Brett Halliday - Bodies Are Where You Find Them

Jim Marsh closed the door and asked, “What happened to your face, Mike?”

“Campaign argument.” Shayne stalked to an overstuffed sofa and carefully lowered his lanky body. “I could do with a drink.”

“Sure. I’ll get it.” Marsh spoke quickly and effusively. “No cognac, though.”

“Rye will do. Lots of rye and not much soda.”

“Coming right up,” Marsh said and went through a swinging door into the kitchen.

The instant he was out of the room Naylor leaned forward and asked in a low voice, “What’s got into the chief? Has something come up that I don’t know about?”

Shayne said mildly, “You’re his campaign manager.”

“That’s just it,” Naylor responded, drawing his odd brows together to form a single matted line. “I’ve worked my head off and got the votes lined up — and now he talks about taking a runout powder — giving up before the votes are counted.”

Shayne frowned his disbelief. “First I knew about it.”

“He has been worried for weeks about the way things are going,” Naylor confided. “He’s new in politics, see? He doesn’t know the inside. He’s been cutting down on expense money, and you can’t win an election that way. I didn’t know we were backing a quitter.”

“Neither did I,” said Shayne slowly.

Naylor settled back with his cigar and highball as Marsh re-entered the living-room. “Here you are, Mike.” He handed a brimming glass to Shayne. “Lots of rye and not much soda.”

Shayne nodded and reached for the glass. “Naylor tells me you’re putting your tail between your legs, Marsh.”

Marsh shot his campaign manager a disapproving glance. He set his thin lips in a tight line and went back to a deep chair where his drink and pipe awaited him. “It looks utterly hopeless to me,” he said with finality. “I’ve been getting discouraging reports for weeks, and if the trend continues I’ll be a laughingstock when the votes are counted.”

“You’re crazy,” Naylor fumed. “Hell, I’m in close touch with every precinct worker. We’ll roll up a two-to-one majority day after tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid you’re fooling yourself. I believe in looking facts in the face. As I see it, I have two choices. I can go on and take a terrific beating and lose all my prestige, or I can make the manly gesture of withdrawing tomorrow and conceding the election to Stallings.”

“Manly gesture?” snorted Naylor. “What about all of us who have worked so hard for you, and all the poor devils who have bet heavy odds in your favor?”

“All my campaign workers have been well paid,” Marsh retorted sharply. “I’ve done nothing but hand out money since the campaign started. As for the men who have bet on me — they stand to lose in any event.”

“You talk about losing prestige,” Naylor argued. “You flatter yourself if you think the public will remember for very long that you were defeated. But if you back down — take your name off the ticket because you’re afraid of defeat — well, they’ll never forget that.” Naylor turned to Shayne and pleaded, “Can’t you do something with him, Shayne?”

The detective was sitting laxly, staring into his glass. He lifted it and drank deeply, then moved his head slowly from side to side. “Why should I bother? A yellow-bellied mayor won’t do Miami Beach much good.”

“That’s not a fair attitude,” Marsh protested. “You can’t censure me — neither of you — for using my own best judgment and acting accordingly.”

Shayne’s laugh was short and ugly. He touched his bruised cheek and lips lightly with his finger tips. “And I took this for you. Talk about someone being laughed out of town! Where will I be if you withdraw?”

“We’ve tried hard,” Marsh insisted, avoiding the eyes of his visitors. “There’s no shame in fighting the good fight and losing.”

“That’s what I pointed out,” Naylor interposed hastily. “Lose if you must — but quit?”

Shayne finished his drink. He hurled the glass across the room and shattered it against the wall. He said bitterly,

“Thank God I haven’t got any prestige to lose. You’re not running out on me, Marsh. Not by a damn sight. You’re going to stay in this election and win whether you like it or not.”

Marsh set his lips stubbornly. “Further discussion is useless. My mind is made up.”

“Then you’re going to unmake it.” Shayne got to his feet. He strode forward and stopped in front of Marsh on widespread legs. “No man is going to pull a fade-out on me. I always finish what I start.”

“It can’t matter particularly to you,” Marsh protested. “You have no money invested in my campaign. I’m the loser.”

Shayne studied him out of bleak gray eyes. Marsh’s wiry energy appeared completely dissipated. Except for the grim set of his thin jaw and the sullen determination of his elongated eyes, he was a picture of defeatism.

“I’ve got something invested in this election that means the same thing as money,” Shayne said harshly. “My reputation for knowing my way around. Do you think I’ll let a weak-livered punk take that away from me?”

“I refuse to be intimidated. It’s my decision and nothing can change it.”

“I’ll see about that.” Shayne turned on his heel and went to the telephone, dialed a number.

He said, “Hello, Joe? Mike Shayne talking. Are you making book on the local election? Fine! I’ve got a little two-to-one money on Marsh.”

Out of the corner of his eye Shayne saw Jim Marsh’s face go ashen. The man jumped to his feet, ejaculating in a choked voice, “You mustn’t do that, Shayne. I warn you not to.”

Disregarding him, Shayne said, “Is that so, Joe? You’ve got so much Stallings money that the odds have dropped to even money? So much the better. Mark me down for a couple of grand.”

Marsh made a gesture of resignation and sank back into his chair.

Shayne listened a moment, frowning, then said, “No, Joe. I hadn’t heard that rumor. Sure. My bet stands on that basis. Two grand. And you’ll get a certified check in the morning.” He cradled the phone and turned casually to Naylor.

“You’d better grab some of that even money, too. Looks like a good thing to me.”

Turning his attention to Marsh, Shayne said, “There’s the pay-off. Now I have got money invested. The Stallings crowd is insisting that all bets will have to be paid even if you decide to withdraw for any reason. So I’m out on a limb on you for two grand. Saw it off if you’ve got the guts.”

He stalked out of the apartment. Naylor was behind him when he opened the elevator door. A triumphant smile wreathed his dark face, and he mopped sweat from it with a shaking hand.

“That was fast work, Shayne. By God, that was wonderful.”

Shayne shrugged off the compliment. He growled, “I still think he’s got better than an even chance to win. He must have let it slip that he was thinking of backing out and that’s brought a rush of Stallings money to knock the odds down.”

Shayne pushed a button, and they descended. “I don’t know what’s come over him,” Naylor complained. “I knew he was getting jittery about losing, but I’ve tried all along to tell him it’s in the bag.”

“He acts,” Shayne mused, “like a man that’s scared half out of his wits,” as the elevator reached the ground floor and they stepped into the foyer.

“That’s it. That’s exactly the impression I got,” Naylor agreed excitedly. He stretched his legs to keep pace with Shayne’s strides. “Do you suppose he has had some threat — something he hasn’t told us about?”

“I don’t know. Anyhow, I’ve bet two grand he’ll stay in line. Now it’s up to you to do your stuff.”