violence, it is sometimes prudent to worry a little.”
His companion murmured something in Spanish. Vega said, “You are right in your count, Carlos, only two are visible. These we could handle. I never shrink from a fight when the sides are approximately equal. But I can guarantee you that there are others lying in wait inside the truck. You know their strategy as well as I do-never attack without overwhelming local superiority. That is why I say to this driver, for the love of the blessed Virgin, put on a little speed! At any moment they may pull up alongside and open on us with submachine guns. It happens daily in Buenos Aires, in Bogota.”
“Are they part of the Ruiz organization?”
“Ah,” Vega said. “That I am in no position to say of my own knowledge. Perhaps it is time we exchange credentials.”
Shayne grinned. “All you’re going to get out of me is my hackie’s license.”
Vega’s eyes flickered up to the license hanging from the back of the front seat, and returned to the mirror. “There is little resemblance,” he remarked.
“That’s deliberate,” Shayne said. “If you really want me to speed up, hang on.”
He accelerated sharply, and turned off 3rd Avenue, tires screaming. After two more quick turns, he ended at the ramp leading down into the taxi garage. The truck had good pickup and kept fairly close. In the garage, Shayne pulled in beside his Buick.
“Here we change cars.”
Both men got out readily.
“Not you, Carlos,” Shayne said. “Just Vega, if you don’t mind.”
Carlos minded, but there were several cabbies standing around watching, and he decided not to protest. Shayne slid behind the wheel. He slowed as he passed the dispatcher.
“Thanks, Eddie. Send me a bill.”
“What are you talking about, a bill? Any time.”
“Get down,” Shayne told Vega. “All the way down.” Vega crouched out of sight as the Buick came up the ramp. The panel truck had stopped with its motor running.
It didn’t follow. After turning a corner, Shayne told Vega to get back on the seat.
CHAPTER 7
After another quick turn he parked. Using the car phone, he called his old friend Will Gentry, Miami chief of police, described the panel truck and the two men who had followed him, and gave its location and license number.
“Pick them up and hold them overnight,” he said brusquely. “I’ll let you know what charges to bring against them.”
He held the phone tightly against his ear to contain Gentry’s reaction.
“What the hell, Mike?” the police chief demanded. “Since when did you start giving me orders?”
“That’s right.”
Gentry broke off and began again, this time in a more equable tone. “I was a touch slow there. You’ve got somebody in the car and you want him to think you can call up the local cops and order them around. Yes, sir, Mr. Shayne, sir. I’ll be glad to pick up the two gentlemen, but unless they’re doing something illegal when we get there, such as booking bets, you know how long I can hold them. About an hour.”
“That’s the general idea.”
He gave Gentry the address of the four-apartment block in Coral Gables, and described the tired young man he had flushed from the building on 15th Court. “But most of that facial description probably doesn’t mean anything, including the prominent front teeth. This could be a major pinch, Will. I have reason to think that he’s in the country illegally. The situation calls for a good four-man tail.”
“You concede that I have four good men? You’re mellowing, Mike. How important is this?”
“If I’m right, damned important. That’s all I can tell you about it now.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir. Can I go out to dinner now, or do you want me to have a sandwich at my desk?”
“Keep yourself available,” Shayne said curtly, and broke the connection.
Vega was fascinated. “This is a radio, am I correct? Can you call anywhere on it, or only within the city?”
Ignoring the question, Shayne said roughly, “What the hell are you trying to pull down here, Vega?” He took out the anti-Galvez leaflet and slapped it against his palm angrily. “Do you have access to some secret intelligence we don’t know about? This dentist is harmless. He has about forty followers, and they don’t even come to meetings. The thing to do is pretend he doesn’t exist. Attack him and you build up his importance.”
Vega tried to make his eyes meet Shayne’s, but they skittered away. “Ordinarily, of course. But the man has announced a demonstration against a high official of the United States government. His press statements have been vicious and one-sided. I thought-”
“Vega,” Shayne said scornfully, “never think. Make that a rule. Haven’t you realized yet that you’ve been taken?”
“I’ve been taken?”
“Suckered. You think you’re going out there tomorrow and raise hell. It doesn’t take brains to do that. But who’s going to benefit?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Galvez, to begin with. You’ll make him a big man again. Then the students will move in on you and drive you into Indian Creek. You’ll be finished for good. You walked right into it.”
Vega murmured, “I don’t care for your tone. I have certain connections myself. I asked to see your credentials, and you made a very unfunny joke about a taxi-driver’s license. Who are you, precisely? The question in my mind is, do I have to sit here and be talked to like an illiterate fieldhand?”
Shayne picked up the phone and held it out. “Call your connection. If there’s any conflict here, let’s straighten it out.”
Vega held up his hands. “That wouldn’t be procedure.”
“Lorenzo, will you use your head? You’re in a jam. If you thought up this stunt by yourself without checking in, I’m authorized to tell you that you’ll never see another penny of government money, and you’ll be called in immediately for a tax audit. If you’re one of those people who tell the exact truth on your Form 1040, don’t worry about it. But if somebody conned you into putting out that leaflet, there are still things you can do to deodorize. This isn’t much of a national emergency, but it’s an emergency for Lorenzo Vega. Call the goddamn number.”
Vega accepted the phone unwillingly. When the operator came on the line he whispered an area code and a number. She asked him to say it again, louder. Shayne had instructed her that all calls to area code 202 or 703- Washington, D. C., or Virginia-were to be put through to Tim Rourke at the Three Deuces bar.
“Hello?” Vega said cautiously when he heard an answer. “Red Tiger calling. Red Tiger, Miami.”
A voice exploded in his ear, and he winced away from the phone. He tried to speak, but Rourke overrode him.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I hope you will not withdraw your confidence. I assure you nothing like this will occur again.”
He hung up and turned aggressively on Shayne. “How can you people believe it was my private inspiration to organize support for Crowther? He is not congenial to me personally.”
“Lorenzo.”
“I will tell you a small sad anecdote. I have a potentially good business, importing and exporting with Latin America. I have correspondents in all parts of the continent. But I have been unlucky in my currency dealings. Delay is murderous for a man without credit. I see a chance for a profit in platinum, but it is held up, it is held up still, with the storage charges eating me up mouthful by mouthful. Some difficulty with the export license. And now I understand. U.S. Metals is also in the business of exporting platinum. Crowther and U.S. Metals are in each other’s pocket, if one can believe the newspapers.”
“I really doubt if Eliot Crowther knows you exist.”
