Brett Halliday - Murder Takes No Holiday

“That’s right,” Al said. “You’re being careful. Don’t move for a minute and we’ll get the boss. Whistle, Jose.”

He felt Shayne’s body for weapons. The smaller man was saying something rapidly in Spanish. He feinted at Martha with the heavy flashlight, and she retreated against the wall. He was smiling, showing pointed yellow teeth. He stabbed the flashlight at Shayne’s eyes, and kicked the redhead very hard beneath the right kneecap. Shayne gritted his teeth. Jose gave a light, wild laugh.

“Tell him to keep away from me,” Shayne said coldly, “or you’ll have to shoot me. The Camel may not like that.”

“The bastard can’t speak English,” Al said. “Jose, get back there, goddamn it, or I’ll break you in two.”

Jose responded with another swift outburst in Spanish. Al whistled, without succeeding in making much noise. Jose showed his disgust. Putting two fingers to his lips, he produced a piercing blast. Then he danced up to Shayne again. Looking up at the bigger man slyly, he drew back his foot, as though for another kick, aiming higher up. Shayne regarded him steadily, his fingers beginning to curl. Jose gave another brainless laugh and bending down, spat on the ground between them.

Al drew back from Shayne, motioning with his heavy gun. “Back up against the house. Next to the doll. Keep your hands out where I can see them, and don’t try to jump anybody. The boss tells me you’re on a Wanted sheet, and any guy who plugs you gets a thank-you letter from the governor. And at the same time, it turns out you’re a private eye. We’re all impressed. We don’t get many of those down here.”

“I’m on vacation,” Shayne said wearily.

“Some vacation,” Al said with a laugh. “Most people come here for their health. But not you, boy. You’ve been butting your nose in other people’s business, and that ain’t healthy.”

“I see you took off your earring,” Shayne commented, watching him. “I can’t tell in this light-how about the mascara?”

Al’s jaws snapped together, and his head came forward. “Don’t try to needle me. I take worse than that six nights a week from the local winos. Goddamn it, Jose, will you cool off?” He stepped forward to block the smaller man as he made another swift dart at Shayne. He explained, “He’s probably never had a chance to kick a private eye in his life. He’s excited.”

Alvarez and two others ran around the corner of the building. Shayne wasted no time on Alvarez, having studied him earlier in the evening, but gave the others a close scrutiny as they came within range of the flashlight. Both were Latins. One vaguely resembled Jose, but was larger, with a hairline mustache; he was probably Jose’s brother. The other, a plump, moon-faced youth, looked a little simple-minded.

“Well, Shayne,” Alvarez said, out of breath from the short run. He clapped his horn-rimmed glasses on his nose and peered at the American. “I thought you seemed a little smart to be a hoodlum. You fooled me with that police circular. Your timing on that was very good. But I think I fooled you a little in return, eh? Perhaps I was not quite so unconscious from this knock on the head as you thought. I sent you out for ice-cubes so I could look in your suitcase. And what did I find? A Florida private detective’s license, complete with fingerprints. Who you are working for, that I still do not know.”

“Mrs. Slater,” Shayne said evenly.

“I assumed as much. I was laughing in my sleeve when I brought you here to get her. I knew you would bring her out with no fuss or noise-out the back door, into our arms.”

“I’m sorry, Michael,” Martha said miserably.

“That’s all right,” Shayne said, his eyes moving from face to face around the little semi-circle. “You can’t win them all.”

“So now we make haste,” Alvarez said. “We will have to conduct Mrs. Slater to the rendezvous with her husband, where we will find out who is going around hitting people on the head with heavy wrenches. We will tighten the screws on this Paul Slater. He is not so much, in my opinion. I will ask him politely, and then Jose will ask him impolitely. This is a specialty of Jose, who can make a fish talk, as the popular saying goes. If Slater is stubborn, we will ask the same questions of his wife in his presence. From this Jose will get even greater pleasure, I think.”

Jose bobbed his head, grinning.

“Michael,” Martha said warningly as Shayne stirred.

“Oh, he will be careful,” Alvarez assured her. “North American private detectives, whatever else one may say about them, are well known to be perfectly sane. If they lose one case, they wish to remain alive to take another. So Michael Shayne will stand still and allow us to tie him up. Of this I am sure. Pedro, you have the line?”

It was true that the redhead had very little choice. The. 45, held unwaveringly in Al’s rocklike fist, was aimed point-blank at his stomach. Jose had Martha’s. 25, if nothing else. The moon-faced youth had his hand in the side pocket of his jacket.

Jose’s brother took out a small reel of fishing line and released the long blade of a spring-knife with a tiny ugly click. He cut off a length of the line and advanced on Shayne.

Jose let go another burst of Spanish. Alvarez tolerantly shook his head.

“He asks my permission to shoot you once in each knee,” Alvarez said. “A charming imagination. This would certainly interfere with your freedom of action, but I have another plan, a better one.”

Shayne ignored him and went on concentrating on Al. “If he told you to pull that trigger, what would you do?”

“Pull the trigger,” Al said calmly. “I told you to stop needling me.”

“Loyalty today is all too rare,” Alvarez said smugly.

Pedro pulled Shayne’s hands together behind him and tied them at the wrists. Suddenly the. 25 in Jose’s hand went off with a sharp crack. A comical look of surprise and consternation appeared in his mean little eyes. The gun had been pointing downward, and Shayne saw where a chip had been bitten out of the concrete.

Al said, “But you better do something about this nut or I’m going to have to lay his face open. He’s beginning to get on my nerves.”

Alvarez shot an order at Jose, who put the gun away sheepishly. Again Shayne heard the vicious snick of a knife behind him. After cutting another length of fishing line, Pedro began tying Shayne’s ankles, moving swiftly and surely. He threw a loop of line around one ankle, cinched it tight, then with another loop pulled Shayne’s feet together and made fast.

“I’d like to ask one question,” Shayne said, looking at Alvarez. “How many people can testify what you were doing a week ago Wednesday, between six and midnight?”

Squinting, Alvarez swung a roundhouse right at the redhead’s jaw. Shayne watched it coming. At the last instant he bent his knees, taking the blow on his forehead. It probably hurt Alvarez more than it did him, but because Shayne’s ankles were lashed together it knocked him down. He twisted as he fell, taking the jolt on his hip and shoulder.

“You need some work on the heavy bag,” Shayne said caustically. “I’ll be asking you that question again.”

Stooping, Pedro forced a folded handkerchief between Shayne’s teeth and bound it in place with another length of the waxed fishing line.

“I may not be here to answer you,” Alvarez said. “If all goes well with my friends the Slaters, I think I will use that plane Paul has chartered. Not to go to the States, however! As for you, it would distress me if someone came along and untied you. I am hardly ever in a position to do the police a favor, so I think I will tell them where to find you. I have your detective’s license, so you may find it difficult to convince them who you are. Goodnight, Shayne. I won’t say it’s been a pleasure.”