“I’m asking you, Goddamn it,” Shayne said savagely. “Maybe you’re trying to pull a fast one. Maybe I’ll just get the hell on out of here and take the money with me.” He leaned forward and reached down for the ignition key.
“Hey. Don’t be stupid. What the hell? I parked my car on the next road up and cut across the lawn to get here. That satisfy you?”
“I guess so,” Shayne grumbled. “I was supposed to pick something up for the money.”
“Sure. I got it right here. It’s no good to me as you know damned well.” Duclos reached up to his left shirt pocket and felt inside.
Shayne braced himself with his left foot against the unlatched door and shoved with all his strength. It swung on its hinges and knocked Duclos backward and he lost his footing and went down with flailing arms.
Shayne catapulted through the open door and was on top of him instantly, driving a short, sledgehammer blow to the point of his jaw as he half sat up.
He sank back on the ground without a sound and lay spread-eagled, mouth gaping and running blood from one corner, eyes open and glazed in the moonlight.
Shayne knelt beside him and pried open the fingers of the hand that had reached into his shirt pocket.
He extracted a small rectangle of cardboard and rocked back on his heels to examine it with puzzled interest. It appeared to be half of a railroad baggage claim check, torn irregularly across the middle.
Shayne turned it over and over in his hands, frowning at it in complete bewilderment, then thrust it in his pocket and felt Duclos’s pulse.
It was irregular but strong, and the man was breathing stertorously.
Shayne got up and got his keys from the ignition, went behind his car and opened the trunk, and then back to Duclos to drag the unconscious man around and bundle him inside.
He slammed the lid shut, hurried around and got in and started the motor. He turned on his dim lights and drove back to the boulevard, turned north one block and east again, found Duclos’s Ford parked beside the road where the man had said it would be.
He drew up behind it and switched off his lights and motor, unlocked his trunk and leaned inside to go through the man’s pockets for his car keys.
He was sardonically conscious of holding his breath as he approached the back of the Ford and tried one key in the lock. It didn’t go in, but the next one he tried unlocked the trunk.
He hesitated and exhaled a long breath before lifting the lid. This was the pay-off. If the trunk was empty…
It wasn’t. The old Shayne luck was still riding on his shoulders tonight. The moonlight showed the blanket- wrapped body of Al Donlin… or Newman… exactly as he had placed it there hours before.
He leaned in and dragged it out, finding it stiff as a board, now, with rigor mortis, hoisted it awkwardly onto his shoulder and carried it to the rear of his car where he propped it against the fender.
Then he dragged Duclos out and deposited him on the ground, put the blanketed body inside in his place and finally slammed the lid of the trunk shut
Thank God, that was done. He had the body back in his own possession, securely locked up. Now, if he didn’t have another collision, and encounter a couple more smart cops who didn’t have anything better to do than badger innocent motorists…
To hell with such unpleasant thoughts!
He straightened up and looked down thoughtfully at the still unconscious Duclos. He’d be coming out of it in a little while. Shayne had only hit him once, after all.
After briefly considering the situation, he stooped and got hold of his ankles, dragged him back to the rear of his own car and shoved him into the trunk where the stiff had been. He slammed it shut and looked down at the Ford keys in his hand, then drew back his arm and threw them as hard as he could over the hedge by the side of the road.
That would take care of George Duclos for a time. Until he decided what he wanted to do with the guy. Right now he didn’t know. He just hoped fervently that he would never have to look at his face again.
He got in his car and backed away, made a U-Turn back to the Boulevard, and proceeded southward at a discreet speed toward the city.
15
Approaching the Encanto Hotel, Shayne turned off the Boulevard a block north, and circled about so he approached the front entrance to the hotel. He drove very slowly, alert for the presence of any police cars in the street or any evidence of unusual activity in the lobby. He passed Timothy Rourke’s car parked at the curb, and saw nothing out of order as he cruised by. The doorman was not even in evidence at this early morning hour, and he made the turn into the alley beside the hotel without being noticed so far as he could determine.
He pulled in close to the building and shut off his headlights, stopped in front of the steps leading down to the closed door. He shut off his ignition and sat there for a moment, and the alley was just as silent and deserted as it had been a few hours previously when he had last visited it.
He got out and went down to the door which he had left locked behind him, tried the knob and found it still locked. He bent to study the keyhole while he got a well-loaded key ring from his pocket, selected one slender key and tried it, then another and another.
The third key went in smoothly and turned the lock. Shayne opened the door cautiously onto the square room and found the overhead light was out and the room empty. Sufficient illumination came from the cage of the service elevator across the room, the doors of which stood invitingly open.
Shayne went up the steps swiftly and unlocked his trunk, got the body out again and carried it down to the cage where he propped it up in one corner. He hurried back to pull the outer door shut, then got into the elevator with the body, released the HOLD button and pressed the one marked 8.
The elevator went up slowly and Shayne’s face was grim as he waited for it to stop. It felt uncomfortably crowded in the confines of the small cage. He was beginning to feel a definite aversion toward the presence of the dead man. He was going to be damned glad to get rid of him once and for all.
The cage stopped on the 8th floor and the doors automatically opened. Shayne pushed the HOLD button, looked out cautiously to see that the corridor was empty.
He had the key to Room 810 in his hand as he stepped out and went toward the door. He inserted it soundlessly and turned it with a tiny click, then opened the door.
There was no light on in the sitting room of the suite. From the light in the hallway behind him. Shayne could see that the bedroom door directly opposite him was tightly closed, and the sitting room looked exactly as it had before.
He turned back swiftly without turning on a light inside, retrieved the dead man from the elevator and carried him back to the sitting room.
Inside, he laid the body down on the carpeted floor, and rolled it over and over to disengage the hotel blanket. He straightened up, leaving the stiff body lying in the middle of the floor, lying on its side, then gathered up the blanket, and folded it carefully, tossed it carelessly over the foot of the sofa as though someone had laid it there in case his feet got cold.
There had been no sound from the room beyond the closed door.
Shayne went out and closed the door quietly behind him. He long-legged it down the hall to the open elevator, reached inside and released the HOLD button and stepped back to let the doors slide shut. Then he strolled past 810 and around the corner to the passenger elevators and pressed the DOWN button.
When an empty car stopped, he got in and told the sleepy-eyed operator, “Three, please.”
On the third floor he got out and went around the corner again, back to the service elevator shaft. He pushed the button there and waited for the car to come down, felt a vast and flooding sense of relief when the doors opened to disclose the empty car.
He had now covered his tracks as well as he possibly could, and he turned back as the doors automatically closed behind him.
