He went down for the gun, a little Belgian. 25, put it on safety and dropped it in his pocket. He ripped a piece out of her skirt, which he wadded up and handed to her. “Hold this against it as hard as you can.” He turned back to the wheel. The motor had cut out. He started it again. They had drifted off the buoy, but he could feel an underwater drag, as though he had fouled the rudder on the buoy cable.
“I don’t have any strength,” Theo said weakly, and slumped over to one side.
“I’ll take care of you in a minute.” Shayne reversed, backed all the way to the buoy and came forward at full speed. There was a wrenching and scraping underneath the boat. The motor labored and died. Shayne tried the starter. It ground on and on but the motor wouldn’t turn over.
“I thought I’d get you to a doctor,” he said, “but I guess not. I’m not much of a doctor myself. It’s lucky it isn’t much of a wound.”
“Lucky,” she said bitterly.
“I’ll see if I can find any bandages.” He took the flashlight to the main cabin. In a cupboard beneath the stainless-steel washbasin he found a first-aid kit and a box of sanitary napkins. Probably there were other medical supplies aboard, but he didn’t want her to lose any more blood while he looked for them. He filled an empty whiskey bottle with water.
When he returned he found her lying awkwardly across the table, her eyes closed. She was trying to hold the wadded cloth against the bullet hole, but she couldn’t maintain pressure; all it was doing was catching the blood as it came out. He moistened a sanitary napkin and sponged off her shoulder. There were two wounds, a tiny one in front, a larger one in back where the bullet had come out.
“People sometimes kill themselves with a. 25,” he said, “but you can do a better job with a larger gun. I won’t ask you how long you’ve been carrying this. Why didn’t you ever talk to Harry about what you thought had happened with your car?”
“I tried tonight. That’s when he asked me to marry him.”
Shayne folded one of the napkins and bound it tightly in place with a long strip torn from her slip. “You could have told him you wouldn’t marry him because you suspected him of smuggling heroin.”
She raised her head and said with surprising spirit, “I wouldn’t marry him even if he wasn’t!”
He bound the ends of the improvised bandage under her shoulder. She wanted another drink and he held the bottle for her so she could get it down.
He lifted the radiotelephone and summoned the operator.
“Mike Shayne again,” he said.
“I was wondering if you’d call. I’ve been sitting twiddling my thumbs.”
“I need the Coast Guard,” he said. “I seem to be hung up on a buoy at the entrance to the La Gorce canal.”
“Mr. Shayne! How did you manage to do that?”
“It was easy,” Shayne said with disgust.
18
After notifying the Coast Guard air station of Shayne’s predicament, the operator rang Tim Rourke’s number for him. The reporter answered.
“Nothing more, Mike,” Rourke said. “The AP here in town has the story, but just the lead. The New York guy won’t admit he was expecting Harry. Says he hardly knows him, hasn’t heard from him in years.”
“And I bet the cops believed that,” Shayne said.
“Steve Bass called me, Mike. Harry’s boy. He’s been talking to a girl named Betty something. Don’t forget I’m in the dark about this. I told him to bring her over and you’d show up sooner or later.”
“That’s fine. Don’t give the girl much to drink or she’ll pass out before I can talk to her. I’ll be in touch.”
He hung up. Theo said weakly, “Who’s Betty?”
“No one you know. She was in jail with me. It’s a long shot, but I’m playing the long shots tonight.”
She was breathing quickly. “Poor Mike. It’s embarrassing. Bumping into a buoy. And all for nothing, because next time I’ll make sure you’re not around to stop me. You know that, don’t you?”
“That’s your business. But if it turns out that somebody planted those drugs on Harry you won’t have to kill yourself, will you? Of course he’ll still have to answer for slugging the narcotics cop and I know you’re sorry about that. I doubt if you’re sorry enough to shoot yourself.”
“You’re not very sentimental, are you?”
“I hope not,” Shayne said.
He finished the bottle. He hunted for another, but apparently that was the only one that had survived the battle between Vince Donahue’s guests and the police.
A Coast Guard cutter came alongside, hooting. A young ensign leaped aboard to confer with Shayne. They decided to transfer Theo to the cutter, leaving a Coast Guardsman aboard the Nugget. They would return in daylight, with a diver to disentangle the rudder.
Three young sailors swung Theo across the rail. The cutter took them into Indian Creek and put them ashore near the 63rd Street bridge on Allison Island. St. Francis Hospital was a block away.
Shayne explained the situation to the interne on duty and helped fill out the police form required of every doctor treating a gunshot wound. While the temporary bandage he had applied to Theo’s shoulder was being replaced, he made two phone calls from a booth in the waiting room. The first was for a taxi. The second was to the Lambda Phi house at Florida Christian, where he had met the All-American quarterback, Johnny Black. It rang a long time, and finally Black himself answered. Shayne told him what he wanted.
“I signed with the Warriors at a nice bonus,” Black said. “I’ve got their check in my wallet, but I remember what you said about how easy it is to stop payment. I guess I have to do what you say. I’ll borrow a car.”
Theo came out, her lipstick a bright slash of color in her pale face. She had washed and brushed her hair, and even with her arm in a wrist sling she looked her usual neat, well-organized self. They had worked fast, for a hospital, but not fast enough for Shayne. His mind was racing.
“Let’s go,” he snapped.
She lived in a new high-rise apartment building in the low 70’s, two blocks from the ocean. As the taxi started she swayed over against Shayne.
“My head’s going around. Mike, hang onto me for a minute.”
He put his arm around her. “Did they give you sleeping pills?”
“Tons. And on top of that cognac-I don’t know.”
As the taxi turned onto Indian Creek Drive, she pivoted with it and nearly went off the seat. His hold tightened.
“You won’t give me my gun back, will you?” she said.
“No.”
“I promise I won’t shoot myself with it. I couldn’t stay awake that long.”
“You’ll have time later if you feel like it.”
A moment passed. “I can’t stop thinking of Harry,” she said. “When they came up on both sides of him and said they were narcotics agents.”
“When you wake up, Theo, go back over everything that’s happened. Start with the theory that somebody has been setting Harry up for this, and see if you can get it to fit.”
“If I only could.”
They stopped in front of her apartment house. Shayne told the driver to wait, and helped her into the lobby. “Can you make it from here?”
“Of course. Thank you, Mike. I’m sorry I had to put you through all this.” She found her key in her bag. She gave him a shimmering smile and touched his wrist. “It’s no use wishing we’d met in a different way. That’s not how the world works. Goodnight.”
She unlocked the door and walked toward the elevator. He waited, holding the door. After touching the elevator button she sat down on a bench and fell asleep at once.
Sighing, Shayne went in and picked her off the bench. The elevator arrived.
