“And that,” MacFarlane murmured, “is what I’m offering to do for you.”
Shayne narrowed his eyes and shook his head. He stood up and said, “It wouldn’t be any fun to play it your way even if you were on the level-which I don’t believe. I’ll take my game on the wing-after I’ve done my own flushing.”
“Have it your way,” MacFarlane answered lazily. He reached behind him and pressed a button on the wall.
The door opened almost instantly. Conway and another man stood there.
MacFarlane waved his hand toward Shayne and directed, “Show this man down the back stairs to his car. Follow along and see that he goes directly back to Cocopalm.”
Shayne started for the door, hesitated, and turned back to the night club proprietor. He took the check for $23.50 from his pocket and handed it to MacFarlane. “I almost forgot. Take this and hang it in some convenient place.”
He went out and the two men followed him down the stairs.
Chapter Nine: MIKE FIGURES THE ANGLES
Phyllis was sitting in a deep chair in the ladies’ lounge of the lobby, a self-conscious little nook set off from the main lobby by potted palms and ferns, decorated here and there with bright red poinsettia blossoms in tall, earth-filled urns. Her big dark eyes were anxious and a tiny frown showed between her brows.
When Shayne walked in at the front door the frown evaporated as she went swiftly to meet him. She caught his arm, looked up into his face, and the frown appeared again.
“Michael! What on earth is the matter with your face!”
He patted her hand, propelling her firmly toward the empty and secluded lounge. “Not so loud, angel. You see, it was this way-I was driving along the highway, and there in front of me, clearly visible in the headlights, was a little kitten. It looked awfully thin and hungry and run down at the heels, so I stopped and took it in. Now, you know I’m always kind to animals, and I was kind to this one, but believe it or not, it scratched me.”
Phyllis’s soft young mouth tightened. “Blonde or brunette?” she asked.
“This was one of those little yellow kittens-a common variety,” he returned, still patting her hand.
“After this, I’ll go with you,” she said.
Shayne answered her with a soft chuckle but he did not commit himself.
Phyllis stiffened and pulled her arm away from him as they reached the deserted lounge. “Will Gentry is here,” she said in an anxious undertone.
“Now, Phyl, be reasonable,” he urged. “Where?” His eyes darted around the main lobby searching for the chief of the Miami detective bureau.
“He’s upstairs-in our suite.” She sat down in one of the deep chairs and spread her hands in a prim, indignant gesture. “He and Chief Boyle are up there waiting for you. Mr. Gentry sounded quite grim when he telephoned and I said you were out but that I expected you back any minute. I slipped out and left the door open before he got there. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see him, so I came down to warn you.” She glanced up at his face again. “I go to all this trouble when you come back looking like-”
“That was fast thinking, darling,” he interrupted. He grinned widely. “Must be something on the Martin killing.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” she answered faintly.
Looking past her, past the screening palms and ferns and flowers, the redheaded detective stiffened. A deep line formed at the outer corner of each nostril, angled down to his wide mouth.
Phyllis glanced up and saw his face. “What-” she began.
“Oh. Yeh, I heard you, angel.” His tone was studiously casual. He turned slowly and looked down at her. “Why don’t you run out to the races and amuse yourself?”
“And leave you here-in trouble? No.”
“Trouble?” Shayne scoffed. “Not in Cocopalm. I’ve got the toughs eating out of my hand.”
“But what about Mr. Gentry-and Chief Boyle?”
“I’ll teach them to eat out of my hand too,” Shayne assured her lightly. He swung her up from the chair. “You run along to the track and pick some losers, angel. I’ll finish things up here and try to get out for the last race. Watch for me around the jinny pit.”
She pouted and then raised gay, shining eyes to his. “I was just fooling about the kitty, Michael. I’ll go-if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do.”
“Not a damned thing, angel.” He guided her to the door and called to the doorman, “Get the lady a cab to the dog track.”
He kissed her lips, then stood in the doorway to watch her disappear into a cab. When it wheeled away, he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped beads of sweat from his face. The lines deepened on his gaunt jaw and his eyes were bleak when he turned back into the lobby. He walked to the desk and beckoned the clerk with a jerk of his head. “Have you a Mr. Samuelson registered from Miami?”
“Mr. M. Samuelson and party. Yes, sir. They arrived less than half an hour ago.”
Shayne said, “Thanks,” and turned away. A reckless light glinted in his gray eyes. He strode toward two men sitting close together on a padded bench where they could watch people get on and off the elevators.
He stopped directly in front of them on widespread feet. One of them pretended to be reading a newspaper while the other was busy cleaning his finger nails with a steel file.
Shayne addressed the newspaper reader coldly. “You boys are off your beat tonight.”
The man lifted glacially blue eyes at Shayne over the rim of his paper. He was about thirty with an athletic, well-knit body. He wore a sober brown suit with somber shirt and four-in-hand. His face was without expression, as inhumanly cold as his eyes. He said, “Scram,” and dropped his gaze again to the newspaper.
Shayne did not move except to thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets and teeter forward. The younger man glanced up quickly to meet the detective’s eyes. He had sulky lips and his plump cheeks were covered with a soft down. Long, dark lashes added to an effeminate appearance. He wore a wasp-waisted sports coat of expensive material with square padded shoulders. A faint flush crept into his cheeks as Shayne’s lips upquirked in harsh amusement. He glanced quickly aside at his older companion and then began carefully inspecting his nails.
In a tone of gentle derision, Shayne said, “I’m surprised Maxie lets you associate with a tough baboon like this one, Melvin. Isn’t he afraid Hymie might rub off some of the bloom?”
Melvin squirmed. He glanced at his companion again, entreating him to do something.
Hymie lowered his newspaper. He fixed his glacial eyes on the bottom button of Shayne’s coat and advised dispassionately, “Go on back to your knitting, shamus. You’re out of your territory too.”
“Maybe,” said Shayne, “this is some of my knitting.”
Hymie shook his head slowly. “Don’t push us around. We got as much right here as you have.”
Shayne’s smile was bland. “Why, sure. You’ll like it here in Cocopalm, Hymie. Only I thought maybe you didn’t know I was cleaning up the town. If they start running in gorillas from Miami I’m going to get sore.”
Hymie grunted and put his newspaper up in front of his face again. Shayne transferred his attention to the younger man. “When you see Maxie again, tell him I was in Mayme Martin’s room this afternoon when she phoned him.” He turned and went to the elevator.
The door of his suite was standing open. He walked in and nodded casually to Will Gentry and Chief Boyle. The Miami detective chief was a big thick-shouldered man with a pleasant, beefy face. He and Boyle were both working on fat cigars and the room was foul with smoke.
Shayne asked, “Why haven’t you birds taken advantage of my hospitality to order a drink-or hadn’t you got round to that yet?”
“We just hadn’t got round to it, Mike,” Gentry rumbled. “Make mine Scotch and soda.”
Shayne turned to the Cocopalm chief, and Boyle nodded with some constraint. “The same for me.”
Shayne went into the bedroom and crossed to the night table. He ordered two highballs sent up. When he re-entered the living-room, Gentry said placidly, “That wife of yours puts on a slick disappearing act, Mike. She
