Shayne swore in disgust. Reversing the gun, he thrust it back hard into the girl’s holster.
“Come on,” he said angrily, “will you make up your goddamn mind?”
Serrano came into the room. “In fact, we have decided to do it. There is a waiter in a cafe who is sure to phone Mejia if the conversation is done with care. We must arrange the exact phrases he is to overhear.”
“Do you have a way to get us on the plane?”
“That can be done simply. It’s what is to happen after you arrive in the United States that we have been discussing. We risk three people.”
“All they can be hit with is carrying concealed weapons and coming into the country illegally. I’ll put up the bail money and the legal fees. A good lawyer can get them off with a five-hundred-buck fine and deportation.” He stood up. “So if you’ve decided to do it, let’s get the wheels turning.”
Fifteen minutes later, Shayne was in an outdoor phonebooth on the Avenue Mosquera, with a handful of coins. Paula, once again dressed as the daughter of a respectable businessman, placed the calls and stayed in the booth with him, to make sure he kept to the script they had worked out with Serrano.
His first call was to La Maquetia airport. He fed the phone twice while they located the pilot of the Miami News plane, who told Shayne he was ready whenever Shayne was. He had the feeling the paper didn’t want him hanging around in Venezuela indefinitely. He’d been ducking the editor’s phone calls. The police had questioned him at length about Shayne’s plans and he had given them an honest answer. He didn’t know a damn thing about Shayne’s plans. He believed, without being certain, that he was under observation at the moment.
Shayne told him to collect his crew and file a flight plan to Miami. If anybody asked, this was a Miami call, summoning him home. There was a good possibility that when Shayne arrived at the airport he would want to take off in a hurry.
The pilot laughed. “It won’t be the first time.” He lowered his voice. “Will Rourke be with you?”
“Not this trip. We’ll have to come back and get him. As soon as you’re ready, move out on a holding strip and stall the tower.”
The next two calls went to Palm Beach.
Howard Boyle, the chief of police there, a large, indolent professional cop who had been quoted as saying that he wished the taxpayers in his little fiefdom were less rich so they wouldn’t be such tempting targets for thieves, had just settled down in front of the TV to watch a hillbilly comedy.
“They’ll be telling the same jokes next week,” Shayne told him. “This could be a very big pinch. I thought of working it through the narcotics people, and then I decided it would be nice to let you have the credit.”
“And of course I ask fewer questions.”
“How long has it been since I wanted a favor? I can’t tell you much on the phone, except that both these people are big couriers, and they’re arriving separately. They’re heading for Palm Beach, but they’re likely to come in through Miami, and their credentials are going to be very good.”
“I don’t like the way that sounds.”
“The bigger the credentials, the better the story. You’ll be even more famous than you are now.”
“I’m not famous at all, and that’s the way I like it.”
“I’m taking the responsibility,” Shayne said. “If anything backfires, it’s my ass. They may do some yelling when you pick them up, but tell them the tip came from Mike Shayne in Caracas. That ought to quiet them down.”
Boyle said doubtfully, “And if we shake them down and don’t find anything-”
“You won’t. People on that level hardly ever get hassled. That’s the beauty of this. All I’m asking you to do is sit on them for three hours.”
“They’re entitled to a phone call.”
“Tell them I said to call this number.” He read off the number of the instrument he was using. “And if it’s busy tell them to keep trying.”
“Mike, I know that tone of voice. I think I’m beginning to worry.”
Shayne laughed. “If you can’t act dumb for three hours, you don’t deserve your badge. Get a pencil and paper. I’m going to give you the descriptions, and I want you to write them down. If anybody puts on a false mustache and sneaks past-”
“Mike, I wish they would! That would show they have something to hide, and I’d feel better about this.”
He gave Boyle a careful, detailed description of Luis Mejia and Felix Frost. His next Palm Beach call went to Sam Katz, the private detective Shayne had asked to check on Lenore Dante.
“She seems O.K., Mike,” Katz reported. “Nobody has a bad word to say against her, officially. But you said you wanted rumors.”
“That’s the main thing I want.”
“You mentioned Alvares. The story is that he owns her business. But that could be legit, because it makes money. You had the idea they had an affair going. I can’t confirm it. She has a condominium apartment at the north end. Whenever he was in town he stayed at the Colony, forty-three days in the last four years. And she went places with other escorts when he was in town-to balls and stuff. He’s been a moderately soft touch for charities. Nothing out of proportion.”
“How much of the year is she there?”
“Right through, but there’s a lot of traveling. You know the Worth Avenue galleries. Hers is one of the winners. She buys for some of our big collectors. She goes to auctions and so on, New York, Europe, wherever. If she and Alvares met for any length of time, that was where. I’ve got copies of a couple of news stories, about pictures she bought for Mrs. Phipps and the Kennedys. Some of them in six figures. As I say, they all seem to like her.”
“Which is the moneymaker, the gallery or the commission business?”
“It’s part of the same stew, Mike, as I understand it. She buys in the slow season. Like she knows in general what kind of thing a client is looking for, Americana, French Impressionists, you name it. If she hears something’s coming up for sale in a private collection, or in the settlement of an estate, she has authority to bid for it. I haven’t heard that she’s made any mistakes.”
“Any major romance?”
“We’re still working on that. She’s had men overnight at her apartment but nobody Alvares’ age.”
“How about bank accounts?”
“Nothing out of line. I don’t have profit figures yet but they’re coming. I’m glad you called, Mike. There’s a safe in her office, on the second floor of the gallery. It’s a five-cylinder wall safe, and if you’re under pressure I imagine I could peel it for you.”
“Let’s forget that for now. I’m interested in those profit figures and I’d like to get them tonight. Who are you working with?”
“She has a part-time bookkeeper. It really isn’t costing you much.”
“Does the bookkeeper have keys to the office?”
“I can get her in if she doesn’t. Do you want me to call you?”
“I hope to be up there in a couple of hours. I’ve-”
Shayne dropped the phone and came around fast. A police car stopped at the curb with a squeal of brakes, and two uniformed cops leaped out.
SEVENTEEN
“It’s O.K., Mike,” Paula said quickly.
Shayne recognized one of the uniformed men. He was a short, wiry guerrilla who had been sitting on the dirt floor across from him, his knees drawn up to his chin, most of the afternoon. The uniform was too large for him.
He seized Shayne roughly and made an announcement in Spanish.
“We are being arrested,” Paula translated.
Shayne reached back in the booth and hung up the phone. The second bogus cop put him in handcuffs.
