Lady, Be Bad

by Brett Halliday

  The girl took Shayne’s arm and pulled it against her breast. “You didn’t hear a word I was saying.”

  “Something about an empty bedroom.”

  “Michael Shayne, will you please pay serious attention? The party is only just now getting underway. Don’t rush it. The first edginess is beginning to wear off. Look at me.” She rose and kissed him, bringing her other hand around to the back of his head. He let it happen.

  “You moron,” she said. “Someone should look out for you. If you wander downstairs and start listening in on conversations you’re bound to be sat on. Don’t you realize that?”

  “By Sam?”

  “By Sam and a few of his friends, who are now getting quietly squiffed in the kitchen. Then there’s the local—fuzz, do you call it?—with their guns and their whistles and their leather boots.”

  She sucked once more at the fragment of cigarette, and ground it underfoot.

  “I’m dreadfully mercenary. Everybody says that about me. When I agreed to come I expected to have other opportunities, above the two hundred dollars. Tips and what have you. But up to now it’s all been so low-key.”

  “It does seem quiet.”

  “Too quiet. Are we friends? I think we’re going to be friends. Pay me another hundred, Michael, and I’m yours. You need a number-one assistant. Tell me what you wish to know and I’ll help you.”

  “Who lined you up for the party, Anne?”

  “Lib Patrick, Sam’s good lady.”

  “Is she here?”

  “Oh, she is very much here, for in fact she’s the hostess. Charming. I’ll help you find her. Perhaps she’s in one of the bedrooms. I saw her go upstairs with Grover Kendrick, a bit ago.”

  A man and a girl, staggering slightly, appeared at the top of the stairs. Anne closed with Shayne, kissing him until they had the balcony to themselves.

  “To continue,” she said breathlessly, “I could tell you something interesting about Grover and his papa, I could make your hair stand on end, I won’t even insist on cash payment in advance—”

  She started at another sound on the stairs. “Privacy, my dear Michael. In here.”

  She whirled Shayne around and pulled him into the bedroom he had just left. Shayne went with the pull, and let her open the door. Inside, her lighter flared.

  “I see a bed. Nobody in it. Perfect place for a chat.”

  The flame winked out. At the same moment she poked him in the stomach, just below the belt, and said in a more businesslike voice, “I’m holding a little pistol. If you move very very slowly I’ll let you feel it. I’m a competent girl with guns, and the safety is off. Don’t twitch. It might make me twitch back.”

  “I thought you were thinking about making love.”

  “Another time.” She gave a low laugh and touched him lightly. “You seem very fit. I doubt if that muscle tone is good enough to stop a bullet. So swing about. Keep in close touch with me. Move backward a step at a time.”

  She had a firm grip on the waistband of his pants and was pulling with that hand. At the same time she was pushing with the hand holding the gun. They went backward in unison, their legs together.

  When his back hit the wall beside the single window she let go and he heard the clink of her lighter. She was holding it out to the window, to signal someone outside. He could hear Maslow breathing heavily on the floor. The girl, too, had realized that they weren’t alone in the room. He could feel her excitement. She was like a highly charged construction of transistors and wire.

  He waited. The flame sprang up. Shayne expelled his breath violently and blew it out, and at the same second he clubbed her with his clenched fist.

  As a continuation of the same motion, he twisted, letting the gun slide by him. She was one of those people who believe that a gun has its own magic, and she was unconscious before she could fire. He chopped the gun out of her loose grasp and let her fall.

  He dragged her back from the window and switched on the flashlight for an instant. He had had to guess with the punch, but she had been well tagged. He pulled a pillow case off the bed, tore it in strips, gagged her and tied her hands and wrists.

  This time he moved the key to the outside of the door and locked it, and took the key with him.

  He opened the door of the next bedroom. A girl squeaked. Shayne’s flashlight picked out the face of a man he hadn’t seen before. Reproduced on election posters in its present state, it wouldn’t attract many votes, being lipstick-smeared and topped by a hairpiece that was slightly askew.

  He waved at the light. “Be down in a minute. Taking a little survey here.”

  The girl said calmly, “Honey, I think it’s a raid.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Shayne said. “I’m looking for Lib Patrick.”

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  The next room was locked. Shayne tried the key he had taken from the other door, but the keyhole was choked from inside. After turning the knob quietly, he pulled back to arm’s length, and slammed the door with its full power. It sprang open.

  CHAPTER 6

  A candle on a tall dresser flickered in the draught. The flame steadied again as Shayne stepped into the room and closed the door.

  From the looks of things, he had broken in on nothing more exciting than a business conference. Lib Patrick, fully clothed, was sitting on the bed, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. The man—Grover Kendrick, Jr.?—was some feet away, in the room’s single chair. He had been badly startled by Shayne’s entrance, but like the candle flame he recovered his composure quickly.

  He glanced at the girl to see if she knew the intruder. He was in his forties, dressed in blue Bermuda shorts, a knitted pullover, open Indian sandals. Shayne quickly reviewed the fragmentary story Tim Rourke had told him—the unwise speculation, the forty-thousand-dollar loan. Grover had a look Shayne had often seen on tape-watchers in the walk-in brokers’ offices in the Beach hotels; this man and bad luck were old friends.

  Lib Patrick, on the other hand, was one of the handsomest permanent residents of Miami Beach. Her hair was a theatrical off-white—the last time Shayne had seen her, it had been black. She was an essential part of her environment, the world of the big hotels—gaudy, a little vulgar, but stylish and up-to-date, with a nice swing. Shayne had never had any reason to dislike her.

  “Mike Shayne,” she said pleasantly. “This is Grover Kendrick. Do you know each other? I won’t ask you to sit down, Mike, because there’s only one chair.”

  “I’ll sit on the bed.”

  “You’re a cool bastard,” Grover observed as Shayne sat down. “Were you invited? This was supposed to be a private party.”

  “It couldn’t be much more public if you ran it on the front steps of the capitol under floodlights,” Shayne said. “It’s a felony to give and receive bribes. I know people sometimes get bribed, but they don’t usually arrange press coverage. Did you know there’s a Miami News reporter here? Somebody told the cops to let him in.”

  He swung toward Lib. “What the hell are you trying to do to your boy? Sam’s getting old. If you want to get rid of him, why not push him out of a high window?”

  “This wasn’t my idea tonight,” she said. “It was a lot of work, which I try to avoid.”

  “Then whose idea was it—Sam’s? He didn’t last thirty-five years in a tough business by making deals in front of the TV cameras.”

  She shrugged. “He knows what he’s doing, Mike. Why shouldn’t he come out in the open and say what he has to say like anybody else?”

  Shayne looked at her closely. “Are you selling him out?”

  A look of concern crossed her face. “Sell out Sam? Do you think I’m out of my mind? And I always heard you kept a couple of steps ahead of people. You’re miles behind, here.”

  “I can explain that. I drank almost a quart of 80-proof cognac in fifteen minutes and I fell out of a moving plane. I’m still numb. Is it all right with you if I ask Grover a few questions?”

  “As f
ar as I’m concerned. Why not?” She slid to the edge of the bed. “You don’t want me listening in.”

  Shayne put his hand on her knee. “Stick around, Lib. I’d rather not get thrown out yet—I just got here. I want to talk about the forty-thousand-buck loan from Eddie Myer.”

  Grover made a quick movement.

  Shayne went on, “Which doesn’t mean everybody in Dade County knows about it, but it can’t be much of a secret. My friend Tim Rourke turned it up in a couple of phone calls. It stands to reason there’s a connection between that loan and your father’s change of heart about casino gambling. If this gets to be a police matter, and at this point I think it’s bound to happen, they’ll want the full story of all your over-the-counter dealings. Who touted the electronic stock that lost you the money? Was it Lib Patrick?”

  Lib smiled slightly.

  Grover cleared his throat. “Are you intimating that I’ve been the victim of some kind of confidence game?”

  “Well, haven’t you?” Shayne said. “You’re the administrative assistant to a big man in the legislature. Sometimes that title doesn’t mean a hell of a lot. But when it’s all in the family, when the guy works for his father and everybody trusts everybody, he’s usually the bagman who handles the off-color money, and who incidentally catches most of the stink when a deal goes sour. I can see why the judge thought it would be smart not to be here tonight.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Grover said stiffly, “if you have any interest in the truth, he had to go home to mediate a wrangle about a post office appointment.”

  “On the last night of the session? That’s crap, Grover, and you know it. He wanted to be miles away when this party explodes. You’re all acting like amateurs, for Christ’s sake. I’ve only been here ten minutes, and I’ve already bumped into a picture-taking setup and had a girl hold a gun on me. And I haven’t started to circulate. What did they tell you, Sam and Lib, when they asked if they could use your place?”

  Grover, still very stiff, clutched his knees. “They aren’t the first lobbyists we’ve had here. They may be the last, because Father’s decided not to run for reelection. What did they tell me? They asked me to introduce them to a few key people who haven’t decided yet how they’ll vote tomorrow. Sam Rapp is a friend of mine, and he really doesn’t have two horns and a tail. That’s all we’re attempting to demonstrate. And is it so awful?”

  Shayne snorted. “Lib, how’d you luck into this guy?”

  “Damn it,” Grover insisted, “I resent the insinuation that there’s anything sinister or underhanded about what is essentially a social situation. Tallahassee is full of lobbyists. I don’t consider lobbyist a dirty word. Every citizen has a right to appear before the appropriate legislative body and present his views. It’s a standard part of our democratic procedure. Sam Rapp is lobbying on behalf of legalized gambling in Dade County. You and your friends are lobbying against it. To me it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.”

  “Sam spent a good many years building a front, and he’s done a good job of it. But there are some other people in the business who haven’t had time to mellow. Do you know a guy named Boots Gregory, from St. Pete?”

  “I know of him.”

  “He’s in town. I’ve run into him a couple of times today. And one of his boys is on the critical list with a gunshot wound. Another who was in good health at two o’clock this afternoon is dead.”

  “Dead,” Grover repeated blankly.

  “You’ll read about it in the morning paper.”

  “Grover,” Lib said quickly before he could speak, “Mike’s trying to scare us, and I think I’d better talk to him alone.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t have to be protected from the facts of life. If a man is dead—”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. But Gregory was supposed to stay out of this, and let us handle it. Mike wouldn’t be here if he didn’t intend to dicker. Grover, you’ve been sweet, you couldn’t have been sweeter, but that isn’t your department.”

  “I don’t want anybody twisting your arm. But if you say so—”

  “Don’t tell Sam Mike’s here. He’s already about to blow, with his blood pressure. Maybe I can talk Mike into leaving the same way he came in, probably through a window.”

  “I’ll be outside on the balcony. Holler if you need me—”

  “Grover, go down and see if anybody needs a drink. Mike’s just fishing.”

  Grover hesitated, gave Shayne a wary look and went out. Lib crossed to the door. After a moment she opened it a crack and looked out.

  “Talk about trouble,” she said, coming back. “If I’d known what we were getting into—”

  Shayne pulled her down and kissed her. She was surprised.

  “Honey,” she said a moment later, “you’ve been smoking some of our good grass, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. You can’t really be worrying, Lib. You look great.”

  “Do I?” She studied him. “I haven’t been getting enough sleep. I thought it showed.”

  He assured her that she looked as well as he had ever seen her, which was perfectly true. She was wearing a dark dress of some slithery material. She led an indolent life, and her body seemed formed for indolence, its curves slow and full. She relaxed as he talked.

  “Well, those are nice things to hear,” she said. “Everybody’s been so tense and ticky, but that’s not what life is all about, is it, Mike? I can tell by the way you move that you like being alive. So does Sam. Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. I wish you’d stayed out of this. How much do we need to pay you to go home?”

  “It’s too late for that, and too early for anything else. I killed a guy. His name was Ramon Elvirez. I got his neck in my hand and I was too drunk to do anything else but hang on. If that’s going to mean anything I’ve got to find out what’s happening. What was your deal with Boots Gregory?”

  She thought about her answer for a moment. “No special deal. He made a small contribution to help cover our expenses, and our expenses have been brutal, incidentally. Some of these public servants are very grabby. If the bill goes through Boots will have to stand in line for a license, like everybody else. There are only going to be so many. Sam will get one. The others are still open.”

  “Will Sam sponsor him?”

  “Maybe not now. The one thing everybody agreed on was to leave it to us. Boots shouldn’t be within a hundred miles of here. Because… what a clown! I mean, it was bad enough the first time he tried to grab you, but then to try again and muff that one, too, how much special treatment does he deserve? You understand it’s not up to me. But the publicity has been bad, and now he’s got you mad at us. Do you really mean there’s nothing we can offer you to get you to lay off?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Why did you come, then? Just to make trouble so you can get a story in the papers?”

  “That’s the least that can happen, Lib. I haven’t had any real conversations with Sam for a couple of years, so I don’t know if he’s getting senile. It happens fast sometimes.”

  “Sam is not getting senile,” she said flatly. “In any way.”

  “Then I’ll cross out that possibility. Here’s another—that somebody’s sabotaging him.” With the tip of one finger, he traced a line running down her breast to the tip. “Somebody about your cup-size. He can’t last forever, and who’s going to take over when he goes? Boots Gregory would like to move up. Tampa and St. Pete are low-money towns. He may be a little slow in the I.Q., but he’s big and ballsy. He’s the kind of creep who does one-arm pushups to keep in shape. He says he has cash. He’s tattooed, which some women like.”

  “Ecch,” Lib said.

  “Is that all you want to say?”

  She leaned forward to look at him. “Boots Gregory isn’t half as sexy as he thinks he is, and I love Sam.”

  Shayne grinned.

  She went on, “It’s an old word. Nobody uses it anymore. But goddamn it, I do love that man.”

&n
bsp; “And he hasn’t killed anybody since you were two years old.”

  “It was a war in those days, Mike. That doesn’t count. And it was a long time ago. People change.”

  She returned his look evenly.

  “If that’s the truth,” he said, “I need a new theory.”

  “It’s the truth. He’s been wonderful to me.”

  “Can you hold Judge Kendrick through the vote tomorrow?”

  “We hope so. The word is that we have a four-vote margin in the senate, assuming that our jerky friend from St. Petersburg hasn’t scared anybody off. And assuming that you don’t pull any rabbits out of the hat in the next twelve hours.”

  “You’ve got too much of a head start,” he said regretfully. “You won’t mind if I go on trying?”

  “How can we stop you?”

  “Not by paying me off. That kind of thing always leaks out, and it would affect my standing. But I try to be realistic, and you people seem to hold all the cards. You’ve got money and organization, and you’ve probably been working on it for months. This isn’t my ballpark and I don’t know what rules they play by around here. But I have to think about how I’ll operate after the bill goes through. I need friends in my business.”

  He put his hand under her ear. Her breathing quickened. “Sam’s o.k.,” he said, “but he’s forty years older than you are. That isn’t a natural state of affairs. You’re a hell of a woman, and I know you’ve got the usual female juices.”

  “Which may or may not be flowing now, Mike,” she said quietly. “What kind of deal are we really talking about?”

  He moved closer. His hand started slowly down her side.

  “I want you to give me Boots,” he said. “Back off when the bill goes through, and let me find out what Boots has been doing the last couple of days. I don’t have to put him in jail. I just want a small conviction so they won’t give him one of the casinos. I don’t want him in Miami.”

  “Sam doesn’t like him, either. He might agree to—Mike, please stop. You broke the lock and there’s no way of locking the door. And even if there was—”