Brett Halliday - The Violent World of Michael Shayne

“And what does all this have to do with me?” Shayne said blurrily.

“Manners common closed this afternoon at one hundred and ten. I have thirty thousand men at work in five states. We’ve had enough delays. We’re finally rolling on this plane, and anything that holds us up now will be bad for everybody. There’s no question of canceling the contract. It’s too late for that. The reason National is making this big effort is to show they still have some political muscle, to lay the groundwork for the next time. No matter how big you are, you have to wade through a certain amount of mud to get a contract like this one. The reason I’m fighting Hitchcock’s investigation is that I don’t want any of the mud splattered on the airplane. Who made what promises, who paid what legal fees, who traded what favors for what phone calls-none of that matters, Shayne. What matters is how far can the plane fly without refueling? How fast? How much load can it carry? How soon will it be operational?”

“Well, as I say-” Shayne said.

Manners put his hands flat on the table and pushed himself erect, and Shayne realized that the industrialist must need sleep almost as much as he did himself.

“You’ve done what you were brought in to do,” Manners said evenly. “Pleasant dreams. Here.” He held out the whiskey bottle, which was still three-quarters full. “Take this with you. The bars close at two and you’ll have trouble getting a drink. What I’m trying to get across is this: Rebman did badly tonight. But he’s a capable man, and don’t underestimate him. Think about my offer. It’ll still be open in the morning. If anybody else tops it, bear in mind that there’s nothing I won’t do, and I mean that literally, to put that airplane into production. Don’t get in the way.”

“Hell,” Shayne said, “I’m getting out of it as fast as I can. I don’t go around looking for trouble.”

“Where do we find the Buick?”

“Around the corner from a spot called the Bijou on Wisconsin. I don’t know the name of the street.”

“Stevens!” Manners called.

The big man came out of the bedroom and Manners said, “Shayne’s leaving.”

Manners and the redhead exchanged a look. They obviously respected each other, but they made no move to shake hands. One of the things Shayne was wondering was who had smoked the cigarettes in Manners’ ashtray. He grinned at Stevens and said, “Mind if I use your bathroom?”

He took two long strides and opened the other bedroom door. He heard someone moving and smelled cigarette smoke, but all he could see was a raincoat and a brown felt hat on one of a pair of twin beds. Then Stevens, moving fast, took the doorknob out of his hand.

“Mr. Manners has things to do.”

“I won’t insist,” Shayne said peaceably.

Manners was watching him. The phone had begun to ring, but he made no move to answer it until the redhead half waved and went out. Manners was clearly not finished for the night, and neither was Shayne. He had been watching the polished performance of an accomplished magician; his eye had been misdirected, so he had been looking the wrong way when the substitution was made. If he went to bed now, he would wake up in the morning to find that something surprising and possibly ugly had happened. “Terrific, isn’t he?” Stevens said on the stairs.

“Yeah,” Shayne agreed. “I don’t know if I’d like to have him around all the time. It would be like living with a band-saw.”

“Oh, he’s OK if you do what he says. When you’re working for Manners you don’t sit around wondering who’s boss. He’s got that big company in the palm of his hand, like this.” He clenched his fist, which was the size of a small cantaloupe. “Rebman, now, Mr. Manners is going to take off his hide in strips.”

They said goodnight, and Stevens stayed in the doorway until Shayne got into his Ford and drove away. Manners had obviously been conferring with someone when Shayne arrived, driving the visitor into the bedroom. It was a clear, hot night, with no sign of rain, so why, Shayne wondered, had the visitor been wearing a raincoat?

He circled the block. Turning back onto 16th, he parked across from the Royalton Arms. There was a similar apartment house on the opposite corner, with an equally flossy name, the Pickwick. He went into the lighted lobby, unscrewed the overhead bulb so he couldn’t be seen from the street, and waited.

Presently Stevens came out, squeezed into a compact sedan and drove off, probably to rescue Cheryl and the others from the locked Buick. Shayne dozed, leaning against the mailboxes, snapping awake abruptly as the door across the street opened again. This time it was a short, burly figure wearing the raincoat and felt hat Shayne had seen in Manners’ bedroom. The raincoat collar was turned up, the hat brim was turned down. Not much showed in between except the burning spark of a cigarette.

When he went around the building, Shayne left the lobby and slid into his Ford. A moment later he heard the roar of a powerful unmuffled motor. A squat black English sedan came out of the driveway. The man had taken off his disguise getting into his car. The raincoat had concealed an Air Force uniform. Light glinted from the insignia on his shoulders; they were eagles.

Shayne waited a moment so the colonel wouldn’t know he was being followed. That was Shayne’s only hope, for the English car had a fast acceleration and considerable power. Shayne managed to hang on for several miles, while they made their way north and west, toward Virginia. He could not work close enough to be sure of the license number.

On Connecticut Avenue, Shayne was held up for a moment by a turning truck. It was a big tractor and trailer, and there was nothing Shayne could do but wait. While it was inching out of his way, the colonel turned off to the right into a maze of side streets. There Shayne lost him.

1:40 A.M.

The phone rang a long time. It was answered by two voices, a fraction of a second apart. One was the Swedish maid, the other Trina Hitchcock.

“Miss Hitchcock?” Shayne said. “Michael Shayne. Will you get the maid off the extension?”

“Michael?” she said vaguely. “Michael Shayne. I have it, Hanna, this is my call.”

There was a click as the maid hung up. Trina said, “You’ll have to start over. I took a pill and I’m not quite in focus. You aren’t still working?”

“Yeah, I’m still working. The Maggie Smith thing seems to be taken care of. But I don’t like the way it happened-it was too easy.”

“Too easy? Mr. Shayne, you aren’t getting through to me. Is she leaving town?”

“It doesn’t matter if she does or not. I’ve got a written admission from Hugh Manners of what she was doing for them and how they were paying her. It won’t hang anybody, but your father can’t pretend he doesn’t understand it. I don’t want to show it to him yet. I’d like to let him go on thinking she went out with him because she liked him. Maybe I’ll send her a copy and tell her I’ll use it if she tries to get in touch with him again. She’s been yanked off by Toby, more or less in my hearing, and I think that probably winds it up.”

“Mr. Shayne!” Trina wailed. “Have pity! You’re going too fast. How in heaven’s name did you get an admission out of Hugh Manners? I can hardly believe it. But there’s no need for you to hang around indefinitely. Why don’t we consider that your part is finished? Give me the letter or what-ever it is. I’ll keep my eyes open. If Daddy shows any signs of doing anything foolish, I’ll let him see it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Shayne said. “Manners sent three people after me, two men and a girl. The girl was wearing a two-hundred-dollar dress. They offered me a large hunk of money and took a swipe at me with a blackjack. And right after that they gave me Maggie Smith without batting an eye. There’s something phony about it.”