unrestricted funds. But if you have something you don’t wish me to tell him, say so frankly and we’ll discuss how much that will cost you.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard to collect from us both.”
“I try not to do too much of that,” Rubino said earnestly, “because it gets complicated and dangerous. And you and Mr. Frost are on the came side, no? I’m much better for you than some dull nobody you could pay to be loyal.”
He honked to have the gate opened. “First stop, the jail?”
“That’s right. Where do you stand politically, Andres?”
For the first time the cheerful Venezuelan looked indignant. The gate opened and he went out with his thumb on the horn.
“Politics. What does it matter to someone in my financial position which crook is in office? Of course,” he added, “in international politics I am very much pro-United States.”
“Of course. What do you think of Frost?”
“Mr. Frost is unquestionably number one on my list!” he said with sincerity. “Physically somewhat repulsive, but he has risen above it. Did you notice his maid? Elegant-elegant. His style of living. People in his line of work retire young, on three-quarters pay. He is now fifty-five. He could pull out at any moment, and from certain indirect signs I think he is planning to do so very soon. And then I will have to start over again with his successor-a dismal perspective, because Mr. Frost and I understand each other. But did he really describe me as that corrupt?”
“A free-lance agent and a blackmailer on the side.”
“He shouldn’t have said that!” Rubino cried. “How could I blackmail you? In what way does it apply?”
“He wasn’t telling me anything he didn’t want me to know.”
Rubino drove a block or so in silence, thinking.
“Well, he’s a clever man. I would hate to play chess against him. We’ve agreed on one hundred dollars a day? I’ll start at once to earn my money. Technically we are among the backward nations, we Venezuelans, but one exception is the police, who have modern listening devices. Very miniaturized, very delicate. So you must conclude that when you confer with your friend, other ears will be listening.”
Shayne didn’t interrupt, and listened to much the same advice he had already received from Felix Frost. He was watching the turns, getting the feel of the city.
At Police Headquarters, a forbidding fortresslike building on Avenida Universidad, Rubino again left the conspicuous car in a no-parking zone and came inside with Shayne.
Using Rubino to translate for him, Shayne rejected the first room he was offered. After a loud exchange in Spanish, accompanied by much sawing of the air, he was taken to another room where Rubino left him. This room was furnished with a simple table and two benches. While he waited for Rourke, he prowled around the room trying to spot the mike, but it was well hidden.
The door opened.
One of Rourke’s eyes was swollen shut and he had what looked like fingernail scratches on one cheek. His belt and shoelaces had been taken away, evidently an international police practice.
“Mike Shayne,” he said gloomily. “Well, well. I hope you brought me some cigarettes.”
“They tell me you’re smoking Pall Malls these days.”
“When I can get them.”
He accepted what he was given, a Camel. They sat down at the table and Shayne lit his cigarette for him.
“You didn’t waste any time, did you?” Rourke said, breathing out smoke. “Didn’t even stop to have breakfast, probably.”
“I had a very good breakfast with Felix Frost, do you know him? Sort of a creep, I thought, but I’m sure he’s good at whatever he does.”
“Good old Felix.”
While this exchange was taking place, they were communicating in other ways. Shayne’s first look had warned the reporter to look out; they were being monitored. Rourke had replied in the same way that he knew that much about the behavior patterns of law-enforcement officials. He also didn’t have to be told that his situation was grim, and Shayne would have to work an unusual kind of miracle to get him out.
“Who hit you?” Shayne asked. “Do you want me to get the Civil Liberties Union to complain?”
“I wish you would, man. Every little bit helps. Talk to me. Nobody around here wants to tell me what happened out in the real world. They want me to tell them. Did a bomb actually go off in the La Vega prison, or did my ears deceive me? And if so, how did you hear about it?”
“Caldwell called me from the paper when he got the flash. You really don’t know what happened? They have a pretty good body-count. Alvares, Larry Howe, a Venezuelan named Menendez.”
Rourke’s face had gone very still. “Alvares, Howe, Menendez. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“It seems there were these two cartons of cigarettes.” Shayne lowered his voice. “I think it’s all right to talk here, Tim. I’m going to need some leads.”
“They worked the handkerchief switch on me, Mike. The gypsy handkerchief switch. There were hints I might get a story out of it. The Pulitzer Prize was mentioned. And I went for it! Tim Rourke, the prototype fall guy, drunk and gullible.”
“Put it in English.”
“There was supposed to be a cyanide capsule in with the cigarettes. They were getting Alvares ready for a show trial, and some of the testimony would have tarnished our image, or that’s what they told me. A cyanide capsule, the way it happens in the movies. I’ve always said, if somebody wants to knock himself off, who am I to stand in the way?”
He added, “And they were torturing him, Mike. Cyanide is the only way you can beat that. I was operating in a heavy mist at the time. I’d been soaking up gin for a couple of days. I really blame it on the martinis.”
“They’ve got a picture of you with a girl named Paula something.”
“Yeah, I took her out a few times. I met her in Miami a year or two ago-nice kid. She had nothing to do with this.” The look he gave Shayne contradicted the words. “It was a guy. He came to my room in the Hilton. Mustache, shades. One of his shoes was built up in the heel-one leg must be shorter than the other. But you’ll never find him.”
“I’ll never find him if that’s all you can give me. Have you told the cops about this?”
“Mike, my act with these bush cops is strictly tongue-tied and stupid. I’m going to promise you one thing. Never again. I’m strictly a voyeur from now on. The goddamned handkerchief switch. I never thought they’d catch me with that one.”
“If I’m in a position to make a deal, will you tell them what you’ve just told me?”
“If I have to, but Mike, I’ll feel like such a schmuck!”
“Frost mentioned thirty years. Everything I hear from other people makes me think he was optimistic.”
“You have such a wonderful bedside manner. I know I’m in trouble. But I need time to think. They’ve been on top of me every minute. You know the technique, in shifts. Damn it, there has to be something I can dredge up, if they’d just give me a couple of minutes to brood about it. But no. It’s been hammer, hammer, hammer. You’re too early. It’s nice you’re here, I appreciate it. But I wish you hadn’t been in such a hurry. I might have had something to tell you. Now they won’t let me see you again till tomorrow.”
They were facing each other, Rourke’s foot against Shayne’s. He stepped up the pressure when he told Shayne he’d been in too much of a hurry. Now he didn’t seem to want to let the subject go.
“We’re thinking in terms of thirty years, for Christ’s sake. What’s half a day? Why the rush?”
“Take a minute now, Tim. If I’m going to get you out of here I’ve got to have somebody else to give them. You worked on the story three days. You must have some idea who wanted to kill Alvares and why.”
Rourke made a vague gesture. “My head’s not normal. Do you know why I really came to Caracas? I had a fight with a chick! If she hadn’t been so damn pigheaded, I’d be back in Miami right this minute, having my second cup of coffee and opening the morning mail.” His foot came down hard. “I’d be reading about it in the paper. Alvares hit-too bad, but he’s been asking for it for years. Do you mind if I get serious for a minute?”
“It’s a serious jam.”
Rourke’s face was troubled, but he was exerting no under-the-table pressure, indicating that what he was
