the car and the other tried to catch the boy, who wasn’t going to let himself be caught. A crowd was gathering, made up entirely of women and young children who had had to stay home while the men went off to take part in the exciting events at the airport and in Miami Beach. A garbage-filled bag arched through the air and exploded on top of the car.
Both cops now retreated into the car and called for reinforcements. Today nothing was available. All the cops had emptied out of the station houses to look for Michael Shayne and Camilla Steele.
The car drove off amid jeers and taunts.
Shayne showed his clenched fist out the window and went back to the struggle to keep Camilla from falling asleep. He tried the shower again, and brought her back, but only for a moment. As she sagged in his arms he heard an approaching siren.
The crowd on the street had only partially dispersed. The ambulance drew up, its siren dying. Shayne signaled from the upstairs window. The driver and an attendant pounded upstairs.
“Need the stretcher?” the driver asked.
He was an ambulance-driving type, squat and doughfaced, with an aggrieved expression, indicating that he had taken this menial job only because of its social importance. Shayne explained the situation in a few crisp words and sent the attendant into the bathroom for the hypodermic syringe and into the bedroom to gather up Camilla’s clothes.
“Did they send any medication?”
“Not my department,” the driver said. “I didn’t know
“OK,” Shayne said. “What’s it going to cost me?”
“I’ll have to say you pulled a gun on me. Wouldn’t seventy-five bucks be about right?”
“Seventy-five bucks would be high.” He pulled out his wallet and threw the man a hundred-dollar bill. “You owe me twenty-five. Put it in the mail.”
“I’ll remember to do that,” the driver promised him.
Downstairs, Shayne backed into the ambulance and the others handed Camilla in. He told the attendant to ride in front.
“And use your siren. We’re in a hurry.”
“I always use my siren,” the driver said, surprised. “It would hardly be worth it otherwise.”
Shayne pulled the curtains on both sides. The ambulance got away fast. The turn at the next corner was so sharp that Camilla, on the edge of the reclining bed, plunged into Shayne’s arms. He put her back, and she surprised him by saying sleepily, “Mike.”
“That’s right. Is that all you’re going to say?”
Her lips moved in what was nearly a smile, and her hand rose. It was her first voluntary movement in some time.
“Do you remember a dream you had about shooting somebody?”
“Dream?”
“Nothing’s been working too well for you lately. But in that dream everything went off like clockwork. It would be a good sign.”
Her head fell back. He let it roll, then snapped her violently forward. Her wig fell off. She pushed at him weakly, and said, “Don’t.”
She only said one other thing. An abrupt change of lane sent her sliding sideways and her head flopped against his shoulder. She said distinctly, “Sex is so nice.”
“If you want any more,” Shayne said, “you’d better wake up.”
The ambulance reached the North-South Expressway and really took off. They left at the Opalocka exit. Shayne was still going through the motions, but he was no longer getting results. The ambulance made a final screaming turn and skidded into a covered receiving area. Someone threw the back doors open, and Dr. Irving Miller took over.
CHAPTER 16
He smelled and tasted the needle, then plunged it into his own forearm. He waited an instant, then selected a hypodermic from several that were already prepared, and injected it in her shoulder. A second doctor pricked her finger and filled a syringe with blood.
Shayne kept out of their way. She was still unconscious when she was carried inside.
“How’d you like the ride we gave you?” the driver asked, grinning. “I figured for seventy-five bucks you deserved a little something extra.”
Shayne shook his flask. It was empty.
“Where can I get a drink around here?”
“You’re in the wrong place, man. This is for drying out alcoholics.” He added, “But I happen to have a pint I could sell you.”
“How much?”
“Call it twenty-five, and then I won’t have to remember to send you change from that hundred.”
Shayne agreed, and had a drink from the costly bottle before going inside. He was directed to a small elevator which took him to the third floor. A pretty blond receptionist started as he entered the waiting room.
“Mr. Shayne? If you’ll wait here, Dr. Miller will let you know when he can-”
The furniture looked comfortable, but Shayne didn’t sit down. Several expensively dressed people sitting around the room stirred uneasily and tried not to look at him. He was holding a pint bottle of whiskey, a black wig, and a loose bundle of women’s clothing, from which a bra dangled. Having been in and out of the shower with Camilla, his clothes were soaked. She had thrown up on him and spilled coffee on him. None of that could be helped. He drank again from the bottle.
In her nervousness the receptionist broke the point of her pencil. “Would you mind putting that bottle in your pocket, Mr. Shayne? If any of our patients-”
Ten minutes passed before Dr. Miller called him into the corridor.
“Paul London’s with her, but that’s not what she needs right now. She’s still very disoriented. I gave her a shot of Nalline to counteract the morphine, and it seems to be taking hold nicely. Her breathing is normal. But she seems to have barbiturates inside her as well as the morphine, and I don’t want to let her sleep right now. Her blood shows a trace of alcohol, which is bad in combination.”
“Can she talk?”
“I want her to talk. The next quarter hour is critical. She’s blocking out everything that happened. That’s understandable, but it could do her considerable damage. She’s convinced herself that she’s worthless. If you could make her realize somehow that at this moment she’s the most important person in Miami-”
They stepped out onto a broad terrace overlooking the bay. Several patients in bathing suits were taking the sun in reclining deck chairs. Camilla, wearing a red robe, was walking beside Paul London. Although she was leaning on him heavily, she was definitely walking. She stopped when she saw Shayne.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came in an ambulance, but I’m only a visitor.”
“I want you to go away, please. I happen to be quite sick.”
“That’s not news.”
“Leave me alone.”
Shayne glanced at Miller. The plump little doctor remained detached, watching them with his thick glasses pushed down his nose. Shayne pulled Camilla out of Paul’s grasp and slammed her against the high parapet. The sunbathers sat up in alarm. Paul made a movement of protest, but Shayne elbowed him aside and caught Camilla as she came off the wall.
“Nine o’clock last night you picked up the suitcase and took it to the ladies’ room. The gun was inside the suitcase. You had to touch it, but it made you sick to your stomach.”
She began to cry. “The lights were so bright there. The whiteness, the mirrors.”
