “It’s not sex, if that’s what you’re implying. One of the Miami players, a linebacker, had some kind of muscle strain. When Dr. Bishop came by, I asked him how the boy was doing. That’s all.”

  “How is the boy doing?”

  “Better than expected. He’ll probably play part of the game tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to do with the information?”

  She met his eyes. “I’ll take it into consideration, along with everything else.”

  “It’s probably classified. Why should Bishop tell you?”

  She breathed out angrily. “It isn’t that important! But you’re bigger and stronger than I am, so I’ll have to confess. I didn’t meet Len Bishop there in the corridor for the first time. I’ve had drinks with him once or twice—”

  Shayne cut this short with an obscenity. “Where’s your money come from?”

  “I bet on football games. I know it’s against the law, but doesn’t everybody do it? Lou and I have a kind of syndicate.”

  “How long has that been going on?”

  “Since the start of the season. We met at a party in New York. He can be amusing. Well—not very, really, over the long haul, but from a business point of view, it hasn’t been bad. I can walk into any hospital in any football city in the country and get a job. I do the research and Lou places the bets. I didn’t know he carried a gun! I’ve never seen him with one.”

  “Did you know about the deal he was offering Truck?”

  “Obviously. Not in detail, but I knew there was money involved.”

  “How about last week? Did Lou handle that?”

  “I don’t know. Please—don’t look so skeptical. It isn’t a full-time thing with me. We made a sizable bet on Boston, but he wouldn’t tell me why. I didn’t press him. We don’t live together or anything.”

  “Do you live with anybody?”

  “No. I get a smothery feeling with the same person around all the time. But you know what I mean—I don’t carry it to extremes.”

  “How did you get the James assignment?”

  “That was easy, they’re desperate for nurses. Actually, Len Bishop recommended me. It was a boring job the first few days.”

  “Do you know a bettor named Ted Knapp?”

  “I know his name. Lou’s mentioned him.”

  “Have you slept with Dr. Bishop?”

  Her head came up. “You saw him. That’s an insulting question.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “What’s the answer?”

  “I’m not going to give you an answer. Can I go now, please? And what people are going to say if they see us coming out of a men’s room together—”

  Shayne stayed where he was, blocking her way. “You haven’t given me a hell of a lot. I don’t like this Mangione story. You and Lou don’t fit. Certain combinations I can believe, and others are all wrong. Sid and Chan Zacharias—I believe. They’re getting a little restless, but you can see how they stayed together all these years. The combination worked.”

  “Mike—”

  “I’m not finished. With your looks you don’t have to go to bed with the first person who rings your doorbell. You’re working an angle, and it has to be more than money. And I do already know from one look at Bishop that you don’t fit with him, either. The same would go for me.”

  She looked interested for a moment. “Mike, don’t be so sure about
that. You don’t really know, do you?”

  “What would we talk about after the first half hour? I’d say you’re more Ronnie’s type. If I saw you and Ronnie in a bar it wouldn’t surprise me at all. You and Ted Knapp would fit. You’d fit very well. You’d fit with Sid Zacharias, but probably for only a weekend.”

  “You’re getting colder and colder. Why does it have to be more than money? I was one of the top models in New York a few years ago, at a hundred dollars an hour. I got used to it. But I did silly things with it, and it disappeared. Nursing pays less—a great deal less. The theory behind the point spread isn’t that hard to figure out.”

  “Are you betting Miami to win or to lose tomorrow?”

  “To win, of course. I’m the one who cured Ronnie’s concussion.” She moved closer and said in a softer voice. “I think you’re a little worried about me.”

  “I think you’re in over your head. These are serious people.”

  “Lou doesn’t terrify me a bit, Mike. He won’t be a factor tomorrow. I beefed up the shot we gave him, and he won’t be opening his eyes for at least twenty-four hours.”

  The door opened behind Shayne and an elderly attendant shuffled in.

  “Oh. Excuse me. Are you—”

  “Come on in,” Shayne said, after looking at Dody for an instant. “We’re leaving.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Shayne returned to his room.

  Clothes were a problem. His own were blood-soaked. Miss Cannon, the nurse on his floor, after protesting that he wasn’t ready to face the world, finally went off to the supply room and drew an orderly’s uniform, white short-sleeved shirt and white cotton pants. Paying his bill and completing the necessary paperwork delayed him another ten minutes.

  His mobile operator checked Tim Rourke’s car phone without success. Shayne crossed to the Dixie Highway on one of the short streets angling up from the bay, and looked for the bar where he hoped Stitch Reddick would be waiting for him.

  There was a swinging sign—Half-a-Sixpence. The front of the building was half-timbered in an unavailing attempt to give it the look of a London pub. Shayne left his car on the street and went inside. The interior was broken up into snug drinking areas, again in the British manner, with hunting prints on the walls. Shayne circled a dart game. A jukebox was in full cry in the main bar. Shayne looked in the phone booths and the men’s room, but Reddick, it seemed, had given up and gone home.