Brett Halliday - Stranger in Town

“Gosh no! I’m sure she didn’t. I don’t think she even really knew about Jeanette being engaged. Jeanette wouldn’t dare tell her. Not that Jean’s a prude or anything. She’s just older and… different, sort of. She wouldn’t have understood and she certainly wouldn’t have approved. She would have done something to prevent it if she had known. I just don’t understand about her now,” faltered Lois. “What kind of danger is she in? Why is she in Brockton? Does Professor Henderson know about it?”

“Not yet. He isn’t going to know if I can help it until Jean is safely home. Who is the Will, Jeanette was engaged to?”

“Will… Lomax,” she said unwillingly. “Does he… will you have to tell him I told you?”

Shayne shook his head. “No reason at all for him to know where I got my information. Is he in college here?”

“Oh, no. He’s a town boy. I don’t know him really. I only saw him twice. Jean always slipped off alone when she went out on a date with him.”

“Where will I find him?”

“He lives here in town. I don’t know just where. I’m afraid he has a sort of wild reputation. He’s pretty old,” she confided. “About twenty-two or three, I guess. And he’s got a motorcycle and is a member of some sort of club that go around on their cycles. Jeanette told about riding on it behind him a couple of times on trips and what a thrill it was.”

Shayne said, “I’ll find him in a town the size of Winter Park.” He lifted a big hand and put it on Lois’ shoulder and squeezed gently. “You’ve been wonderful. And a big help. Go on now and try to forget all about it. Don’t worry about having betrayed Jeanette’s confidence. If she were alive, I’m sure she would have done the same for her sister.”

He leaned over behind her and unlatched the door on her side. “When you get engaged to some lucky man, try not to be too impatient. There are long, long years ahead for… what Jeanette didn’t want to wait for.” He felt choked up and paternal as the young girl responded to his advice with a wistful smile and slowly got out. He watched her walk slowly up the pathway toward the dormitory with bowed head, and then pulled away fast to begin his search for Will Lomax.

Michael Shayne stopped in front of the first drug store he saw, went inside to consult the telephone directory. There was only one Lomax listed, and that number didn’t answer when he tried to call it.

He emerged from the booth and went across to the prescription counter where an elderly, mild-faced man came from behind a partition to ask what he wanted.

“I’m trying to locate a young man named Will Lomax. Do you know him?”

“Would that be Jasper Lomax’s boy? Goodness me, I remember him in knee britches. Would he be a young man now? I guess he would at that. Time does fly, doesn’t it?”

Shayne politely agreed that it did, and asked the druggist if he could suggest where to start looking for Jasper Lomax’s boy.

“I couldn’t say for sure. You try phoning the house?”

“They didn’t answer.”

“Jasper drives a taxi. U-m-m, let’s see now. I recollect hearing recently something about Will. In some sort of trouble, I think. Nothing serious but some cussedness he’d got into. Tell you what. You walk down to the next corner where you’ll find Officer Herschel directing school traffic. He knows every kid in town and where they hang out.”

Shayne thanked him and went down the street to the next corner where a big red-faced man was genially herding a group of small children across the street.

The elderly policeman nodded at once when Shayne asked about Will Lomax. “Known him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.” He studied Shayne keenly. “What was it you wanted him for?”

“To ask a couple of questions about a college girl he’s been dating.”

Herschel had to step out to halt traffic for another group of children, and when he returned to the curb he asked Shayne bluntly, “You a dick?”

“Private. From Miami. Michael Shayne.”

“Say. I’ve heard about you. This mean trouble for Willie?”

“I don’t know. What sort of boy is he?”

“Wild,” said the officer succinctly. “Not bad, but just a showoff. He’s got in with a gang that roars around the country on motorcycles. They got a sort of clubhouse where they hang out just out on the road to Sanford. If he ain’t there, they’d maybe know where he is.” Shayne got directions for finding the clubhouse and went back to his car. It was just outside the city limits, an old derelict farmhouse that was easily identified by four motorcycles parked in the yard in front.

Shayne pulled into the driveway and got out. A hand-painted sign over the front door said, THE RED RAIDERS’ ROOST.

He heard a juke-box playing inside as he went up on the sagging wooden porch to the door. He turned the knob and went in.

There was a large square room brightly lighted by a hundred-watt bulb in the ceiling. The juke-box stood just to the right of the door, and there were a dozen or more rickety wooden chairs scattered about the bare floor. An ancient pool table was centered under the ceiling light, and two youths were playing rotation. In a far corner, another pair were on their knees shooting craps for small change, and three others were seated in chairs tilted back against the rear wall drinking beer out of cans.

The pool and dice games came to an abrupt halt as Shayne walked in unannounced. Seven youthful faces turned in his direction as though jerked by strings, and seven pairs of eyes regarded him with animosity.

They were all in their early twenties, and all dressed alike in what Shayne knew to be a sort of uniform worn by similar groups of young cyclists throughout the country. It consisted of tight-waisted Levis cinched low on swaggering hips with wide leather belts, and turned up high at the bottom so they came well above the ankles; dark T-shirts with the emblem of a racing motorcycle stitched in silver thread on the front; short, loose, black leather jackets that were uniformly unbuttoned; high, tightly-laced black leather half-boots, carefully shined to gleaming brightness.

None of the seven said anything. They studied Shayne appraisingly, with a disdainful air of arrogant truculence which they made no effort to conceal.

Shayne said, “Is Will Lomax here?”

One of the pool players moved slowly toward him. He did not put down his cue, but reversed it so the heavy end hung downward. He was heavy-set and dark-browed, with pimples on his face and a front tooth missing. He said belligerently, “This here’s a private club, Mister. You ain’t been invited.”

Shayne made an impatient gesture. “I was told in town I might find Will Lomax here. That your name?” He knew it wasn’t as he spoke. One of the trio drinking beer in tilted chairs at the back rocked forward so the front chair-legs thudded loudly on the floor. He stood up with his thumbs hooked in the front of the wide leather belt, and swaggered a little as he moved forward.

He was tall and lean and moved with the fluid grace of a wild animal. His face was very dark, and a lock of black hair slanted downward across his forehead. There was a reckless glint in his black eyes, and he was quite handsome in a daredevil sort of way. The two crap players gathered up their dice and money and rocked back on their heels watchfully. The others remained as they were, tense and waiting.

The tall youth stopped beside the cue-wielder and asked Shayne dispassionately, “What do you want with Will?”

Shayne said, “I want to ask you a few questions. About Jeanette Henderson.”

The dark face in front of him tightened. “What gives you the idea I’m the one you’re looking for?”