Brett Halliday - At the Point of a. 38

Shayne left the purse and the pistol at the water’s edge and waded out after a retreating wave. He seized the woman’s wrist with his one good hand and twisted. She snapped her teeth at him. When she understood who it was, the fight stopped abruptly. Coddington had a hard swing under way. It landed, and sent her down with a splash. He stayed on hands and knees, panting.

Another wave nearly knocked him over. Floundering, he said in disgust, “I’ll have to spend more time in the gym. A hundred and ten pound female. She damn near whipped me.”

“She’s had basic training,” Shayne said. “It’s all right, we’re all on the same side.”

Wincing, Coddington adjusted himself inside his wet clothes. “Why didn’t you tell me three minutes ago? I think she crippled me.”

He had lost his own gun during the fight. Shayne picked it out of the water and stuck it in his sling while Coddington was washing the blood off his face. The woman stood up, lost her footing and went down again. Then she stamped out onto dry sand, soaked to the skin and furious. She shook her wet hair, sending water flying. One of Coddington’s swings had caught her in the eye, and it was already beginning to puff.

“Why did you come jumping out on me like that?” she demanded. “Who are you? Who is he?” she asked Shayne. “Is that Murray Gold in your car?”

Her wet dress was molded to her body. Except for her injured eye, she looked very good.

“Well?” she said. “Is that Murray Gold? What is taking place here behind my back?”

“It’s Gold,” Shayne said. “But he’s been shot. He’s stopped running for the time being. How did you know where to look for me?”

She pulled at her dress to keep it from adhering so closely.

“My gun,” she said, dropping it in her purse. “I couldn’t fall asleep in the motel, after all. I did considerable telephoning. I learned about Homestead Beach from the mother of Helen. The moment I arrived, the guns went off. You drove away with Gold and the girl. That seemed peculiar to me, and it still seems peculiar! There he was, the evil man Gold, helpless, why didn’t you wait for the police? I really know nothing about you, do I? And the things one hears about American private detectives-Has he offered you a bribe to let him escape? Have you accepted? When you stopped here, talking, I became impatient and tried to come close on foot, so I could hear. And then this man-”

“Henry Coddington,” Shayne said. “Miami Police Department, plainclothes. Reasonably honest, as far as I know.”

“Thanks,” Coddington said. “If I spoiled anything here, I’m sorry. She had the gun out, and I thought I’d better grab her. Have you got my. 38?”

“Yeah,” Shayne said. “I’ll hold it for now. I don’t want anybody else shot.”

They were returning in a group to Shayne’s car.

“Some crazy things have been happening,” Shayne told the woman. “Murray’s been having second thoughts, and I think he’s going to help us.”

They reached the Buick. Helen, crying hopelessly, was alone in the back seat. Murray Gold was gone.

“I thought things were going to be different,” Helen said, blaming Shayne. “It’s all going to be exactly the same. Just like before.”

“Not quite,” Shayne said. “You’ll be on probation if you’re lucky. If you aren’t lucky you’ll be in jail. Where’s Murray?”

The woman beside Shayne took a quick step, and saw the packages of money scattered about on the front and back seats. She turned on Shayne. “You let him buy you. Where is he?”

As though in answer to her question, an engine coughed and took hold. The sound came from around the bend to the north, and was followed by a shriek of tires as a car peeled out on the highway, being pushed to the extreme limit of the gear. Shayne and Coddington looked at each other.

“That sounds like my Mustang,” Coddington said. “She starts to shimmy at seventy. We can catch him.”

“Hell with it,” Shayne said. “We’ve got better things to do than chase an old man off the expressway. We can pick him up later.”

“He took one of the guns,” Helen said, “so you’d better watch out. He’s meaner than he looks.”

The woman said incredulously, “You’re letting him escape! So you can keep the money.”

“Money,” Helen said bitterly. “That’s a laugh.”

Suddenly furious, Shayne pulled the car door open. “You’re a mess. Climb the hell out and hit the road before I lose my temper and work you over.”

“You big tough men.”

Shayne grabbed her shirt and pulled hard. The others stayed out of it. Helen fell in the sand. He faked a kick and she moved out of range in a flurry of arms and legs. She stood up, wiping at her wet face.

“It’s so damned unfair. What’s the point of trying? All right, if that’s the way you feel.”

“Damn right it’s the way I feel. I don’t like you and I don’t like the rest of your family.”

She turned. Shayne aimed another kick at her, catching her neatly between the over-ripe buttocks, lifting her off the dirt and assisting her some inches in the direction of the highway. She yelped and ran.

“You’re forgetting something,” Shayne called.

He reached into the car for her Raggedy Ann doll and threw it after her. She came back to get it, ready to jump and dodge, and then started off along the road, crying. When a car approached she stuck up her thumb, but no sensible motorist would pick her up until she did something to improve her appearance.

While this was going on, the woman was gathering the packages of bills and stuffing them into the open satchel.

“I’ve been wanting to kick that girl since the minute I saw her,” Shayne said. “It’s the one satisfying thing I’ve done all day. What we’ve got to do now-”

“Mike,” Coddington warned.

The woman backed out of the car, closing the satchel, and pointed her long pistol at Shayne.

“I want to have nothing more to do with you people, my dear Mr. Shayne. I don’t trust you any longer. So you are above being bribed? Not at all, here is the evidence of it, money being counted. I see that I must pursue my quarry single-handed. All Americans are thieves.”

“Do you think she’s serious with the gun?” Coddington said, his hands out from his sides.

“You handled her the last time,” Shayne said. “Let me do this one.”

The woman backed away. “Please. You think I’m not serious.” Groping inside the front seat, she pulled out the ignition key and scaled it into the ocean. “I am serious, serious enough to shoot you both. I will permit nothing further to go wrong, or return home with my mission unaccomplished. Stand still.”

Shayne grinned and started forward. She backed off another step, and when he kept coming, she fired.

He looked at her blankly and fell to his knees. He balanced like that for an instant, then toppled over, careful to fall on his good arm.

She swung the gun toward Coddington. “I have more bullets. Perhaps you will now believe me.”

“I believe you.”

She moved backward. Helen, on the highway, watched open-mouthed. A dozen steps from the car, the woman began running sideward, throwing quick glances back to be sure Coddington stayed in the open.

The detective started to move.

“Jesus, Mike-”

“I’m O.K. Blanks.”

Coddington swore savagely. “I keep forgetting this is a Shayne operation. Blanks-great. I wish you’d told me. My stomach turned over. What a lousy feeling. Turned completely over.”

When the woman passed out of sight, Shayne pushed himself up. A car was heard to start. Coddington was walking toward the water. Shayne called him back.

“I saw where the key went in,” Coddington said. “I think I can find it. Don’t feel sorry for me-I’m already wet.”