Shayne submitted after testing them to be sure they were unlocked. He and Paula climbed into the back seat with one of the cops.
“They’re going to be looking for this car if it’s the one we had before.”
“We changed the plates,” Paula told him. “We’ve been dying to get our hands on such a car.”
They dropped down to the Valencia road; their first stop was to be the Alvares farm. So far everything was working well. Two known MIR people had taken coffee in a restaurant where a man thought to be a police informer worked as a waiter. This man was permitted to hear them talking about how the well-known North American detective, Michael Shayne, had hired them, in a sense, to get him out of the country. The stake was enormous-the huge illegal fortune Alvares had accumulated during his years in power. Palm Beach, Florida, was Shayne’s destination, and if they managed to deliver him intact, and if he didn’t betray them the minute they arrived, the movement stood to gain a large sum in dollars, with which they could purchase weapons on the flourishing secondhand market. They finished their coffee and left. Another guerrilla, posted in the restaurant, then saw the waiter make a surreptitious phone call.
Meanwhile, nothing had been heard from Senora Alvares’ maid, which meant that the widow was still at the farm. Entering the cypress avenue leading up to the house, the driver turned on his siren. The old man who had charge of the gate was already looking out through his little wicket. Seeing Shayne, he shook his head.
One of the presumed cops yelled at him, and when the old man responded by closing the wicket, he drew his police revolver and fired a shot in the air. Shayne signaled to the driver to back off and ram the gate. The bolt tore out of the wood on the second try.
The old man was unchaining the watchdog. Shayne pulled the Luger out of Paula’s handbag and fired as the dog leaped. The bullet passed through the animal’s brain, and he was dead by the time he hit the side of the car.
Paula and one cop came inside with him.
“Find out if she’s had any calls,” Shayne said.
He found the widow in her bedroom, sprawled across the flowered bedspread, breathing heavily. She was wearing unbuttoned pajamas, and there was no doubt that she was actually asleep. A glass on the bedside table held a little dead champagne.
Paula came in behind him. “Yes, Mr. Felix Frost phoned about twenty minutes ago. That would be ten minutes after Mejia got his call from the cafe. She talked to him in English, but kept dropping the phone. The servants put her to bed.”
“Get some help.”
He found a last split of champagne in the kitchen refrigerator, brought it back to the bedroom and drank while Paula and a maid attempted to get some clothes on the woman. She moaned and pushed, without seeming to understand what was happening. Her pajama tops came off, then the bottoms. Realizing suddenly that a man was across the room, she screamed and tried to hide behind her hands.
“Perhaps you should wait outside, Mike?” Paula suggested.
“If she’s embarrassed about being naked, all she has to do is get dressed.”
Her eyes on Shayne, the Senora made the women work for each small success.
“Go away,” she said in English. “I don’t want you in the house. I was sleeping.”
She hit at the maid and knocked her over. The struggle continued. The black dress was so tight that Shayne had to be called on to help. He pulled her off the bed and forced her to stand. In a swift change of tactics, she flung her arms around his neck.
“I hunt and I hunt. For a man with strong muscles.”
Together they wrestled her into some kind of shape. Shayne put her over his shoulder and started out of the room. The old man was in the gallery outside, glowering at the cop, whose hand rested on the butt of his holstered gun. Senora Alvares waved an arm and gave a drunken shriek.
“They are about to rape me.”
“I’m not promising anything,” Shayne said. “We’ll see.”
Paula opened the rear door of the police car and they manhandled her in. She fell off the seat and Shayne put her back.
“Where are we going?” she said when the car started.
“We’re picking up your friend Lenore Dante.”
“Friend, not at all a friend! She robbed me.”
“You had a phone call from Frost. What did he tell you?”
“A disgusting person.” She toppled against Shayne. “I’m so lonely.”
When they stopped at the apartment building where he had left Lenore, the widow was asleep again with her head against Shayne’s shoulder. He freed himself gently and backed out.
He had to use his lock picks to get into the inner lobby. Upstairs, he tapped on the door of 9-C. The little peephole clicked. Then the door was thrown open and Lenore propelled herself into his arms.
“Mike, Mike.” She pulled him against her. “You were so long! I thought they’d killed you.”
Shayne eased out of her embrace and moved her into the bare, unlighted apartment. There was just enough light coming through the uncurtained front windows so he could see the outline of her face.
“I’ll explain later. I’m just coming off a long session with your niece and a few friends, and they’ve agreed to cooperate. I think I can get you included. But they’re going to want money, and like everybody else they have an exaggerated idea about how much is available. If I do the talking I think I can get you a better price. You’ve had the afternoon to think about it. A little honesty from you about your friend’s retirement fund would make things easier.”
She was standing close, looking up into his face. She shook her head.
“Mike, I don’t know anything about that. Won’t you believe me? Of course I’m willing to pay to get out of this mess. I can sell the gallery. Would seventy-five thousand-”
“They’re thinking about more than that and we don’t have time to haggle. Everybody’s in a rush to get to Palm Beach. The first person to make it is going to win the jackpot.”
She grasped his arms. “Everybody?”
“Well, not Rubino. Rubino’s dead. Say half-a-dozen in all, starting with Mejia and working down.”
Her grasp tightened. “What are the MIR offering, exactly?”
“I have a plane waiting, but I can’t just walk up and get on. One of the things I’ve done since I saw you was take a grease-gun away from a couple of cops and steal their car. I’ve also been shot at a couple of times, and that puts you and me in the same bag. Serrano has assigned a couple of men to cover me. If you want to buy in, I’ll see if I can work it.”
She drew a long breath. “How much do you think I should give them?”
“Baby, you know you’ve got a damn good reason for getting back to Palm Beach before anybody else. Stop trying to con me. Mejia won’t charter a plane. That’s too conspicuous. He’ll be taking the nine-thirty flight to Miami. We can beat him by going straight to Palm Beach.”
She pushed back her hair. “That’s one. How about the others? The widow.”
“She’s coming with us. I want to keep a personal eye on her.”
She breathed in and out slowly twice. Then she clenched her fist and struck Shayne in the chest.
“You bastard. You’re taking me anyway, aren’t you?”
Shayne laughed. “I thought I’d give you a chance to persuade me.”
“What a four-flusher. For a minute you had me convinced. But you’re damn right! I’d pay anything to get out of here, to a top of seventy-five thousand, which is all I have. So Rubino’s dead, is he? I don’t suppose he died of emphysema from all those cigarettes.”
“He was shot twice, in the head and the chest.”
“I’ve never seen any sense in being solvent but dead. Yes, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been sitting here on the floor with my back to the wall getting rapidly older. I knew you’d come back for me, and I knew you’d put together some kind of arrangement with somebody, because it’s too confining for you here. But Mejia-I didn’t even know he was a factor! And now he’s taking the nine-thirty plane to Miami. You’re transporting the widow personally. Who else?”
“We’ll call the roll after we get there. How about that diary of Alvares’?”
