in my life.”
Shayne left him worrying about it. The first boat was a great mahogany monster from Newport, Rhode Island. The next berth was empty. Then came a fifty-foot ketch, and finally the Nugget, which sounded more like the name of a gambling house than a boat, out of Chicago, Illinois. Al Naples was not a man to go cruising in anything small. The Nugget sat high in the water, and underway probably carried a crew of three. Shayne went up the gangway. Most of the lights were on except on the stern. When a girl laughed, Shayne went in that direction.
“Do that some more,” a voice said in the darkness.
Coming around the curving end of the deckhouse, Shayne smelled the harsh, penetrating reek of marijuana. He saw a glowing spark at shoe top level.
“Vince?” he said.
There was a light fixture on the jutting overhang. Shayne found the switch, on the cabin wall near the companion-way. His foot touched something soft and a girl’s voice said, “Watch where you’re walking.”
The light flashed on. Two girls and a man were lying on the deck amid pillows and scattered clothing. One of the girls, thin and tired-looking, sat up and blinked. She was wearing a thin gold necklace and toenail polish but nothing else. At first she seemed angry, but her expression changed as she took Shayne in. Her pout changed to a whistle.
The man was lying on his side, mixed up with the second girl, whose face was hidden under a tangle of blonde hair. This girl gave no indication of knowing that a light had been turned on or that a stranger was watching. The man was Vince Donahue’s age, but unlike the descriptions of Donahue Shayne had been getting, he was pudgy and out of condition. He was untanned, his skin the color of the underside of a trout. His eyes were so glazed they seemed to fasten on Shayne’s by accident.
“That light, man, it’s murder.”
The girl slipped her naked foot inside the leg of Shayne’s pants and scraped her toenails against his calf. “Come on down. We need some new blood.”
Moving only his arm, the young man held out a brownish cigarette with a friendly smile. “Throw away that tobacco. Don’t you know that cigarettes can kill you? You’ll like this. It’s top quality.”
“I wouldn’t deprive you,” Shayne said. “As you were, everybody.”
He turned off the light, separated his leg from the girl’s foot and went back the way he had come. There was a patter of bare feet on the deck behind him. The girl leaped on his back like a jockey.
“No fair! You can’t show up like that and then just walk out.”
He pried her loose and forced her off his back, trying not to hurt her. She had little breasts and sharp hipbones, and gave off a dry, baking heat, like an open oven.
“I’m Lee Ewing,” she said. “I’m feeling left out so why don’t we-? Come on, please. Steve’s inside trying to straighten out the movies. It’s honestly OK. You don’t want me to turn into a dried-up old maid, do you?”
He took one of her wrists in each huge hand and made her hold still. “That’s the last thing I want. But business before pleasure. I just got here. Put on a few clothes and we’ll start over.”
“And just have to take them off again? I don’t see the sense-all right,” she said quickly, “I know people don’t like girls to make the first move.”
He released her wrists and she padded off toward the stern. Opening the nearest door, he entered a brightly lighted room. A youth with an unkempt shock of black hair-fully dressed, Shayne was glad to see-was pawing through a tumbled heap of movie film. There was a projector beside him, a small screen on the wall. He didn’t notice Shayne.
“You’re Steve, aren’t you?” Shayne said. “Have you seen Vince?”
“He’s around,” the boy said. He freed one hand to pick up a martini glass and drink. “Maybe you think you’ve seen dirty movies. Well, there’s a scene here somewhere, you never saw anything like it. All I have to do is get this organized. You wouldn’t be willing to give me a hand, would you?”
“After I talk to Vince.”
He tried a door. It led down to a small compact galley.
“My advice is,” the boy said, looking up, “wait till morning. There hasn’t been a peep out of them for hours. Listen, all I have to do is find the damn end. Any damn end. Get it back on the reel. It’ll make your eyes pop. I mean some of the things they do are impossible.”
“Vince won’t mind if I wake him up,” Shayne said, trying another door. This one was locked.
“Yeah, but can you? After Vince puts himself away, forget it. What I was thinking, if I had somebody to help I could string the film around the room and take out the twists, find the end that way.” He held up a section and looked through it. “Take a look at this. Of course you don’t get any detail, but this babe has one of the biggest and sexiest cans-”
Shayne took a strip of celluloid out of his wallet and forced it between the door and the jamb. Realizing what he was doing, the boy threw down the film and came over.
“You’d better have some reason!” he said.
Shayne looked around. “Sit down.”
“Oh,” Steve said, retreating. “Well.”
As the celluloid strip slipped between the bolt and the socket, Shayne stepped up the pressure. Slowly the bolt came back. In a moment the door sprang open.
This was the master cabin. It was furnished like a motel room, with an ordinary double bed and wall-to-wall carpet. The bed was in a state of extreme disorder, the bedclothes in a heap. No one was sleeping in it. On the bedside table were glasses and two bottles of Scotch, one still unopened and the other nearly empty, an untouched plate of cold baked beans, overflowing ashtrays. One light was on, over a dressing table next to an open window. A girl was studying her reflection in the triple mirror. She wore a lowcut bra and a half-slip. The bra hook was open. A cigarette dangled from her mouth.
She looked over her shoulder at Shayne. She had long untidy hair, over her forehead and down almost to her bare shoulders. Her eyes, in a pale face, were very large, with artificial lashes and green lids.
“Come in,” she said without surprise. “I was trying to decide if I’m getting too fat. The minute I decide I’m the teeniest bit overweight I’ll go on a diet, like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I don’t kid around.”
Steve had come into the doorway to look around. “Where’s Vince, Betty? This guy wanted to see him and I said it’d be OK. We don’t want to interrupt or anything.”
“Interrupt what?” she said bitterly.
Shayne glanced into the narrow bathroom and opened the sliding doors of the closet. Vince didn’t seem to be hiding in closets tonight.
“Somebody hook me up,” Betty said. “It keeps moving around.”
Shayne came back and hooked the bra.
“Thank you,” she said nicely, her eyes on her own reflection. “I’m full, but you couldn’t call me fat. God, I worry every time I wake up. I have to go straight to a mirror and find out.” She took the cigarette out of her mouth and smiled at herself. “No, I’m still cute. I’ve got good bone structure.” She added somberly, “And right now, what a headache.”
Her mood changed abruptly. “You know what I have to put up with Vince, Steve. You tell him.”
Steve blew out his breath. “Not again, Betty. You’ve got to start looking at the bright side. Nobody likes a chick who keeps spilling over all the time.”
“Are you referring to me?” she said icily. “I make it a point to never show my feelings, even when I’m crying on the inside.”
“Oh, brother,” Steve said, and went back to his own problem.
Betty swung around with a dramatic gesture which almost carried her off the backless bench.
“All they think about is their own kicks.” She smiled at Shayne and held out an empty glass. “Will you freshen up my drink? And look in the John for an aspirin. Then we’ll talk.”
Shayne made her a new drink, finishing the first bottle and opening the second. He found a tin of aspirin in the medicine cabinet. She shook a half dozen tablets into her palm. He picked out two and put them back.
“Most of these jerks,” she said admiringly, “I could swallow the whole bottle and they’d figure it was up to me.”
Shayne took a long drink of Scotch from the bottle and sat on the foot of the unmade bed. “What’s your idea about what happened to Vince?”
