Shayne pulled a straight chair into the bathroom and sat down astride. She made one or two snips with the scissors, standing behind him. Then her breath came out in a long sigh, and the scissors and the bottle of disinfectant fell from her fingers. She slipped quietly to the floor.
Shayne regarded her with the trace of a smile. He checked the time. It was a few minutes after five.
He picked her up and placed her on the bed. He poured more cognac. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slipped an arm under her shoulders and raised her head. He held the glass to her lips and let her breathe the fumes. When her eyes opened he tilted the glass. She sputtered helplessly, but swallowed a mouthful.
She looked around in alarm, and pressed her face to his bare chest. He continued to hold her loosely.
“That’s the first time I ever fainted in my life.”
Her lips moved against him. For an instant his hold tightened. Then she shifted in his arms, and looked at him seriously.
“I was so scared. I can’t begin to tell you. The way they pounced on me. I was sure they were going to kill me. Then that ax came through the door! That fire extinguisher. You’re a—pretty impressive person.” She raised her head and kissed him gently. “And here we are. I have more clothes on than you do. I don’t think that’s right.”
He laughed, and she insisted, “Why don’t we? I know you wouldn’t ordinarily, because why should you pay any attention to me? But I did a sort of stupid thing and you rescued me, and you’re still woozy from that cut on the head, so you aren’t as iron-willed as usual—”
She ran her hands inside his robe. “Make love to me! Or I’ll have hysterics, and you don’t want that, do you? Hold me. Do. Do, please.”
Twisting, she pulled a zipper and her blouse opened. He let her kiss him again, and then, very slowly, he began to disengage.
She followed him urgently. “Mike, you can’t go yet. You have to recuperate. It won’t commit you to anything. Then we can really trust each other. Will you?”
There were two possible answers, and there was something to be said for them both. She was kissing him again, and there was no doubt, Shayne thought, that she was a determined girl.
It was beginning to seem that she would win.
Ten minutes passed. Then it took them another ten minutes to untangle completely.
“Mike, dear,” she whispered, “how nice that was. You were sweet to do it when you didn’t want to.”
“Where’d you get that idea?”
She smiled. “Possibly from something you said.” She put her forehead briefly against his shoulder, and looked up at him. “It wasn’t too strenuous?”
He rotated his head carefully. “Maybe it’s what I needed.”
“I told you! Darling, let me try again with the scissors. This time I won’t faint.”
“No, let it go. Make us some more drinks while I get dressed.”
He swung off the bed. As he stood up he felt a swirl of vertigo, but it passed at once. Adele, a tidy girl, straightened up the bed before going into the other room.
In the bathroom, working by touch, Shayne disinfected his head wound without starting it bleeding again. He didn’t bother with a bandage. With the help of more cognac, he could function and the wound would have to take care of itself.
Adele had combed her hair and repaired her makeup. She held out a glass.
“When I think that two hours ago you were only a name in the newspapers—”
“It was pleasant,” Shayne said shortly, “but now let’s get back to the main subject. Your uncle said the left-wing groups are preparing some kind of action for tomorrow.”
“Which left-wing groups? That covers a lot of ground.”
He sat down at one end of the big sofa. “Not that I want a lecture, but how many organizations are there, say, to the left of your uncle’s?”
“Only about four dozen.” She turned toward him, bringing up one knee. “Maybe not that many, but lots. It only takes three Latin Americans to make a political party. They keep arguing and splintering. I know there’s been talk that the students from the university are going to show up tomorrow, but it’s Vega’s people I’m worried about. They carry pistols to demonstrations.”
“Have you heard about somebody named Gil Ruiz?”
She looked surprised. “Of course. I thought he was famous. But he’s not here, for heaven’s sake. He’s off fighting in the jungle.” She stopped. “Isn’t he?”
“I don’t know a damn thing about it, as I keep telling people. What’s his main thing right now?”
“That’s easy—he’s organizing the guerrilla movement against Colonel Caldera. It’s still in the early stages. The only guns and ammunition they have is what they’ve been able to capture. But it’s growing. One of these days you may read about it in the Miami News.”
“Apparently Crowther’s got some kind of tie-in with Caldera. What if he was shot or kidnapped in Miami by Ruiz sympathizers? That’s always happening to American ambassadors, but I don’t think it’s ever been done in Florida. Crowther would be a very big fish if they could get him. What kind of political sense would it make?”
She had her fingers to her lips. “It’s such a startling idea! I doubt if—” She stopped to arrange her thoughts. “I don’t say they don’t believe in terrorism, because to a limited extent I suppose they do, depending on whether they expect it to be effective. God knows I’m not an expert either. But who would do the actual—I could name a few people who consider themselves followers of Ruiz, but they’re individuals. If there’s any organized group it’s very far underground.”
The phone rang and Shayne picked it up. It was Tim Rourke, who wanted to know how Shayne was getting along with his Latin Americans.
“All I’ve picked up so far is a mild concussion,” Shayne said. “Where are you, at home?”
Rourke said he was in a bar on Miami Avenue with a girl from the paper, but he was available if needed. Shayne told him to stay where he was.
“Tim, do you know anything about a man named Lorenzo Vega?”
“It rings a very faint bell,” Rourke said after a moment. “A couple of years ago? A little paper army? I think so. He was supposed to be drawing Washington money. That was one of the big cons in those days.”
“Anything else?”
“You’re lucky to get that much. This is a small fish.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Is it? Then you’re easily interested, man.”
When Shayne said nothing Rourke went on, “I see. This is one of those occasions when you want me to go on talking, for obscure reasons of your own. I just heard a couple of dirty limericks. I’ll recite them for you.”
When he finished the limericks, he asked, “Will that be enough? I have an extensive repertoire, as all my friends know.”
“That’s great, Tim, thanks. He may not be much of a problem after all.”
“Glad to be of service, my friend, and I do expect an explanation before Monday morning.”
Shayne put the phone down thoughtfully. He drank the cognac he had just poured and stood up. He waited for the dizziness that comes from a shift of altitude, and when it didn’t hit him he concluded that he was ready to return to action.
“This time I’m going alone, Adele.”
“I can’t argue about that, can I?” she said ruefully. “I could try to track down this Ruiz story. My roommate in college got very Red afterward. I think she’d know.”
“I’ll be in touch with your uncle.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “And be careful.”
“Don’t worry about that.” She pressed herself against him. “Mike, dear, do you think—this will ever happen to us again?”
“The odds are against it.”
“Do you have to be so realistic?”
Vega’s office was well out on 8th Street. Shayne would pass Adele’s house on the way, and she asked him to drop her. As he was about to stoop to get into the Buick, a quick spasm of pain crossed his face. He saved
himself from falling by grabbing the door. Adele looked out anxiously.
“Mike, won’t you see a doctor? Get in this side and I’ll drive you.”
“I’m OK.”
He rested a moment at the wheel before driving off. He seemed to be handling the car with his usual skill. Adele said nothing more, and waited till the last possible moment, after he had made the turn onto 8th Street, before taking a .38 automatic out of her bag.
She took off the safety and went all the way over against the opposite door. She pointed the gun at him with both hands.
“Take the next right, Mike. All right?”
CHAPTER 6
Shayne glanced down. “You won’t shoot me, Adele.”
“After that nice sex I certainly don’t want to. Turn right and I won’t.”
He continued nearly to the end of the block, then pulled over into a parking space, cut the motor and swung around to face her.
“This would be a good place to do it. Naturally I hope you’ll decide against it. Your uncle knows you’re with me. The desk clerk at the hotel saw us go out together.”
“Mike, please. Don’t make me.”
“You’re new at this. You can use some advice. There’s plenty of traffic noise. Hold the gun low and pick your moment. Wipe off the fingerprints and drop it on the floor. After you get out, don’t run.”
“Mike, look at me.”
They exchanged a long look. Shayne said slowly, “I actually think you mean it.”
“But God, I’d hate to do it.”
“Does it have to be fatal, or would you settle for putting me in the hospital? Just above the knee would be a good place.”
The gun-barrel trembled, but she kept her voice steady. “Mike, I just can’t allow you to—This is very, very serious. Start the motor and do exactly what I tell you because I’m wound up so tight—”
Shayne raised his eyebrows humorously and snapped on the ignition. “You’ve convinced me.”
“Drive west to 17th. Then turn left. And don’t ask any questions because I’m not going to tell you a thing. Don’t talk at all.”
“Can I talk to myself?”
“No! It makes me nervous. You don’t want that.”
He made the turns as she called them, and before long he was slowing in front of a ramshackle house on 15th Court. A blue panel truck was parked in the driveway, surely the same truck that had almost decoyed him into a chase in which he would have lost a wheel.
“Pull in behind the truck,” Adele told him, with a movement of the .38.
Shayne accelerated. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think you’re really up to it. A pretty girl like you.”
“Mike, stop!” Her voice climbed. “This minute!”
He grinned at her. “This is my business, baby. Do you really think there are any bullets in that gun?”
“I can’t let you bluff me,” she said tensely.
She pushed the gun forward against his knee and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked down on nothing. It clicked twice more. The blood drained out of her face.
With a sidewise swipe, he picked the gun out of her hand and tossed it into the back seat.
“You’re horrible!” she said. “You’re a horrible person!”
“That’s one of the things they say about me. It’s part of the image.”
He continued across Flagler and made another turn. She put her face in her hands.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Not much, baby. In some ways you’ve been helpful.”
“I botched it. I botched it.”
Shayne pulled in against the curb and cut the motor. “A couple of things you did very well. The loose wheels—that wasn’t bad at all. If you could get me aboard the Mozambique, all you’d have to do was tie me up overnight and I’d miss the excitement tomorrow. But why should I trust you when I’ve never seen you before today? If that wheel had shaken off, we both would have been racked up. Then you had the old lady stop us. She was great. There was only one small thing wrong with the timing. The kid should have moved the minute I got in the car. Instead of that, he waited till you got in with me.”
She said bitterly, “We didn’t expect you to notice a little thing like that. You’re a monster. I’d like to know when you took the bullets out of the gun.”
“When do you think?”
“Do you mean when we were—”
She came at him angrily and struck him twice with her purse before he could take it away from her.
“You—you—she sputtered.
“Calm down, Adele. That sex wasn’t my idea. You practically raped me. No real harm was done. Your bag was on the floor. You shouldn’t close your eyes when you make love. It isn’t hard to unload an automatic with one hand.”
“You are—without a doubt—”
“What else happened at five o’clock?”
“What do you mean?”
“That sex episode held me up about fifteen minutes. And don’t tell me you have sex with every man you slug with an ax-handle, because except for your political opinions I think you’re probably a very nice girl.”
“What makes you think I’m the one who hit you? It could have been somebody else in the crew.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to put you out of action, and I didn’t even succeed in doing that… I wasn’t pretending about wanting to make love to you!”
“Yeah, it was politically OK.” He touched her shoulder. “No point in crying, Adele. You’re losing your eye-liner.”
“You certainly acted as though you liked it. Was that just—”
“I liked it,” he said gently. “But that’s not why it happened. You wanted to keep me there, and I wanted to get the bullets out of your gun. Everything else was incidental. What was happening in the outside world during that fifteen minutes?”
“You’ll hear about it anyway. Another Vega leaflet is coming out any minute. After he picks them up at the printshop he’ll be much harder to find. But that was only a pretext! Damn it, I—”
“We can analyze our motives some other time. What kind of leaflet?”
“Like the one this morning, nothing sensational… And there you were, sitting on the bed in a wrapper. It was ninety percent lust. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”
Shayne opened her purse. “Not as cluttered as some,” he remarked.
There was a small change purse, a few folded bills, the usual female grooming equipment, a library card, a magazine clipping. He unfolded the clipping. It was a photograph of a pale, tired-looking young man wearing a beret and jungle camouflage. He was thin and unshaven, with a preoccupied frown between his eyebrows. To Shayne, he looked neither glamorous or particularly dangerous.
“Ruiz?”
“Are you out of it!” she said. “You could ask anybody in this part of town. Of course it’s Ruiz.”
“What’s the attraction?” he said, studying the face.
“Mike,” she said definitely, “you don’t know a damn thing about it, I’m sorry to say. Can I get out now?”
“Any time.”
“Give me back my things.”
He put the picture of Ruiz in his pocket and stuffed everything back except the money, which he let slip between his knees.
“Educate me a little first. What’s going on, Adele? You don’t approve of your uncle’s politics, that’s clear. You don’t want me to interfere with Vega’s counterdemonstration, if that’s what you call it. But you don’t like Vega’s politics either, do you?”
“I despise them.”
“That’s the feeling I get. If he turns up tomorrow with a good-sized contingent, your uncle and his people will get their heads bashed. Why should you want that? On general principles? Because fighting in the streets turns liberals into revolutionaries?”
“I don’t dare talk about it. Look at the mess I’ve made. Now I’m going to start using my head. I’m just going
to shut up and get out of this car.”
“Go ahead!” he exclaimed. “You’ve been acting like a goddamn child, and you don’t want to do anything sensible this late in the afternoon. That would be inconsistent. My God! Your uncle thought all he had to do was bring in Michael Shayne and pay him a fee, and his troubles would be over. I’d bare my teeth at Vega and the man would curl up and die. Think about it for a minute. What can I really do? Beat him up? Scare him? How can I prove whose money he’s spending? All I can do is plow ahead with my eyes closed, and hope somebody else will make the mistakes. And you made them. You worked out a complicated scheme to shanghai me. You exposed three or four of your people, you tried to put a .38 slug in my knee, you had sex with me—and that wasn’t ninety percent lust, baby, it was ninety percent calculation. You’re right. So far you’ve done a lousy job. And it was all totally unnecessary. I’m not Clark Kent or Mighty Mouse. Why not start over and tell me what’s really happening? I know Crowther and I don’t like him. If I knew more about Colonel Caldera I probably wouldn’t like him either. Ruiz is probably OK. He just doesn’t take a good picture.”
She hesitated, her hand on the door handle.
“You’re preparing something,” he went on. “If it’s not too illegal I might give your uncle his thousand dollars back and go up to Pompano and see if I can make some money on the trotters.”
She moved toward him swiftly and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I can’t tell you, Mike. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
He made no effort to stop her. She got out of the car and walked away—a very nice-looking girl, whether coming or going.
Shayne was learning things all the time, but unfortunately not fast enough. He put the Buick in gear and drove off without hurrying. The moment he was around the corner, where he could no longer be seen by Adele, he shot ahead.
He had picked his spot carefully. Three quarters of the way along the block he turned abruptly, without signaling, and plunged down a ramp into an underground taxi garage. A few years before, the owner of the cab company, one of the biggest in Miami, had had a valuable painting stolen. Shayne had recovered it for him. Now Shayne had a standing deal permitting him to borrow a cab whenever he needed one.
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