could do was hang on the edge and listen.
Too many stimuli were crowding in on Downey at once, and his circuits were overloaded. People were running. He saw Werner first, in a hard hat, then above him on the belt the Styrofoam cooler, the money. It would be gone in another minute. Dumb, dumb. The kid had been focusing so hard on that box that when he saw it on the belt he climbed up and went after it. What if he did knock it off? From the beginning, Downey had known he couldn’t afford to let Werner go in for questioning because he would surely answer those questions. Names would be named. This was trouble, real trouble.
Instead of moving toward the belts like everybody else, Downey stepped backward into the lee of the power cart. His gun had jumped into his hand.
One of the payloaders was swinging. The money dropped into the asphalt, and for an instant Downey thought Werner was going in after it, which would have solved that particular problem. One foot was tangled. He was face down, holding on with his full strength. He went into the hole in the face-plate, around the roller, and a second later he came back out on the underside of the belt, upside down. Somebody finally punched the right button and the belt stopped.
Werner was dangling twenty feet in the air. The payloader started a quick maneuver to get the bucket beneath him. Downey gave one look in both directions, half turned, and shot Werner off the belt.
The trapped foot pulled free when it took the full weight of Werner’s body, and he fell into the gears.
Chapter 20
The gears had to be disassembled to get Werner out. No attempt was made to recover the beer cooler, for the Styrofoam would have disintegrated the instant it hit the hot oil. The next morning when the gears were reassembled and the hot plant resumed operation, the box and whatever had been inside it would be paved into the next stretch of highway.
The parents of the dead flag girl, in West Palm Beach, were notified of their daughter’s death. They refused to believe it because their daughter, unquestionably alive, had just walked into the house. Other pieces dropped into place. Canada, who had spent the day in the van, was shown the bullet-ridden portable toilet. He loosened his neck inside his collar and gave Shayne a look of grudging respect. The muffled radio on the closed toilet seat had taken three slugs. If, instead of the radio, Canada had been sitting there, all three would have gone in near the base of his spine.
“You figured that one out, Shayne,” he said. “Funny-I never thought Lou was that much of a threat. I thought he took it out on the golf balls and the tennis balls.”
Shayne met him by arrangement the following morning outside the County Courthouse on East Flagler, where the bids on the Everglades spur were to be opened at nine. Having had a night to think over his predicament, Canada was experiencing more complicated feelings. It was no longer a simple matter of being glad he was alive.
“I’ve heard from a few people, Shayne. They put up some of that million, and the idea is, they want it back.”
“Too bad. You may have to go into Chapter Eleven.”
“Go bankrupt? Well, yeah, but these people, twenty cents on the dollar is not the way they like to get paid. I went along with your idea because I expected to recover that money. Hell, when that series of Rourke’s gets rolling, I’ll be spending most of my time in courtrooms. I’ll need it for legal fees.”
“Sorry, Larry. I never promised I could keep everything under control. There were too many wild cards, deuces and threes and one-eyed Jacks. What did you have for breakfast?”
Canada gave him a savage look. “I ate my normal breakfast. What do you think, I’m going on a diet because things haven’t been breaking right?”
He walked away, the back of his neck red with anger. Shayne and Frieda found places in the chamber where the bids would be opened. Rourke gave Shayne a two-fingered salute. The media people clotted around Canada, but Rourke left him alone, having had his interview the day before. It had lasted six hours, and Rourke had been up most of the night writing an insider’s view of the carnage at Homestead, and the next article in the highway series. Both his city editor and managing editor had come to the bid-opening because Rourke had promised more fireworks. All the TV channels had sent units.
Philip Gold, the Highway Commissioner, looking nearly as dapper as usual, arrived with a small staff. As he passed Shayne and Frieda, they caught a strong wash of perfume, a musky fragrance that wouldn’t have seemed out of place on a bull moose. Frieda whispered, “He must want us to love him in spite of everything.”
Gold took his place at the front of the chamber and asked if there were any last-minute bids. Parties of technicians from all the big contracting firms, including Canada’s, had been busy in the corridor, scribbling changes and making their final quotes. The envelopes were hastily sealed. Canada’s, as usual, came up last. Canada himself was sitting back, smiling. As everybody knew, his instinct was infallible. He invariably guessed right and gave the lowest bid by a narrow margin.
Gold put on heavy glasses and took a letter opener out of an attache case. Everybody involved in the process began writing furiously as he opened each envelope and read out the figure. The bids, as always, varied so widely that the estimators seemed to be bidding on different jobs. Finally only two bidders were left to be heard from. One was a huge Georgia firm, B. and B. Contractors, which had made a number of attempts to break into Florida highways and had invariably been beaten back. Gold’s hands, as he arranged the envelopes, were concealed behind a low rail, and he managed to substitute a different envelope for B. and B. Rourke and Shayne, however, had come early to position a mirror above and behind him, high up to the right of the flag. It was the action in this mirror that the TV cameras were recording. Gold’s attache case was open beside him. He read out a figure. There was a murmur in the room. So far B. and B. had it, with only Canada still to be heard from. Again Gold did a sleight of hand with several envelopes hidden in his case, all sealed, all identical except for the bids inside. Shayne had seen these envelopes before, when Canada gave them to Gold at the meeting in the construction trailer. The letter opener snicked. Gold called out a figure. By several tens of thousands, it was higher than the one from the Georgia firm.
The room was absolutely still.
“It appears that B. and B. is low bidder,” Gold announced, peering over his glasses. “Am I correct, gentlemen? I therefore award B. and B. the contract. Congratulations. I hope this leads to a long and fruitful association.”
The unopened envelopes were cleverly slipped back in his attache case, and the lid snapped shut. Canada leaped to his feet, nearly purple.
“You double-crossing fink! You bastard! You cheap kike! You think you’re going to get away-”
His hand came up. There was a gun in it.
Shayne caught the arm and forced it down. “No, Larry. Not today.”
Canada threw himself from side to side. A vein like a rope was beating in his temple. Others sprang to help, but Shayne had the fat man under control. Gold had dropped out of view as abruptly as if he had actually been shot. Frieda reached across for the attache case, containing the evidence of the fraudulent bidding. When the gun dropped, Canada’s fierceness and fury went with it. His free hand came up to claw at his chest. He gurgled unpleasantly and slumped to the floor like an emptying grain sack.
A dirty youth in work jeans pushed through the crowd. “Are you Mike Shayne? Can you come quick?”
Shayne signaled to Rourke. Frieda’s van was nearest, and they went in that.
“I was beginning to worry about you,” Rourke said, getting in. “Because this has been one of your sloppiest efforts, you know that? Not that I’m complaining. Canada gave me some marvelous stuff, and I think those shenanigans with the bids may kill the Everglades link-put it off, anyway. So the paper’s going to be more friendly when I go in to negotiate my next raise. However-”
“However what? You didn’t really expect we’d put Canada in jail?”
“No, I guess not. A heart attack’s almost as good. You stage-managed that nicely. How did you know Gold was planning to dump him?”
