“How in hell do you know it didn’t?”
“Please, Shayne,” said the senator patiently, “let’s not talk in circles.”
“Then tell me what it’s all about.” Shayne lifted the glass to his lips and took a long drink.
Irvin sighed and said, “Hit him, Getchie.”
The Negro hit Shayne in the face with his open palm.
“That was just to convince you that we’re not fooling,” the ex-senator explained quietly, pinching the pendulous flesh of his third chin. “Where did you get the bill, and how many of them have you?”
Shayne got up and walked to the tray holding the whisky bottle. Blood oozed from his upper lip where his teeth had cut through from the Negro’s blow. He picked up the decanter of mineral water, poured his cupped palm full, and, bending forward, dashed it over his face. He repeated the performance until his face felt free of the blood, then wet his handkerchief thoroughly and mopped around his neck.
The trio watched him in stony silence. Then Perry said, “They say this mug is plenty tough. Whyn’t you let Getchie work him over some more, an’ then we can-”
“I think Shayne will tell us what we want to know,” said the senator quietly.
Shayne strolled back to the davenport. The Negro took the detective’s wallet from his hip pocket. Shayne sat down again and nursed the bottle of Scotch which he had brought with him, watching the senator with an oddly abstracted expression on his gaunt face.
Irvin opened the wallet and fanned through the contents. He studied one bill and nodded, placed it with the other one on his knee and returned the balance to the billfold. “Two of them. Why did you try to pass one at Bates’s place? What did you expect to find out?”
“To hell with this,” Shayne exploded angrily. “If those bills are phonies, I’m the one who should be sore about it. I sold my car this afternoon for cash. Those bills are part of the price I got.”
“Who bought your car?” The senator’s voice was smooth as silk.
“I don’t know his name. I met him in a garage on Flagler.”
“We’ll find out his name,” the senator said. “There has to be a record of the bill of sale. We’ll keep you till tomorrow morning, and if you’re lying, Shayne-”
Shayne took a long drink from the bottle while he thought rapidly. “All right,” he admitted. “I was lying. But I don’t see why I have to stick my neck out for a guy I never saw before. Particularly if the bastard slipped me a couple of queer ones. I intended to leave town tonight on the midnight plane. You can check that easily enough. I missed the damned plane and came back in a taxi. I felt like a drink and dropped off at the Fun Club on the way to town.”
That, he thought, would cover the blonde’s angle, if she were in on it somehow and told her story.
“All right. But where did the bills come from?”
“I’m getting to that. I checked out of my apartment at noon, and-well, you know how things are in Miami right now. I happened to meet a guy that was yelling his head off about not having any place to stay. I didn’t see any reason not to pick up a piece of change so I slipped him a tip on my apartment, and he gave me those two C’s for the dope.” He dabbed at his cut and bleeding lip with the wet handkerchief.
“You’re probably still lying,” said Irvin. “What apartment house?”
Shayne gave the apartment name and the room number, hoping to God they had rented it that afternoon and feeling vaguely sorry for whoever had rented it.
The senator nodded to Perry. “Check on that.”
Perry went out of the room. Shayne set the whisky bottle on the floor and pressed the handkerchief to his lips again. He said to the Negro, “Next time we meet I’m going to slice the other side of your face to match that scar.”
The Negro’s arms remained insolently folded, and his eyes were low-lidded. He pushed his thick lips out at Shayne but said nothing.
Irvin irritably drummed fat fingertips on the arm of his chair and said placatingly, “Getchie simply did what he was told to do, Shayne. I had to convince you this was serious business.”
Perry came back into the room. He said, “Could be, boss. The shamus checked out at noon like he said, and sent his suitcase to the airport. His apartment was rented again right afterward, but the clerk don’t think the new fellow has moved in yet. By the name of Slocum. He didn’t answer his phone.”
Irvin said, “We’ll check with Mr. Slocum in the morning.” To Shayne he added, “I’m sure you won’t object to being my guest until we can hear Slocum’s story.”
“Do you expect him to tell you the truth about paying a bribe with phony money?”
“I think Mr. Slocum will tell what we want to know. If you’ve told the truth you’ll be in the clear, Shayne. If not-”
Shayne took another drink of Scotch and dangled the bottle by the neck between his knobby knees. “I hope you’ve got a comfortable bed for me to sleep on.”
“Perry and Getchie will see to that.” He nodded to them and got to his feet. “For your sake I hope you’re telling the truth this time.” He turned and scuffed out of the room.
Chapter Five
Shayne’s left shoulder was hurting badly, and a little blood still oozed from his cut lip. He said, “That davenport looks good to me.”
“Damned sight too good for you,” Perry snarled. “We’re going back down to the garage where there’s a nice little place all fixed up for you.”
The whisky bottle was a little more than half full. Shayne hefted the weight of it and figured his chances of slugging Perry with it before he could get going with his gun. Perry was ten feet away and the. 38 was lax in his fingers, but he didn’t look like a man who’d be easy to take. Ever since the ex-senator had spoken Shayne’s name, the man had shown his respect for the detective’s reputation by keeping a good distance between them. Getchie wasn’t any pushover either. It was a cinch he had a shiv where he could get at it fast, and a further cinch that he would enjoy using it if Shayne started anything.
All in all, Shayne decided it would be much more sensible to drink the whisky and play along for better odds. He put the bottle to his lips, and Perry said to the Negro, “Shove him along down the stairs, Getchie.”
Getchie took a step forward, put his hand between Shayne’s shoulder blades and shoved. Shayne reeled forward and didn’t look back. He was getting damned tired of being pushed around, but he didn’t say so.
They stopped at the bottom and waited for Perry to come down. Shayne was breathing hard and fighting back the anger that threatened to possess him. He had stayed alive a lot of years by holding his anger in check and waiting for at least a fifty-fifty chance before striking out. Such a chance generally came to a man if he waited long enough.
Perry reached the bottom of the stairs and circled around them on the greasy floor. “Bring him over here to the can. It’s quiet in there and the door’s a double thickness.”
“Ain’ no lock to it,” Getchie objected, pushing Shayne forward.
“We’ll fix that,” Perry assured him. He stood back ten feet from the door of the small square alcove built into a corner of the room.
There was a concrete wall jutting out from the corner and a heavy wooden door that opened outward. Getchie stopped beside the door and reached inside to switch on a ceiling light. There was a dirty lavatory and a dirtier toilet inside the four-by-six room.
Perry said, “Wait a minute,” as the Negro started to push Shayne inside. “Take off your clothes,” he told Shayne. “Every damned stitch down to the skin.”
Shayne turned his head to glare at him and asked thickly, “What’s the idea of that?”
“Just so you won’t pull any smart tricks,” Perry explained happily. “God knows what you could pull inside there with a car backed up against the door, but I’ve heard too much about you to take any chances. Maybe you got a gas bomb in your pocket or a saw blade sewed in your underwear.”
