Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 33, No. 2, July 1973

Bird said, “He didn’t give me trouble, Mr. Brown.”

The nervous mail shot the kid a dark glance, then looked at Shayne head-on. “You’ve given me a headache or two in the last couple of days, shamus. How come you had to poke a beak in something that didn’t involve you?”

Shayne made his grin cold and crooked. “Those three boys the other night, they belonged to you, huh?”

The man called Brown puffed hard on the cigarette. “I should let the kid take you out to a graveyard. He don’t like you either.”

“Birdie?” Shayne said, lifting shaggy eyebrows. He turned the grin on the youth. “You got a beef with me, Birdie?”

The kid attempted to keep his smile, but he had trouble as he shuffled in agitation.

Shayne squared on Brown. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. You’re a stranger in town. You come in here with three boys who like to play bang-bang. So they end up dead. Tough. No skin off my hide. Then you make a second mistake. You hire yourself a boy who still is wet behind the ears. Bird-boy doesn’t know siccum about this town, Brown. If he did, he’d have clued you. Your Uncle Michael Shayne didn’t come out of the gate yesterday. You want something from him, you deal direct. Like now. I’ve got a corpse. You got ten grand cash?”

Brown butted the half-smoked cigarette, lit a fresh one with a match. He was like a spring wound up tight. He wanted to strike out, kill, but he was greedy too.

“Produce,” he growled.

“When I see the money.”

“You bring the stiff here, shamus, then you get the bundle.”

Shayne attempted to act surprised. “You want me to haul a corpse out here in broad daylight and lug it into this room like it’s a suitcase?”

“I don’t care how you do it, Shayne, but I see the stiff before you get your green.”

“How come this corpse is so valuable?”

“Forget it, man! Deliver!”

“And if I don’t?”

“Hit him, Bird! Kill him!”

“Hold it!” Shayne put up a palm as the kid at the door yanked out a .38. “I’ll make the call.”

“You take Bird, and you go get the stiff,” Brown said, shaking his head. “No calls.”

“I make a call,” Shayne said flatly. “My partner will bring your treasure here. He’s tired of sitting up nights with a dead guy anyway; he’ll be happy to oblige.”

Brown debated.

“Look,” Shayne pushed, “you send Bird-boy with me and I’ll have him stretched out beside the other stiff in five minutes. I could’ve had him the other night, I could’ve had him today. I didn’t have to come here. I came because I’m not allergic to ten big bills. So I humored your boy. I let him bring me. Savvy?”

Brown was having a tough time figuring. He didn’t want to believe the savage looking redhead, but it was obvious he had doubts about Bird’s capabilities too. “How long will it take your friend to get here?” he asked.

“An hour.”

Bird said from the door: “Don’t trust him, Mr. Brown. He’s got a rep for—”

“Shut up!” Brown glowered. “You got the heat in your hand. What’s he gonna do against heat? Okay, Shayne, make your call. And tell your friend to snap his tail.”

Shayne turned to the phone, lifted the receiver. But the kid leaped at him, popped a finger down and broke the dial tone.

“Who are you calling?” he wanted to know.

Shayne slapped the youth’s hand from the phone, dialed Outside. He got a different dial tone, then his big fingers danced nimbly as he called Will Gentry’s private number at police headquarters. He sucked a breath. Come on, Will-boy, he thought, just this one time, be there.

Gentry’s growl brought a genuine grin to the detective’s mouth.

“Rourke?” he said. “Listen, and listen good. We’ve got the payoff in sight. But you have to bring the stiff here.”

Gentry didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then: “You in a corner, Mike?”

“I’ve got some people here who want to buy.”

“How many people?”

“Two.”

Shayne sensed the movement behind him and he stiffened. Then Brown yanked the phone receiver from his ear and glowered at him. “Cut the chit-chat, shamus. Tell him to get his tail out—”

“He doesn’t want to run into an army,” Shayne snapped. “My friend’s cautious that way. He figures if there’s an army here, he might not get his dough. He figures he might get dumped in a ditch instead.”

Brown snarled, “Tell him to move it!”

“Roll,” Shayne said into the phone. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. Tim.”

“Where?” Gentry snapped.

Shayne gave him the address and then he added, “How long you figure to get here?”

“Thirty minutes. Can you hang on that long?”

“That’s what I told these people. An hour. Okay, Tim, snap it. The green is here, but they’ve got to see the product before they buy. We’ll be waiting.”

He put the phone together, looked at Brown, who had puffed a cigarette down to the filter tip.

“You play gin?” the redhead asked innocently.

Brown told him to sit on the edge of a bed and shut up. Brown paced and smoked. Bird remained at the door, the .38 in his hand. Bird looked wary. He shuffled a lot and his eyes danced. Shayne wanted to be closer to the youth. He wanted to be within leaping range. Maybe Brown would allow him to pace, too. Later.

Brown stopped pacing and stared at the detective.

“Where the hell did you store a stiff, shamus?”

“In an ice house.”

Brown lit a new cigarette and resumed walking. He snapped a drape aside, looked out the window.

Shayne pondered. He wanted Brown to sit down, relax. He didn’t want him looking out windows. It was why he had told the nervous man the transportation of the body would take an hour. He wanted Brown to be in a chair, unprepared, when Gentry and his troops moved in.

Shayne said, “Show me the green.”

Brown snapped around from the window. He gave the detective a hard look. “In time.” He resumed pacing.

Shayne knew. Brown didn’t have ten thousand dollars. Brown had planned a rubout. He’d take his stiff and run while Bird did the dirty work.

Twenty-five minutes had passed when Shayne stood. Bird snapped away from the door, the gun in his hand came up. Brown looked up from lighting a fresh cigarette. “Cool it, Shayne.”

“My knees are getting stiff,” the redhead growled. He stretched long and hard, exaggerating the action. Then he went to the window, parted the drapes with his hands. He almost grunted his surprise. Gentry was outside. He was getting out of a dusty, unmarked sedan. He was alone. He raised his arms and stretched, acting as he’d just completed a long drive.

“Who’s out there?” Brown snapped.

And then Brown made a mistake. He joined Shayne, pushed the drape wider.

“Just some guy checking in next door, I guess,” the redhead said.

But Bird was alert. “How come we didn’t hear him drive up?”

Shayne grabbed Brown’s arm and whirled, spinning the surprised man toward Bird. And he got what he wanted. Bird raised the gun in surprise. The muzzle angled toward the ceiling.

Shayne followed Brown, slamming palms against his chest. Brown crashed into Bird, pinning the youth against the door. Shayne reached up and caught the gun in both hands, twisted viciously. Bird howled and Brown shouted a string of oaths.

Shayne shot a knee into Brown’s groin, doubling the man. Then he yanked Bird away from the door, flipped the gun from his fingers and sent him into a headlong dive into the bath. The top of Bird’s head crashed into the back of the stool. Shayne kicked Brown in the face and went after the kid. He slammed a heel down on Bird’s spine as the youth started to come up. Bird’s jaw caught the edge of the stool and he went limp.