Well, I’ve changed my mind five times in five minutes, but this is definite. You and I are on opposite teams, and let’s keep it that way.”
“The sex wasn’t my idea.”
“Oh, I’m terrible. Seducing a man with only one arm to fight me off. I’ll iron your shirt.”
She went into the bathroom and came back with his damp shirt. She unfolded an ironing board. She added in a low voice without looking at him, “Not that I didn’t think it was going very nicely.”
Shayne laughed openly. “The hell you did. You were thinking of too many other things at the same time. Where will you be if anything comes up?”
“Right here. I have to wait for a call from Hal. What could come up? Your terms are unconditional surrender, and I’ve decided to take my chances.”
She worked on the shirt for only a moment. “For some reason you make me nervous, Mike. It’ll have to dry on you.”
She tossed it to him. When she saw how hard it was to put on, she came to help him, which brought her back within the radius of his good arm. As soon as the shirt was on and the sling adjusted she stepped back quickly.
“You have an appointment. Please. Go. If you stay another thirty seconds, I’ll change my mind again. That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”
CHAPTER 14
Shayne had made it clear that he was going somewhere else. Candida had made it equally clear that she was staying home.
Shayne moved his Buick to a less conspicuous parking lot on the other side of Alhambra Circle, one reserved for University of Miami faculty. From here he had an unobstructed view of the exit from Candida’s little court, and he could leave quickly in either direction.
He killed his headlights.
A moment or so later a black Ford with a buggy-whip aerial cruised past. It looked to Shayne like a City of Miami police car. The driver was peering into parked cars. As he passed under a streetlight Shayne recognized him. It was Vince Camilli, the vice cop who had raided Deedee’s apartment.
Camilli’s head had swiveled toward Shayne’s Buick. His brake lights flared. Shayne thought fast. He was carrying only one thing that would make trouble for him with a vice cop-the blackmail negatives, showing Deedee and Jose Despard at four stages in the presumed rape. The one Shayne had looked at had been relatively innocuous, but the others were undoubtedly worse.
Camilli left the Ford double-parked with its headlights on full. Shayne whipped the envelope containing the negatives out of his pocket and tried to slip it under the floor covering. But he had to crouch low to reach the edge of the rubber pad with his right hand, and Camilli saw him straighten.
Shayne flicked on the switch of a battery-powered tape recorder under the front seat as the other approached. Camilli, chewing gum, his thumbs hooked in his belt, was moving at the easy saunter used by cops when they believe they are about to make a high-prestige arrest and their quarry has little chance to get away from them.
“Mike Shayne again,” he said lazily. “You get around, for a man with a bad arm. What are you doing on University property, may I ask?”
“You can ask,” Shayne said evenly. “What are you doing in Coral Gables? You’re out of your jurisdiction here.”
“Let’s not worry about that. Ever since I saw you tonight, I’ve been thinking about some of those uncalled-for remarks of yours about frame-ups. Somebody’s a hooker, or a flagrant fag. Everybody knows it. They’re guilty as hell, and we can’t bring them in unless we catch them in the act. Well?” He jerked the door open. “What did you just stick under the front seat?”
“Where’s your partner?”
“He was in the john,” Camilli said. “When the call came in and I heard Mike Shayne was involved, I didn’t wait. I moved.”
He had a long three-cell flashlight in one hand. Shayne shifted his feet, untying the knot of the sling with a quick pull. As Camilli leaned forward, his jowls were on a direct line with the hidden knuckles. Shayne suppressed an impulse to jerk his elbow outward. Camilli was a cop, after all. A good way to get in trouble in any town, including this one, was to slug cops.
As Camilli’s right hand entered the beam of light, Shayne saw that he was holding his thumb folded under against the palm. Without further thought, Shayne broke the scalpel loose from the plaster and lifted the cast over Camilli’s hulking shoulders. He dug the hook in the back of his jacket and yanked him forward, at the same time bringing the bright razor-sharp edge of the scalpel up toward his throat.
Camilli made a choking sound. He tried to pull back, but the hook held him.
“Open your hand,” Shayne ordered.
Camilli merely gurgled. Shayne repeated the command and nicked off a small slice of his chin with a pass of the scalpel. The cop’s eyes protruded dangerously. Slowly he turned his hand over. A brown, amateurish-looking cigarette slid to the floor beneath the steering column.
Shayne clucked. “I see you were going to pull me in for possession. You get into habits and they’re hard to break. Where did the call come from, Camilli?”
Camilli’s voice was thin and high. “You won’t use that shiv. You’re too smart. I’m a police officer!”
“I keep reminding myself,” Shayne said. “I’ll ask you again, and I’m still asking you nicely. Where did the call come from?”
Blood dripped from Camilli’s chin. He tried to swallow, but nothing went down.
“Washington,” he whispered, his eyes on the bright blade.
“Washington,” Shayne repeated without expression. “I’m glad you decided to tell me. They’re new seat covers. I wouldn’t like to get blood all over them. Go on.”
“Mike, for God’s sake, do you know what you’re doing? You can’t control your arm. One touch with that thing-”
Shayne’s hand with the scalpel was rock-steady an inch in front of his chin.
“Said his name was Hallam,” Camilli gasped. “He fired you, you were trying to extort money from him. Please. Will you please, Mike? That wasn’t enough to hold you on. The reefer was only a gag! He said if you were out of the way for twenty-four hours, he’d give me a check for my favorite charity.”
“Which one is that,” Shayne inquired, “the Society for the Advancement of Vince Camilli? Straighten up slowly and turn around.”
He relaxed the pull of the hook and Camilli straightened. The scalpel followed him up and out of the car. Shayne freed the hook. Then, dropping the scalpel into his pocket, he slid his hand under Camilli’s arm and got his gun. He scaled it across the lot beneath the next line of parked cars. Using the blunt end of the hook, he walked him across the street to his Ford.
There Shayne reached in and sliced the main battery cable. He allowed Camilli to turn to face him, and cut his belt with a quick upward stroke of the scalpel. Camilli grabbed at his pants as they fell.
“Get in,” Shayne said. “The thing for you to do now is get your retirement papers in before tomorrow morning. If you move fast, I may not mention that stick of marijuana to anybody. I want you out of Miami inside a week.”
“Mike, I’ve got roots here-I own a house-”
“Sell it,” Shayne said. “Shaking down whores is one thing. This is something else. I’ve got that conversation on tape. All I need to do is make a couple of calls.”
He motioned with the scalpel and Camilli fell into the front seat. Shayne turned his back on him and returned to the Buick without looking around.
An instant after the door of the Buick slammed, a red Volkswagen scurried out of Candida’s court and turned north on Alhambra Circle.
