Brett Halliday - Murder Takes No Holiday

Her eyes changed slightly.

“You recognize the name?” Shayne said, improvising quickly. “Good. I heard tonight that Watts was the one who tipped off the customs on Slater. I might be able to use this with Martha. Besides being a Casanova and a smuggler, what if he’s a killer? I’ll be careful with it, because it’s the sort of thing that can boomerang. If you don’t feel like answering, say so.”

She shrugged. “It was nothing. Six months or so ago, Paul asked me to become friendly with this man. It was arranged that we meet by chance. I was charming as always, but he put his tail between his legs and ran. Paul laughed about it. He said I frightened the poor man.” She smiled up at Shayne. “But how could that be?”

Shayne said, “Paul didn’t bring it up again?”

“No, the next time I heard the name, someone said he was killed in a quarrel of some kind. I am only interested in living people. That is all? Then I think I must give you one kiss before you go.”

She came up on her toes. Her hands slipped around his body, inside his coat. Her fingers were on the overlapping layers of adhesive tape beneath his shirt.

It isn’t necessary to be a private detective to have an accident requiring that kind of bandage. It can happen to anybody, even to the hoodlum Shayne was pretending to be. But for some reason that little touch was all the girl needed. A spark flared in her eyes.

She said coldly, “So the Camel thinks the police have got you? And I see that they have not. Does that mean you are a policeman yourself?”

Shayne snorted. “Do I look like a cop?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Little things have made me wonder about you, and all at once I think that is just what you look like, a cop.”

She glanced at the door, then whirled and ran to the little window. He caught her in two strides and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could make any noise. His other arm was around her waist. She struggled against him, throwing herself from side to side. She had a dancer’s body-smooth and controlled. She tried to bite his hand, but he was gripping her too tightly.

After a moment she stopped resisting. He kept his hand over her mouth.

“If you’re going to start using your head this late in the day,” he said, “really use it. I’m a private detective. I faked up that flier the cops showed you. They had their hands on me tonight but I got away. I made them look a little stupid. That’s something no cop likes, I don’t care who he is. So I’m in the middle.”

She tried to speak.

“No, listen to me,” Shayne went on. “If I let you yell out the window, do you really think there’s anybody here who can stop me? Don’t be stupid. All that would happen is that the Camel would know you gave me directions. It wouldn’t matter to him who you thought you were talking to. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

After a second he felt her nod.

“All right. I’ll let you go now, but if you make a move in any direction I’ll forget it’s bad manners to slug a lady.”

He took his hand from her mouth first. When she made no attempt to yell he released her. She whirled, pulling the wrapper together, and looked at him defiantly. Her lipstick was badly smeared.

“Get out of here!” she cried.

“You mean you’ve stopped wanting to kiss me?”

She glared at him, but in another second she smiled slightly. “I didn’t say that. I said to get out of here.”

“Maybe I’d better tie you up before I go,” Shayne said. “Alvarez may have a phone at that place of his. I wouldn’t want you to tell him I’m coming.”

She flared up again. “Try it! You will have a fight on your hands, Michael Shayne!”

Shayne laughed. “I think I could win it, but somebody might come in and untie you.” He studied her. “O.K., baby, get some clothes on.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m going with you?”

“That’s exactly what I think,” Shayne said, becoming completely serious. “It’s the only way you can get off the hook. Do it right and the Camel won’t know you helped me. Slater won’t be any good to you dead. If I get him out of there in one piece, you can claim all the credit for it. Maybe he’ll be grateful.”

She said suspiciously, “Who is paying you?”

“Mrs. Slater,” Shayne answered impatiently. “It’s also true that because she’s an old friend of mine she isn’t paying me much. And there’s one thing I didn’t mention. I have a tape of a phone conversation between you and the Camel earlier tonight. You were a little cold-blooded at a couple of points there, I thought. It might hurt Paul’s feelings if he heard it.”

“You wouldn’t-”

“It would be a dirty trick, wouldn’t it?” Shayne said. “It might even give him the idea that you don’t really love him.”

“So,” she said after a pause. “Since you ask me so nicely, I will get dressed. Turn around, please.”

“Turn around, hell,” Shayne said. “And get a knife between my shoulder blades?”

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “In some ways you are rather impressive, you know?”

“Come on, come on,” Shayne said. “We don’t have all the time in the world.”

He put another cigarette in his mouth as she shrugged out of her wrapper.

She chose the dress with the Paris label. It was simple and black, and fitted her exactly. Shayne was in a position to know how much she was wearing in addition to the dress, and he felt she was somewhat under-clothed, even for this warm climate.

She stepped into her high-heeled shoes, and then was ready for her face. As she worked Shayne became more and more impatient. She left the full theatrical make-up on her eyes, giving most of her attention to her mouth.

“Better?” she asked, looking around.

“Fine, fine,” Shayne growled, “Let’s get going.”

He was waiting at the door. She picked up her purse, gave her reflection one last glance, and did something more to her hair.

“I don’t know why I have decided to trust you,” she said, giving him an upward glance through the long eyelashes.

“I do,” he said. “Because I’ve got the tape of that phone call stashed away in a safe place. Any monkey business going downstairs and you’re dead with Slater.”

“Don’t threaten me, Michael,” she said, smiling. “And to show you we are friends-” She went to the trunk and opened it. After tumbling the costumes around for a moment, she came up with a battered man’s hat. “Put this on. I have a song I sing sometimes in a tramp costume-not at the Pirate’s Rendezvous, of course, here they care only for what goes on beneath the costume. It is too large for me,” she added unnecessarily.

It was too large for Shayne, he found after he had punched it into shape and put it on. She giggled.

He let her go first. She looked down the stairs and along the corridor. Turning, she beckoned. They met no one on the stairs. At the bottom, as she turned into the corridor, she called a gay greeting to someone, and Shayne pulled down the brim of the grotesque hat. He had his hand to his cigarette screening the lower part of his face, as he passed a Negro porter leaning on a broom. The man looked at him curiously, and Shayne replaced his usual vigorous step with a spiritless shuffle. The old woman at the door was drowsing over an American movie magazine. Shayne went by with his head down, his hand still at his mouth.

Vivienne was waiting in the alley. She took his arm possessively, hugging it to her breast.

“Where is the car, cheri?”

Without answering, Shayne took her along the alley and up the steep street to the church. The Morris was parked where he had left it. Cecil Powys was behind the wheel.