Brett Halliday: Murder Takes No Holiday

Malloy thought about it. “I don’t like it, Mike. Officially I have to keep on good terms with all the departments in the area.”

“Then don’t sign it with your own name,” Shayne said impatiently. “Use a mimeographed sheet. To all police chiefs in the Caribbean. From Joe Doakes, Miami office, FBI. Hell, do I have to draft it for you? If you really don’t like the idea, think of a better one.”

“I can’t on the spur of the moment,” Malloy admitted. “What name do you want on the picture?”

Shayne sighed. “Michael Shayne, I guess. Too many complications, otherwise. I hope Miss Hamilton doesn’t hear about it.”

“Well, you’re the one who’ll be taking the chances, Mike. Good luck.”

He put out his hand. The stewardess was signalling frantically with her clipboard. He called, “Coming.”

They shook hands briefly. As Shayne watched Malloy go up the aisle, his eyes were bleak. He turned abruptly and reached for the cognac.

Paul Slater scrubbed his hand through his fair hair. It was the color of driftwood, cropped very close. He wore only a pair of walking shorts. He was built like an athlete, and his movements were quick and graceful. He was beautifully tanned.

He ground out a cigarette viciously and looked at the girl lying on the bed, propped on one elbow. She was dark, with tousled black hair that looked as though it had been disarranged by a high wind. This was a deliberate effect, produced with care. She was both lithe and lush, an interesting combination which was readily apparent, as she was covered only by one corner of the sheet. That was where it was not because of modesty, but simply because that was where it had ended up.

She blinked up at Slater lazily. “But what was it like?”

“You don’t know, Vivienne,” he said with feeling. “You just don’t know. I’ve never been through anything remotely like it. The physical search-it was thorough and professional and humiliating, of course. Never mind. That I could stand. It was their attitude. I was dirt under their feet.”

“But you fool them, eh?” the girl said indifferently, speaking with a strong French accent.

“Oh, yes,” Slater said gloomily. “It worked like a charm. There’s no doubt about it, I’m a genius. But the one thing that I didn’t expect was the way I felt. At first they were polite and respectful. Not really polite, but they treated me as one professional to another. It was my job to fool them, it was their job not to be fooled. Then they found those miserable watch movements. I’ve been hauling them around in my suitcase ever since the duty went up, just waiting for this moment. Positively brilliant. And all at once I became ludicrous. Fifty watch movements! I wasn’t a professional after all, I was a bungling, half-witted amateur. After that they treated me with contempt. Naturally the judge couldn’t let me go without a tongue lashing. He did a good job of it, too. I was wriggling like a schoolboy.”

“If it had been me,” the girl said, “I would have been laughing at them inside the whole time.”

“That’s the way I always thought I’d feel,” he said, puzzled. He lit a fresh cigarette and breathed smoke out slowly. “But when you come to the point, all of a sudden it dawns on you-sure, they may be fools, but they also have the power to put you in prison for a long, long time. When you’re standing up in front of a judge who doesn’t think much of you, it isn’t quite so amusing. I walked out of the courthouse, and I should have been feeling fine. Everybody said their lines exactly the way they were supposed to. But what if they hadn’t? What if some eager type had wondered if I was as dumb as I looked, and really started dogging me around?” A slight shudder passed over his handsome body. “It makes me cold to think about it. The odds were about fifty to one. That’s a very good bet. But even fifty-to-one shots sometimes come in. It’s been known to happen.”

He stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and dropped one hand lightly onto her hip.

“Anyway,” he said, “that’s the last time I go through anything like that. I’m resigning, as of now. That’s what I’ve been leading up to. I want you to know how I feel about it.”

Her eyes glinted for a moment. Then her lids came down and hid the shrewd look that had appeared in them briefly. She raised her arms and stretched, her body moving underneath his hand.

“Of course you must stop if you feel that way, cheri. It is not too serious. There are other ways of getting money.”

“Name three,” Slater said grimly. “I don’t see myself selling enough baskets to gift shops to put me up with Rockefeller. No, I can’t quite picture it. God knows there’s money around. Look at these damned tourists. Where they get it, I don’t know. None of it seems to stick to me.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I think,” she said. “I think we must bid each other goodbye. Not at this precise minute! No, in a little while. I am without money or family, with my way to make in the world. Poor Paul, I am such a terrible extravagance for you. So say goodbye to me like a good friend. It will be simple.”

“Simple! “he said.

“But of course. You must cut down on expenses. You have me, you have your wife. Everything double. I am not asking you to divorce her. Absolutely not. That is altogether your affair.”

Slater breathed out heavily.

“I am ashamed, you know,” she said. “Not about our love, that is a very beautiful thing. But because of me, you must do something you dislike. You are unhappy. I say it will be simple, but not easy. It will be hard. For me as well. But I am very, very bad for you, Paul. I will leave your life, then again you can be happy in the old way, no more of this silly business of taking things to America against the law.”

“God, Vivienne,” he protested.

She moved restlessly. “I like you more than any man I have ever known. You make me feel-so-” She stopped. “I cannot say it in this stiff and awkward language, English. But you know it. You know it well. What am I to do? My other American friend says he can find a way to take me to your country, where I so much long to be. I am tired of these hot, horrible little towns. I want to see New York! The cars, the beautiful clothes, the tall buildings. To be looked at, admired. I am stifling here.”

She came up on both elbows and said quickly, “I know how you feel. But listen to me, Paul. You said the next time would be really big. I mean, you would make more than ever before. And after that, then you could stop, and we could still-” The light in her face faded and she lay back. “No, it is impossible. There is always that one chance in fifty, and it would be horrible if-”

“Ten years in jail,” he said. “God, I just don’t know. Maybe-”

She smiled suddenly and reached out for him with both arms. “Let us forget about money and such things. We are together. Who knows? If it is the last time, we will always regret wasting it in talking.”

“It won’t be the last,” he said fiercely.

She moistened her lips, and a sort of veil fell over her eyes. “You are also wasting time smoking a cigarette. You can smoke cigarettes by the carton after your wife returns. Paul, my darling.”

A sound escaped him, almost a groan. He waited while her eyes closed and her tongue moved impatiently across her lips. She was snapping her fingers silently, as she did when she was hunting for an English word.

Putting his burning cigarette deliberately on the edge of the bedside table, he came down to her. The cigarette continued to smolder, leaving a scar on the varnish, overlapping other burn-marks left by other careless guests of the hotel. Soon there was nothing left but ash. The breeze from the open window struck it. It sifted to the floor.