Brett Halliday - Six Seconds to Kill

The ambulance reached the North-South Expressway and really took off. They left at the Opalocka exit. Shayne was still going through the motions, but he was no longer getting results. The ambulance made a final screaming turn and skidded into a covered receiving area. Someone threw the back doors open, and Dr. Irving Miller took over.

He smelled and tasted the needle, then plunged it into his own forearm. He waited an instant, then selected a hypodermic from several that were already prepared, and injected it in her shoulder. A second doctor pricked her finger and filled a syringe with blood.

Shayne kept out of their way. She was still unconscious when she was carried inside.

“How’d you like the ride we gave you?” the driver asked, grinning. “I figured for seventy-five bucks you deserved a little something extra.”

Shayne shook his flask. It was empty.

“Where can I get a drink around here?”

“You’re in the wrong place, man. This is for drying out alcoholics.” He added, “But I happen to have a pint I could sell you.”

“How much?”

“Call it twenty-five, and then I won’t have to remember to send you change from that hundred.”

Shayne agreed, and had a drink from the costly bottle before going inside. He was directed to a small elevator which took him to the third floor. A pretty blond receptionist started as he entered the waiting room.

“Mr. Shayne? If you’ll wait here, Dr. Miller will let you know when he can-”

The furniture looked comfortable, but Shayne didn’t sit down. Several expensively dressed people sitting around the room stirred uneasily and tried not to look at him. He was holding a pint bottle of whiskey, a black wig, and a loose bundle of women’s clothing, from which a bra dangled. Having been in and out of the shower with Camilla, his clothes were soaked. She had thrown up on him and spilled coffee on him. None of that could be helped. He drank again from the bottle.

In her nervousness the receptionist broke the point of her pencil. “Would you mind putting that bottle in your pocket, Mr. Shayne? If any of our patients-”

Ten minutes passed before Dr. Miller called him into the corridor.

“Paul London’s with her, but that’s not what she needs right now. She’s still very disoriented. I gave her a shot of Nalline to counteract the morphine, and it seems to be taking hold nicely. Her breathing is normal. But she seems to have barbiturates inside her as well as the morphine, and I don’t want to let her sleep right now. Her blood shows a trace of alcohol, which is bad in combination.”

“Can she talk?”

“I want her to talk. The next quarter hour is critical. She’s blocking out everything that happened. That’s understandable, but it could do her considerable damage. She’s convinced herself that she’s worthless. If you could make her realize somehow that at this moment she’s the most important person in Miami-”

They stepped out onto a broad terrace overlooking the bay. Several patients in bathing suits were taking the sun in reclining deck chairs. Camilla, wearing a red robe, was walking beside Paul London. Although she was leaning on him heavily, she was definitely walking. She stopped when she saw Shayne.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came in an ambulance, but I’m only a visitor.”

“I want you to go away, please. I happen to be quite sick.”

“That’s not news.”

“Leave me alone.”

Shayne glanced at Miller. The plump little doctor remained detached, watching them with his thick glasses pushed down his nose. Shayne pulled Camilla out of Paul’s grasp and slammed her against the high parapet. The sunbathers sat up in alarm. Paul made a movement of protest, but Shayne elbowed him aside and caught Camilla as she came off the wall.

“Nine o’clock last night you picked up the suitcase and took it to the ladies’ room. The gun was inside the suitcase. You had to touch it, but it made you sick to your stomach.”

She began to cry. “The lights were so bright there. The whiteness, the mirrors.”

“What did you do?”

She looked confused. “I ran out in the dark where the planes were. My shadow was hundreds of feet long, tall and thin. It wasn’t like me at all. It went on and on and then vanished. People were shouting, shouting.”

“When you run out on a busy airfield you have to expect to be shouted at.”

“The lights. Blue lines of light running away forever. I thought if I was an airplane I could run between the blue lights and fly! A big jet roared at me and I ran into a dark building. I was frightened. There were dim lights there like a church.”

“Were there planes in the building?”

“Oh, yes. An oily smell. I was so exhausted. I looked for a place to rest. Everything was metal, cement.” She drew back. “What’s the matter with you, Mike? You’re soaking wet.”

“I took a shower, and forgot to take my clothes off.” He smiled at her. “Baby, you’re wild.”

“I am not,” she said seriously. “I’m basically colorless and uninteresting. I can’t do the simplest thing, like tying my shoelaces or fastening a bra. Somebody was looking for me with a big flashlight. It kept stabbing in the darkness, coming closer and closer. I shot at it. When it didn’t stop coming I was so frightened I tried to shoot myself, but I couldn’t even do that. I felt so blue and depressed. He said he wanted to be my friend. He said kind things to me, and how I needed kindness. I gave him the gun and he turned out the flashlight and we talked in the dark, under a big plane. We talked a long time. We went somewhere in his car. We drove and drove. Then there was a dark room with a mattress on the floor. I think we made love. Did we, Mike?”

“Probably.”

“Then it was morning, the phone was ringing. I couldn’t remember why I was there, what day it was. He told me what I should do. He made me wind my watch and told me what time it should say. There were pills and a glass of water, and they made me feel better. There was a dress to put on. I found it in the bathroom and went back to the phone. He explained what I should do about the elevator at the hotel, the table I should pull over so no one could follow me into the elevator, how many shots-” She stopped, suddenly uncertain. “How many shots to fire. I missed, I know.”

Shayne had seen a recreation room off the terrace. He took her there and snapped on the television. Everything had been canceled because of the assassination. She watched with interest at first, and then smiled indulgently.

“You really are ingenious, Mike. I thought that was real for a minute.”

He snapped off the set. “One thing I don’t understand is how you could make love to the guy, even in the dark.”

“I’m not particular. I didn’t look at him.”

“Not even in the car?”

She shook her head. “I simply-went with what happened. He was part of the night. I did what he told me, to get in the car, to wait while he telephoned somebody, to come inside and undress. I was frightened of him. Dark glasses. I’m worried about people who wear dark glasses at night. In the room with the mattress there were no bulbs.”

“You talked about Crowther with him.”

Again she shook her head. “He talked about Crowther. I can remember some of the things he said-very stupid things. That Crowther was a murderer of little children. That if I shot him I’d be part of something much bigger than a single person. What he was really saying was that I had to do it. I had to do what he said.”

“Then you made love. Was he tall or short? You remember something. Fat or thin?”

“Mike, I’m not at all sure we made love.” The questioning was beginning to worry her. “I sometimes make love to people I don’t want to know anything about. I’m sorry I can’t help you. You should know better than to expect any help from me.”