“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
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 far 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?”
