“Gee, you got a good view here,” the boy said, his back toward Shayne.
Shayne was turning a blank sheet of paper over and over in his big hands. He scowled and looked inside the envelope again, but there was nothing more inside. He turned on the light and held the blank sheet up to it to make certain he wasn’t missing any trick writing.
The paper was completely blank.
Shayne asked angrily, “What’s the gag?”
The boy whirled around with a bewildered expression on his face. “What kinda gag? I was s’posed to get a answer.”
“Do you know what was in the envelope?”
“Nope. I sure don’t. It was all sealed up.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Down on Flagler.” He gestured vaguely out the window and as he did so, a spasm of coughing shook his thin body. “I slep’ in the park an’ was wonderin’ could I find a joint open where I could get a cup of Java when this guy walks up to me an’ ast me did I wanta make a buck. Did I wanna make a buck!” An attempt to laugh choked him again, and he finally sputtered, “He gimme that an’ tol’ me to deliver it to you personal and get a answer.”
“What did he look like?”
“I dunno. Sorta medium, dressed good, but I didn’t see his face so good,” he ended defensively.
“Where are you supposed to meet him to give my answer?”
“Same place… right there on Flagler.”
Shayne said, “I don’t get it.”
“Me neither, Mister. Gee, I dunno. Is anything wrong?”
“Maybe I’m nuts,” Shayne told the boy, scowling heavily. “Go on back and tell him that’s my answer.”
The youth’s jaw sagged. “Did you say you’re nuts, Mister? You want I should tell him that’s what…”
“It’s as good as any. Go on. Tell him that.”
The ragged boy edged toward the door, watching Shayne with round, frightened eyes, darted out and ran down the hall.
Shayne waited until he heard the elevator stop and start again. He then raced down the hall to a stairway and down to a side entrance. He stepped out on the sidewalk and checked his speed, sauntering toward the corner around which was the main entrance to the apartment building.
He heard the roar of a motor as he neared the corner. A sedan shot past in low gear, careened north on Third Avenue. The license plate was splashed with mud and was indecipherable.
Shayne ran around the corner and into the lobby. Tommy blinked and looked at him with excited eyes.
“Gee, Mr. Shayne,” he said breathlessly, “something awful funny just happened. That kid that went up to your room… he came down, and when he went out a guy grabbed him and threw him in the back of a car that was parked in front of the door. It dashed away like a bat out of Bimini.”
“Yeh. I saw it,” Shayne said absently. His eyes were on the lobby clock and the time was five forty-five. “Keep on keeping your eyes open, Tommy,” he grinned, and went to the elevator.
In his apartment he hesitated about taking another drink and decided against it. He studied the envelope and blank sheet of paper, but they told him no more than they had before. He yawned and rubbed his hand over a sprouting stubble of red whiskers.
Deciding that a shave might refresh him, he stripped to the waist and went into the bathroom, lathered his face and shaved, then doused cold water over his head and torso.
Still stripped to the waist, he went to the kitchenette and put on a percolator of coffee to brew, turning the gas low under it.
In the bedroom he took out a clean shirt and undershirt. As he pulled the undershirt over his head he stepped to the window and let the shade up all the way to allow the morning light to stream into the room.
Before he could pick up his shirt there was a spanking sound on the pane of glass above his head. Glass clattered and broke into pieces around his feet. His muscles went lax and he slithered to the floor in a heap before the window.
Glancing upward at the opposite wall he saw a lead bullet flattened in the chipped plaster above his bed, about head high. He wriggled upward cautiously and peered over the window sill.
Directly across the street he looked at the windows of a three-story building. A dingy lace curtain fluttered out of an open window almost directly opposite his own. All the other windows were closed.
Hunching along the floor to the door of his bedroom, he ran out and grabbed his coat, buttoned it up over his undershirt and sprinted out the door and down the stairs to the lobby.
He grinned at Tommy’s sleepily startled face and waved to him as he ran swiftly through the deserted lobby and across the street.
The small, ornate lobby of the hotel opposite his own was deserted except for an alert clerk. He was a severe young man with nose glasses and a receding chin. He was startled when Shayne barged in and demanded harshly:
“Has anybody checked into one of your front rooms in the last couple of hours?”
“May I ask why you want to know?” the clerk asked in a cold, authoritative tone.
Shayne pounded a hard fist on the desk and growled, “Somebody just took a pot-shot at me from about the middle room on the second floor facing south.”
“A shot? At you? But I’m sure…”
“Which room has just been rented?” Shayne reached across the desk and caught the clerk’s shoulders in a hard grip. “Goddammit, man, don’t argue with me.”
“The… ah… number two-sixteen,” the clerk chattered.
Shayne released him and ran to the elevator, ordering, “Bring up a key,” as he ran. He stepped into the waiting elevator and said, “Two… and make it fast.”
The Negro operator rolled the whites of his eyes at Shayne and sent the cage up fast. Shayne asked, “Which way is two-sixteen?” and the Negro pointed a shaking finger to the left as he opened the door.
Shayne sprinted down the hall and stopped at 216. The door was locked. He pounded on it without getting any response.
The elevator went down and brought up a white-faced clerk. His tightly compressed lips expressed his disapproval of Shayne and his aspersions against a guest, but he had an extra key which he reluctantly inserted in the lock.
Shayne rushed into the room and to the open window. He nodded grimly as he looked out and across to the bedroom window of his apartment. Turning back, he looked searchingly around the room, stooped and picked up a brass shell from the carpet. After studying it for a moment he held it out to the clerk, saying, “An automatic rifle. The slug out of that shell missed my head by a couple of inches.”
The clerk stared and his body shook with fright. He stammered, “I don’t understand. I didn’t hear anything. I simply don’t understand it… unless the man was, perhaps, an enemy of yours.” He glared through his glasses with suspicion at Shayne’s set face and hot gray eyes and backed away.
“You’re going to stay and witness this,” Shayne said harshly. He was examining an unlocked Gladstone containing a wadded collection of old newspapers. He bent to examine them, sniffed, and pointed to an oily spot on one of the papers. “He brought the rifle in that bag, taken down, so it would fit easily.” He stood on widespread legs and glowered at the clerk.
“But… but… all our guests bring luggage,” he stuttered, his bespectacled eyes blinking nervously.
“Stop having the hissies and tell me all about the guy that rented this room,” Shayne demanded, his fists doubled.
“He… he seemed quite a gentleman,” the clerk insisted. “He arrived in a taxi with that one bag about half an hour ago. He was tall and slender and very well dressed. He insisted that he must have a room with a southern exposure and on the second floor. I showed him the floor diagram with a few vacancies on this side, and he… selected this room. That’s all I can tell you about him. But,” he went on with rising agitation, “where is he? He hasn’t gone out… I’m sure of that.”
“You’ve got a back stairway, haven’t you?”
“Of course… the one leading to the service entrance, but our guests…”
“He wouldn’t stick around here very long,” Shayne mused. “I don’t believe he knows whether he got me or
