with the blackjack. He sagged forward against the wheel.
“Where’s the Buick?”
Curt glanced along the street. “Let’s talk about this,” he said in a strained voice.
“Why should I talk to you when I can talk to your boss?”
“I can make you a good offer. Violence won’t get us anywhere.”
“What made you change your mind?” Shayne signaled to the girl. “Get out, Cheryl. And don’t try to run. I think I could catch you, but I’d have to blackjack your friend here first.”
“He’s no friend of mine,” she said coldly. She opened the door and came around the car. “I’ll say somebody made a mistake. That was a pretty good drunk act. The only thing wrong was that kiss.”
“I didn’t have my mind on it, Cheryl,” Shayne said, opening the Ford’s front door.
“Well, sometime when you’re able to give it your undivided attention-”
Shayne worked the unconscious gunman into position so he could pull his fangs. The gun was a short- barreled.38. Shayne dropped it into his side pocket.
“I wish I could trust somebody to get the Buick,” he said, “but for some reason I don’t think I can. You two are going to have to carry him. Be careful of his arm. You don’t want to compound that fracture.”
Curt looked in at the limp figure. “He must weigh about one-ninety. I don’t think we can.”
“Try,” Shayne suggested.
Curt pulled the injured man to the edge of the seat. He returned to consciousness suddenly with a long moan.
“Does it hurt?” Curt said without sympathy. “It wouldn’t have happened if you’d been quicker with the sap, would it? We’re going for a short walk, Shayne tells us. Cooperate.”
Morrie protested, making a cradle of his left arm to support his broken right. Curt wrestled him out of the door and then Shayne moved the Ford back to the street and parked parallel to the curb. Curt and the girl walked Morrie toward the Buick, all three huddled together with the gunman whimpering between them. Reaching the bigger car, Curt opened the back door and Morrie fell in on the floor.
“Don’t pass out yet,” the redhead said. “I want to see what else you’ve got in your pockets.”
Morrie rolled on one hip, and Shayne took a thick wallet from his buttoned back pocket. There was nothing of interest in the other pockets except a half-dozen loose rounds for the.38. Shayne took those, while Morrie groaned and pleaded for a doctor.
“Nobody ever died of a broken arm,” Shayne said. “You’re next, Curt.”
“Seriously,” Curt said. “He wasn’t supposed to chill you, just tap you so you’d sit quiet and listen.”
“But he got carried away,” Shayne said.
“The man’s a moron, but he’s the best I could do on short notice. I want to persuade you to go back to Miami, Shayne. Tell me how much they’re paying you and I’ll double it.”
A car went by without slackening speed.
“You don’t want cops,” Shayne said, “and neither do I, so let’s see how fast we can mop this up. Dump everything out on the hood.”
“Shayne-”
“Will you shut up? I’m tired.”
He stuck the blackjack in his belt and began looking through their wallets. Curt, he found, was carrying over two thousand dollars in large bills. His last name was Rebman, and his address in the identification window was a hotel in Houston, Texas. In case of an accident, such as the one he was now having, notification was to be made to the Manners Aerosystems Co. Morrie, on the other hand, wanted his mother notified; she too lived in Houston.
“You’ll need it in cash,” Curt said, refusing to believe that he couldn’t reach Shayne if he named a large enough figure. “Take what I’ve got there as a down payment. Another two or three thousand would be no problem at all. And all you have to do to earn it is get on a plane.”
“Where would you get that much cash at this time of night?”
“I said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Shayne smiled and took Cheryl’s bag out of her hands.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” she said, snatching for it.
“Goddamn it! Will you people get it through your head that you’re in trouble? I can take you in and charge you with assault. I know you don’t worry about gun registrations in Texas, but does Morrie have a permit in Washington? This would break in the morning papers, just before the hearings. Use your head.”
He emptied the girl’s bag, and in addition to the usual feminine equipment, he found a folded letter addressed to Miss Cheryl Remick, at a Northwest address, and postmarked Houston. Inside there was a single sheet of paper, on which was typed, “Royalton Arms,” followed by a 16th Street NW address and that day’s date.
“Reading other people’s mail,” she said.
“I’ve heard that Manners likes good-looking girls your age,” Shayne said. “Is that where he is now, at the Royalton Arms?”
“You can always go there and find out,” she said.
“No, Cheryl,” Curt said. “Shayne’s right, this has gone sour. What do you want to talk to him about, Shayne? I might just tell you where you can find him.”
A car with a long aerial approached slowly. Shayne swept up the wallets and the handbag and dropped them into his already bulging pockets. He closed the Buick’s back door before the cruising police car reached them, and pulled his coat together to hide the blackjack.
“You don’t want to call it a night,” he said to the girl. “Let’s call up some people. It’s my birthday, isn’t it? I want to celebrate.”
The police car went out of gear as it came abreast. The uniformed cop beside the driver looked them over impassively. Curt smiled at him.
“Evening, officer,” he said in a thick Texas accent. “Warm tonight.”
“Take it easy,” the cop said, chiefly to Shayne.
The redhead grinned. “Little birthday celebration.”
The cops went back into gear and proceeded to Wisconsin Avenue, where they joined the southbound traffic.
“He’s a hard man to get in to see,” Rebman went on, “but I think I can talk him into it. I agree with you, if you’re going to be talking money, you might as well talk about it with the man who has it. He expects me to handle things like this without bothering him, but never mind. Let’s get going.”
“I don’t want to be outnumbered when I get there,” Shayne said.
He slapped Curt lightly with the blackjack. The Texan made a sick sound and sat down in the street.
“What did you do that for?” the girl cried.
“Because he talks too much,” Shayne said. “Are you wearing stockings?” He flicked up her white skirt. “Let’s have them.” She didn’t move until he said it again. She reached under her skirt to unsnap her garters. Hopping on one foot and then the other, she skinned off the stockings. Shayne used one of them to tie Curt’s hands.
“What are you-” Curt said, dazed.
With the other stocking Shayne improvised a gag. Opening the rear door, he tipped Curt in with Morrie.
“Now I’m going to need your slip, if you’re wearing one.”
“I’m not,” Cheryl said.
“That’s too bad. Take off your dress.”
“This dress cost one hundred and ninety-eight dollars plus sales tax,” she said grimly, “and if you think you’re going to tear it up, you’ll have a fight on your hands.”
“I might enjoy it,” Shayne said, “but I don’t have the time. Make up your mind in a hurry. It can be one of two ways.”
He flicked the blackjack hard against the Buick’s front fender. The thin steel crumpled.
“You wouldn’t hit me with that,” she said.
“Take a good look.”
She looked into his eyes. “Damn it, Mike,” she said after a second. “Why did we have to meet like this? I’d better warn you-I’m not wearing much underneath.”
Leaning down, she pulled at the hem of her skirt, trying to tear it. “I’ll do that,” Shayne said. Cheryl touched his shoulder to keep her balance while he ripped her skirt all the way from the bottom hem to the waist. He tore out
