Brett Halliday: Lady, Be Bad

Breaking off abruptly, he looked up. A man had stopped at their table.

“Why,” Rourke said. “Boots Gregory. We were just talking about you.”

Shayne looked the new arrival over, without hurrying.

Gregory wore long, carefully shaped sideburns and an excellent tan. In his thirties, he was beginning to show signs pointing to not enough hard exercise and too much good food. His teeth were too remarkable to be entirely natural. His clothes were as good as any Shayne had seen all day. The back of one wrist was tattooed with a simple motto: LOOKING FOR TROUBLE.

Shayne had his back to the street. Without looking directly at Rourke, he saw the reporter check the door and the front window, picking up Gregory’s companions. There were three at a minimum.

“Sit down and have a cup of coffee,” Shayne said easily. “Maybe you can clear up a few things that have been bothering us, such as why somebody from St. Pete should be interested in what happens in Miami.”

Gregory shook his head. “I want to talk, but to just you, Shayne. You others, wait outside.” He added, “Please.”

His voice was hoarse, a kind of harsh whisper. He kept his attention fixed on Shayne. His hands hung loosely, twitching. There was a hard glint in his eyes.

“He said ‘please,’” Shayne said in the same relaxed tone. “That shows he wants to be friendly. We could get along very well, depending on how much money he’s planning to offer me.”

Gregory waited, the slight movements of his hands his only sign of tension. Rourke made another quick count, and then, when Shayne nodded, stood up.

“Pretty crowded in here, Mike. They couldn’t do much.”

“You’re getting so warlike, Tim. We need to know where everybody stands.” He nodded to Jackie. “Go on with Tim. I’ll be in touch.”

“All right, Mike. I’d like to kick him, but if you say not to-”

Shayne didn’t watch them go. Gregory pulled back a chair and sat down, pushing the dirty dishes to one side.

“You try to keep people off-balance, don’t you, Shayne? I thought after this morning you might make us give you a hard time.”

“You mean the kid on the helicopter? He forgot to say ‘please.’” He indicated Gregory’s tattoo. “People who look for trouble usually find it.”

“Kid stuff,” Gregory said in his hoarse voice. “I had that done in the Marine Corps. Very dumb. You did us some damage with all that crap about Las Vegas.”

“Did you think so? I doubt if it changed any votes. Let’s adjourn to a bar. I could use a drink.”

He picked up his attache case. Gregory’s eyes tightened.

“Roll with it, Shayne. Put it on the table.”

“‘Please?’”

“Please,” Gregory said after a hesitation.

Shayne laughed. “I don’t believe in shooting first and then asking questions. That way you don’t get any answers.”

Gregory put his finger on the bullet hole in the lid of the attache case. “But you make an exception sometimes, don’t you? No hard feelings.” He took a single cigarette out of a pocket and put it in his mouth. “The kid was a homo. He sneaked by on me. Good riddance. One of the things I heard about you, Shayne, is you don’t like to be taken. You like to know who you’re working for.”

“That’s a fair statement. Who am I working for?”

“You don’t know, do you? That leaves you wide open. You could come out of this with a lifted license, and I wanted to warn you. Ask yourself. The babe has a dinky little one-desk agency. Why did they pick her to set up that do-gooders’ committee, out of all the publicity outfits in the state?”

“You tell me. I’ve been out of town.”

“I figured it out right away. Because she’s known to be shacking up with you.”

“Is she known to be shacking up with me?” Shayne said evenly.

“Now don’t start running a temperature. You know what I mean. You’ve got separate apartments but you don’t get home every night, and that could be put on the record. Don’t think I’m threatening you. I’m just pointing out one of the facts.”

Shayne heard a familiar hammering beginning behind his eyes. He forced himself to lift his cup slowly and take a sip of the bitter, lukewarm coffee. Putting it down, he turned to glance toward the door. He saw Ramon Elvirez, who had been part of the morning’s effort, lounging near the cashier’s counter, a toothpick between his lips. Jackie and Rourke were no longer in sight.

Gregory was watching him. “I decided to put on the full-court press this time, four men including myself. If that many people can’t handle you we might as well quit. You’ve got nothing at stake here. As far as the bill goes you’re neutral. I’m doing it this way, I mean with kid gloves, because if we’re going to end up neighbors do we want to be snapping and snarling every time we pass on the street?”

“Who’s going to pass out the licenses if the bill goes through?”

“That’s all been taken care of. Behind the scenes, as it were.”

“You plan to move to Dade County?”

“I believe I’ll have to. My roots are on the Gulf, but when this kind of opportunity comes along I’m not about to say no. I’m one of the few people on the list who’s as clean as a hound’s tooth. No arrest record at all, casino experience to boot.”

“What casino experience?”

“In St. Albans. I operated one of the best stores in the Caribbean, for three-and-a-half years. A little dust at the end about an educated wheel, but nobody proved anything. I parted friends with everybody, including the commissioners. I’m liquid. I can lay my hands on the necessary capital on a few days’ notice. I see why you’re playing it cagey, because naturally you want to be covered, either way. All I’m saying, the cagiest thing you can do is get out of Tallahassee for twenty-four hours, and I’m going to help you and take care of your expenses.”

“How does it happen you don’t have a record?”

“Partly luck. Partly good sense. Then in St. A., those three-and-a-half years, I was legit. I was corresponding secretary of the goddamn chamber of commerce.” He leaned forward and breathed on Shayne; he could have played the lead in a bad-breath commercial. “Time we were moving. I’ll carry your case.”

“What do you have in mind, and why should I cooperate?”

“I’ve got your chick. Dig? That helicopter thing this morning-we threw it together on the spur of the moment. There wasn’t much planning involved. This way is better. Kind of corny, but no reason it shouldn’t work.”

Shayne shook out a cigarette and lit it. “Even if the bill goes through, maybe you ought to stay out of Miami.”

“But why?” Gregory blinked. “No, let’s kick this around. I don’t want any misunderstanding. Put yourself in my shoes. I’ve got real dough tied up in this thing, and I can’t just sit on my hands. With anybody else, I might be tempted to blast you. But in the first place it would hurt the bill. Mafia methods and all that garbage. Or I could put you in the intensive-care unit of some hospital. But that wouldn’t be too ideal, because you’d go back to Miami bearing a grudge. Never mind about my tattoo. I don’t run from trouble, but if I can avoid it, well and good.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better about everything if you paid me some money?”

Gregory studied him. “You’re kidding,” he decided. “No, this is best. The chick’s going to be o.k. My people have strict instructions not to lay a finger on her or on the guy either, unless you give me some trouble.”

“How far are you sending me?”

“As far as you can get on a tankful of gas. I chartered a Lear Executive, a JetStar. I’ll pay for your lunch.”