and I had.” He shook his red head, then asked casually, “You got an extra gat I could borrow?”
Chief Gentry looked surprised. “You never used to pack one. I always thought-”
“I’ve still got my Florida license,” Shayne interrupted. A muscle twitched in his cheek. “I’d still like to try walking into the middle of it.”
Gentry opened a drawer and brought out a. 38 Police Positive and laid it on the desk. Shayne picked it up, thumbed the hammer back enough to release the cylinder, and spun it to see that it was loaded all around. He unbuttoned the two bottom buttons of his shirt, thrust the gun inside and under his waistband.
Shayne stood up and said, “Thanks, Will. One more favor. Is there a spare heap around?”
“Sure. Jorgensen will fix you up.” Gentry got up and held out his hand. “Keep your nose clean, Mike. And let me know.”
Shayne said, “I will-and thanks again,” and went out to look for Sergeant Jorgensen.
Chapter Seven: HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE
Shayne found Jimmy Dolan and a few others of the staff lolling at their desks and listening to the clatter of the teletypes in the Courier office. Dolan was a wiry little Irishman with a big mouth, a crooked nose, and a soft heart. He was an ex-lightweight of Benny Leonard’s era, and did a sports column for the Courier.
He jumped up from his desk and came forward with a grin splitting his face, his feet and fists simulating a boxer’s, exclaiming, “It’s Mike Shayne in the flesh and a sight for sore eyes. If Tim could see you-”
“They say Tim’s bad,” Shayne answered, engulfing the sports writer’s smaller hand in his big palm.
“Mighty bad, Mike. I went to see him this afternoon. Laid out like dead with a pretty nurse tending him. If he’d open his eyes and see her, he’d be up and about his business in a hurry. She’s a cute blonde, and you know how Tim is about-”
“Blondes,” Shayne finished for him. “Did you talk to the nurse about his condition?”
“I told her I was official, see? From the office here, and she said they’d operate on him tomorrow morning if he was in shape. They’ve been filling his veins full of blood fast as it leaked out, and gave him some stuff for his heart. Now if they can just get him to come to, Tim would fight it out himself, but-”
“Do you know anything about those murders he was investigating?” Shayne interrupted. He had been on the listening side in conversations with Jimmy Dolan before.
“Not a thing, Mike.” Dolan shook his graying head disconsolately. “You know what a tight mouth he was on a story like that.” He led the way back to his desk and pulled up a chair for Shayne, got out a short-stemmed, foul- smelling briar, and began filling it from a zippered pouch, pressing the rough-cut down firmly in the bowl with a stubby thumb.
“I’m wondering about his pipelines,” Shayne said, as Dolan lit his pipe. “If I could get a lead in that direction I might learn something.”
“He had plenty, but no man ever knew who they were.”
“He mentioned affidavits in his last story. Any chance something like that would be stashed here in the office?”
Dolan didn’t answer until he had worried his pipe into burning evenly. He said, “Yes and no, Mike. I’d say the stuff might have been here once, but it isn’t now.”
“Did Tim take it with him? I understand he resigned.”
“Yep. It was like this, Mike. When the Old Man saw the Blue Flash, he saw red. Came stamping out of his office like a mad bull and yelling for Rourke. He went over to Rourke’s desk and started pawing through the drawers.” Dolan stopped to chuckle. “Then he saw the sheet of paper Tim left in his typewriter. Yessir, Tim beat him to the last punch. Walked out without saying a word to anybody.”
“Did he clean out his desk?” Shayne asked.
“Tim? I don’t know. I saw him putting some things in his pockets before he walked out. But some of the boys said Bronson came back to the office after supper last night and went through Tim’s desk and cleaned it out good.”
“How late after supper?”
“Eight or nine o’clock. Minerva could give you the dope on that. You remember Minerva.”
Shayne nodded. “What kind of a heel is Bronson?”
Dolan looked cautiously about him, lowered his voice, and said, “A puffed-up adding machine. Thinks he’s a tin God on wheels, likes to crack a whip just to hear it crack.”
“Why did he oppose Tim’s writing the stuff he’d been writing? Rourke had sense enough to steer clear of libel. And a campaign like that always jumps circulation.”
“Bronson claimed he thought it was bad for the community. Give people the wrong idea about Miami and scare the northern investors away. His henchmen didn’t like the stink.”
“Henchmen?” Shayne’s left brow arched quizzically.
“His big-shot friends-the Chamber of Commerce, and so forth.” Dolan took the gurgling pipe from his mouth and spat in the direction of the spittoon.
“Do you think he had any other reason for trying to muzzle Rourke?”
Dolan looked up quickly, his faded eyes keen and speculative. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing you can chew on.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Bronson lived on balance sheets and statements of profit and loss. He was imported from New York to build up circulation.”
Shayne nodded. He started to get up, then settled back. “One thing more, Jimmy. What’s the inside dope on Tim’s love life?”
Dolan chuckled knowingly. “Let’s see. You left about two years ago. That would be Jessie’s time. Remember Jessie Newton?”
Shayne nodded.
“That burned out two or three months after you left. Then there was a cute little redhead-about twenty and hot as a firecracker from the way she acted. They were pretty thick for a time and it’s my guess she burned him out. She disappeared and we began to see Tim around again. And she’s the last as far as I know. That’s been about a year ago. If he had anything on the string after the redhead, he was keeping it mighty quiet around the office.”
Shayne said, “He never used to bother to keep it quiet.”
“I know. Tim always paraded his dolls around the office. It doesn’t seem reasonable he’d be true to the redhead a year after they broke up, now does it?”
“That’s not like Tim,” Shayne said casually, then asked, “How do you go about getting in touch with Brenner?”
“Hake Brenner?” Dolan wrinkled his forehead. “I wouldn’t try to find out if I was you, Mike. If he finds out why you’re in Miami-”
“I can’t get anywhere by walking around in circles,” Shayne remonstrated.
“You’ll get farther than you will by riding around in a hearse.”
“I still want to see Brenner.”
“You might ask Laverty. I’ve heard he and Brenner used to be pals.”
“Lucky Laverty?”
“You’ll find him around.”
“Is Minerva here?” Shayne asked.
“Minerva’s always around, sour-pussed as ever.”
Shayne got up and said, “Thanks, Dolan,” and went across to the managing editor’s private office. The door stood open and the light was on. Minerva’s cubbyhole opened off to one side. She was sitting erect at her desk typing, her sharp, plain features weary and her gray hair untidily piled in a bun at the back of her head. She wore a black skirt and a crisp white shirtwaist and low-heeled shoes.
She looked up as Shayne came toward her and she stopped typing.
Shayne grinned. He thought he saw a glint of tears in her eyes. Her tight, unrouged lips loosened and trembled undeniably. He said, “Minerva! As gorgeous as ever,” and was beside her chair.
