Brett Halliday - Heads You Lose

Shayne grinned as he finished reading the story. The Herald had been after his scalp for a long time because he had let Timothy Rourke scoop them on the News. This was too good a chance to pass up.

At that, he reflected grimly, it wasn’t a bad angle to consider. If the gang could be led to believe that he was holding out for a pay-off, they might decide to make him an offer rather than waste time and bullets trying to kill him.

Brushing the sheet aside, he went into the bedroom and put on a clean shirt, adjusted a belt about his lean hips inside his trousers to permit a holster to lie flat against the front of his right thigh. After buckling his pants over the holster he went to the bathroom, found a used razor blade, and cut the right pocket out of his pants. He slid the. 38 through the opening into the holster, pressing it down and out of sight to a point of instant availability. He knotted his tie before the bathroom mirror, put on his coat and hat and went out.

Shayne scowled heavily when he saw Detective Sergeant Grayson at the desk in the lobby. Grayson was leaning negligently against the desk, facing the elevator. He gave Shayne a thin smile and said, “Let’s go down to headquarters.”

“Is it a pinch?”

“Not unless you make it one.”

Shayne sighed. “We’ll keep it friendly, then. Where’s your car?”

“I’m walking,” Grayson told him. They went out together and turned toward Flagler Street.

Chief Gentry was alone in his office when Grayson and Shayne entered the room. Gentry said, “That’s all, Sergeant,” and waited until the door closed before barking at Shayne, “Well, are you ready to start talking?”

Shayne pulled up a chair in front of the battered oak desk and asked, “What about?”

Gentry choked over a soggy cigar butt. He flung it toward a cuspidor and said, “I thought maybe that bullet would scare some sense into your thick head.”

“It wasn’t even close,” Shayne scoffed.

Gentry folded his massive arms on the desk and implored, “Mother of God, Mike, get wise to yourself. Those boys aren’t fooling. That hood checked into the room opposite yours at six twenty-two, just twenty-two minutes after the first edition of the Herald hit the streets. They didn’t lose any time.”

“That’s what I hoped they’d do,” Shayne protested.

“It’s your own neck,” Gentry growled. “I’m damned if I care whether you get it chopped off or not. But give me something to go on after they get you. That’s all I ask.”

Shayne lit a cigarette and said blandly, “You’ll never learn, Will.”

“We’ve worked together,” Gentry argued evenly, “and you know I can keep it under my hat till it’s time to go.”

Shayne moved his red head stubbornly from side to side. “They’re going to be watching close for any sign that I’ve squawked. As long as I’m the only one who knows, they’ll keep on gunning for me.”

Gentry relaxed, took a fat cigar from his pocket, sank his teeth into it and struck a match. He asked, “That your only reason for clamming up, Mike?”

“Can you think of any other?”

“Maybe I can’t, but other people can. The Herald.”

“To hell with the Herald.”

“People read it. Lots of people… like the State’s Attorney.”

Shayne stared at Gentry. “Has Osgood been after you?”

“He phoned me a little while ago wanting to know what the hell I mean letting you get away with it. He’s always suspected you had your hand out for dirty money, but he never suspected you’d cover up murder and sabotage for a price.”

“He thinks that, does he?” Shayne’s voice was hard.

“Hell, you know how Osgood is. You can’t buck a thing like that. Everybody’ll be thinking you’re holding out for a cut-in on the racket.”

“Everybody thinks too damned much,” Shayne grated, “including Osgood. Let them think.”

“It’s not that easy. Osgood wants you over at his office.”

“Okay.” Shayne stood up. “Let’s go.”

Gentry remained solidly in his chair. “I think you’re right, Mike. That rifle bullet shows they’re plenty scared of what you know. But Osgood isn’t going to see in that way. I’m warning you.”

Shayne said, “Let’s go.”

Gentry sighed heavily. His telephone buzzed. He lifted the receiver and flipped a connection, grunted into the mouthpiece and listened. After a time he said, “You don’t need me on every kid bum that gets bumped off,” and hung up. “Now, look, Mike…”

“What was that call?” Shayne asked.

“Some hobo out near the railroad yards. Drilled with a forty-five. I tell you…”

“What did the kid look like?” Shayne dropped into his chair and leaned toward Gentry.

“That was just a routine report. I didn’t get a full description.”

“Call back and get the details… a description of the hobo, Will. Find out if he had pimples and a buck in his pocket. And if he was skinny and dirty and wore a cap.” Shayne spoke swiftly and earnestly.

As Gentry dialed a number, he asked, “Why are you so worked up over it?”

Shayne waited impatiently while Gentry asked questions, settled back when the chief kept nodding his head. He hung up and turned on Shayne. “Now what the hell do you know about this murder?”

“Did the description check?”

“Yeh, pimples and all,” Gentry growled.

Shayne drew in a long breath and said, “Sounds like the kid who paid me a visit this morning and was so interested in the view from my windows.” He gave Gentry full details concerning the messenger and the envelope containing the blank paper.

Gentry said, “I’ll be damned. Suppose it’s got anything to do with the other?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Are you taking me over to see Osgood?” Shayne stood up again.

Gentry heaved his bulk from the chair. “If that’s the way you want it, Mike. Maybe you’ll talk for Osgood.” His face was dark and glowering as he reached for his hat.

They went out and across Flagler Street to the Dade County Courthouse.

State’s Attorney Osgood was a big man with stern dark eyes and mane of white hair. He was dictating rapidly to a competent-appearing young woman when Chief Gentry and Shayne went in. He dismissed the young woman with a wave of a manicured hand and remained seated behind a large polished desk as the two men came toward him.

Waving them to seats across from him, Osgood came swiftly to the point. Over a leveled forefinger he asked brusquely, “Now what’s all this about your holding information from the authorities, Shayne?”

“I’m working on a case. It’s my legal and ethical right to withhold confidential information given by my client until I solve the case.” Shayne’s tone was clipped and firm.

Osgood’s stern eyes regarded him coldly. “It’s the State’s case. This is no time to play fast and loose with important evidence. As a licensed private detective you are as much an officer of the State as I. If this Wilson murder, as you contend, is a result of the machinations of a gasoline ring, then I say to you all the more reason that ring should be stamped out.”

Shayne crossed one long leg over the other and nodded. “That’s exactly why I’m forcing them to come to me.”

“Do you expect me to believe that’s your only reason?”

“I don’t give a goddamn what you believe,” Shayne told him bluntly.

“Just a minute,” Gentry groaned; “he doesn’t mean that, Osgood.”

“The hell I don’t,” Shayne snapped.

Osgood cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “You leave me only one course, Shayne. I’m going to order your immediate arrest.”

“On what grounds?”

“Suppression of evidence in a murder case.”