Brett Halliday - Violence Is Golden

Shayne drew a deep breath. “I would have found it out soon enough. Thanks very much, but I can’t use you. They’re giving you an out and for God’s sake take it. This isn’t a simple smuggling operation. There are other angles.”

“But I’d be helping you, didn’t I make that clear?”

“Yeah, baby, but-” He ran his hand through his hair. “You’d be a chain around my leg. Can’t you see I have to be ready to jump?”

“No, I can’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t hamper you. Right now I think I’ll go back to the hotel and take a nap. Then I’ll get up and wander around and take a few pictures and have dinner and gamble away the ten dollars they’re going to give us to lose in the casino, and go to bed. Go to bed alone, it hardly needs saying. And if I happen to observe anything that seems significant, I’ll pass it on to you privately. What’s so awful about that?”

Shayne finished his cognac. “I can’t put you in a straightjacket, as much as I’d like to. Just try not to do anything too stupid.”

“I have an IQ of a hundred fifty-four,” she said coldly. “And all my life it’s been a real burden. But I’ve taken one big step forward.”

“What’s that?” he said warily.

“You called me ‘baby.’ Nobody ever did that before.”

“Christ!” He stood up. “Are you coming?”

“We’d better not leave together. I’m going to order a milkshake. It may sober me up. Never mind about the check. This is on me.”

George Savage was drinking moodily in the Calypso bar at the hotel. Shayne slid onto the empty stool beside him and ordered a drink.

“I thought everybody was supposed to be out getting sunburned,” Shayne said. “Doesn’t that include you?”

George turned his head heavily. His breath was like a blowtorch and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I’m allergic to gnats. Naturally, we don’t mention the gnats in our literature. I stopped taking that damn schedule seriously weeks ago.”

“Your heart’s not really in the travel business?”

“That’s a fair statement.” He turned back to his drink. “I’ve been asking about you, Shayne, and this doesn’t seem to be your kind of caper at all.”

“Just a vacation.”

“And Santa Claus comes down the chimney every year on Christmas Eve, I understand. What’s happened to your technique? Why are you so determined to antagonize me? Oh, I can see how you figure. The billing-and-cooing stage with the Savages has been over for months. You may even have heard a rumor that I’ve been sleeping around, with this one and that one. You’re outgunned, so why not see what you can do about splitting up the opposition? That calculated put-down on the plane this morning-you made an enemy there, you know, and what did you gain by it?”

Shayne picked up the glass the bartender put down in front of him. “Does it matter?”

“It could matter very much. The floor clerk tells me, in return for a promise to mention her in my will, that you spent half an hour in Naomi’s room after lunch, and you had lipstick on your face when you came out. Goddamn it, it’s actually still there. Why can’t you be satisfied with that babe of yours? She’s one of the sexiest things I’ve seen in years.”

“You haven’t looked at your wife lately,” Shayne said. “She looks good in a bikini, and even better out of a bikini.”

“There,” George complained. “You’re trying to get me mad. And why? All it does is cloud the issue. There’s money at stake! I shouldn’t have to remind you. We’ve all got to keep our eyes on the Goddamn ball. Do we want to end up in the local can charged with drunk and disorderly? I mean, it’s all out of proportion. Why should I care what you do with Naomi? The whole concept of marital fidelity is out of the Stone Age. It simply doesn’t apply. From the rational point of view, if you want to fool around with my wife, why, go right ahead. Be my guest. But speaking from the gut, Shayne, stay away from that woman or by God I’ll-”

“You’ll do what?” Shayne prompted.

George spread his hands. “That’s just it. What can I do? My God, Shayne! There’s enough here for everybody. Don’t keep pushing me and prodding me or you’ll spoil it. You’ll end up with nothing. I’ll end up with nothing.”

“I don’t think I’ll worry about that,” Shayne said carelessly.

“I know what you’re trying to do! You’re trying to get me into a situation where I’ll have to do something to prove my manhood. I see through it, but that doesn’t mean I may not fall for it.” He looked at his watch. “Luckily I’ve got an appointment, or in another couple of minutes I’d be trying to knock you unconscious. And what good would it do?”

He knocked back the rest of his drink and pushed off from the bar. Shayne exchanged a look with the bartender, who lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.

Christa, wearing only earphones and a bathing suit, was smoking on one of the beds in the room she shared with Shayne. The bathing suit was punctuated here and there with circular openings, like Swiss cheese. It covered a greater area than Naomi’s bikini, but it was equally startling.

“Why did I ever think police work was going to be romantic and glamorous?” she said. “It seems to me I spend most of my time in hotel rooms listening to static.”

“George went up in the elevator a few minutes ago.”

“I heard him come in, yes. But he’s alone. No phone calls yet. The last thing I heard of any interest was at five minutes before two, when you were trying to seduce poor Naomi. Or was she trying to seduce you? I didn’t hear the beginning of that, and I couldn’t determine.”

Shayne laughed. “I had to do something to plant the bug. She was watching me like a hawk.”

“I thought you handled her very skillfully.”

“There at the end I was beginning to think we might have the wrong idea about her. Her marriage is a mess, but if George is in trouble, she might think she ought to cover up for him.”

“I see she impressed you.”

“For about two minutes,” Shayne said bleakly. “She has a damn nice figure. That shouldn’t make any difference, but it seemed to.”

“Oh?” Christa said coldly.

She sat forward suddenly. “Someone has come in.”

She summoned Shayne with a quick gesture and gave him an earphone. George’s voice came over clearly. He was probably lying on the bed only a few feet from the microphone.

“If I get out of this without ulcers, believe me-”

A woman replied, but the words were inaudible.

George went on, “And it was all supposed to be so very simple. Open and shut, a child could do it. Do you still think it’s simple?”

The woman’s voice, very faint and scratchy: “… panic. He’s overrated.” Then a murmur, ending with “… fool.”

“If you think Shayne’s a fool,” George said distinctly, “it’s because that’s what he wants you to think. We’re going to have to buy him off. It hurts me as much as it does you, but we’re going to have to give him a couple of those pretty gold loaves and tell him to get lost.”

The woman said something from across the room. He replied irritably, “Sure, I’ve been drinking. But you wouldn’t like to see me sober-I’d terrify you.”

More words were lost. Then: “… get rid of him.” Christa’s hand tightened on Shayne’s arm.

“And what do we do about the blonde?” George demanded. “I hope you don’t think she’s just some babe he brought along to while away those off-duty hours. That’s not my interpretation at all. She knows what’s going on, and underneath all that surface sexuality, she’s a very cold fish. A very cold fish. Take her temperature, and you’ll find it’s a long way below ninety-eight point six. Let’s pay them both. It’s much simpler.”