Brett Halliday - Mermaid on the Rocks

Easing himself out of bed, he went silently to the door. All at once there was a loud clang from the saucepans beneath the kitchen window.

Two long strides took Shayne to the middle of the living room, where he checked abruptly. The Venetian blinds were drawn. It was very dark. He worked forward carefully, skirting the sofa. There was no further sound from the kitchen. At the kitchen door he waited again, listening, his shoulder muscles bunched. He felt for the wall switch and thumbed back the hammer of the. 38.

He snapped on the light and stepped through the doorway. There was a blur of action, too fast to follow. Shayne swore viciously under his breath. A lean gray cat reached the window in one leap from the counter and vanished up the fire escape.

Shayne let the hammer down, thrust the. 38 back in his waistband and swung around. Kitty, in the doorway to the guest room, was laughing and crying at the same time. Her breath came and went in great shuddering gulps.

Going to her, Shayne took her in his arms and stroked her shoulders, as though gentling a nervous horse. Speaking into her hair, he told her to calm down and go back to bed because he wanted to turn off the lights. Her arms were around him, her forehead pressed against his shoulder.

Gradually her shaking subsided. She pushed away defiantly.

“You’ll have to admit it’s funny,” she said, “after going to all that trouble. He’s a fire-escape cat, I know him well. I always put food out for him, but tonight I forgot.”

“I don’t want that light on any longer,” Shayne said.

He went back to the kitchen to snap it off. She was gone when he returned. He groped for the cords on the Venetian blinds and adjusted the slats, letting a faint grayness into the dark room.

“Goodnight, Kitty,” he said at the door to the guest room.

She didn’t answer. He saw the faint outline of the whiskey bottle, picked it up by its neck and took it with him. In his bedroom he found his glass in the dark and poured one by ear. Then he sat down on the bed and found that Kitty was waiting for him.

“I thought we decided this wasn’t a good idea,” he said.

“Mike, darling, I think we ought to change the plan.”

“How?”

“I ought to be here in my own bed if anyone breaks in. You go into the bathroom, I’ll talk to him and maybe find out how much of a combination I’m up against. Besides which-” She twisted up against him and said passionately, “It’s just plain ridiculous. Being apart. Isn’t it?” she demanded. “Say it’s ridiculous.”

Shayne made a wry face in the darkness. It was slightly ridiculous. He looked at his watch as his arm slid around her. The luminous dial told him that now would be an excellent time for their unseen antagonist to be making his move.

“Kitty, we’d better count ten.”

Her mouth found his. She didn’t want to count or do any more talking, and again Shayne admitted to himself that there was much to be said for her point of view. He believed in taking chances when necessary.

Murmuring excitedly against his mouth, she slipped down in the bed and pulled him after her. After a moment she wrenched herself away, pulled the nightgown over her head and came back into his arms.

“Mike. Do something about that gun.”

Then her mouth was against his again. Her flesh was cool and smooth under his hands. The bedsprings grated, and the sound of her harsh excited breathing beneath him roared in his ears.

Suddenly, cutting through these nearby noises, he heard another. It was faint but nevertheless crisp and distinct. He had been listening for it. He bit the lobe of her ear very hard, tightened his grip on her breast and clapped his other hand over her mouth before she could cry out. She tried to pull away. Then she lay quiet, listening.

The sound came again. It was metal against metal. A key was being pushed carefully into a lock.

When Shayne was sure she had heard it, he slipped off the bed and groped for the. 38. His spread fingers encountered her bare hip but not the gun. He couldn’t delay any longer.

Shayne was in the bathroom, the door slightly ajar, when he heard the knob being turned cautiously. Kitty made an involuntary sound from the bed; she was frightened.

For an instant there was a twinkle of light in the living room. Then the outer door closed and it was dark again.

Kitty scrambled up in bed. “Who’s that? Is anybody out there?”

There was no answer.

She said warningly, “I want you to listen, whoever you are. I know you’re there. I have a gun and I’ve taken the safety off and it’s pointed straight at the door. I mean what I say!”

Her voice rose at the end. She snapped on the bedside light. Shayne heard footsteps.

A man’s voice drawled, “You wouldn’t shoot your next-door neighbor. We own a valuable piece of property together, you and me.”

“Brad!” Kitty exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I know I should have phoned, kid. But I was in the neighborhood. Happening to have a skeleton key in my pocket, I thought I’d stop in.”

Shayne touched the edge of the bathroom door, ready to jump. With his left hand, he took his jacket down from the hook on the back of the door.

Brad grunted. “Why, look at here. A nightgown on the floor. Pretty little trifle, ain’t it? What are you doing, sleeping raw?”

“Brad, please,” Kitty said, intensely but trying to sound reasonable. “It’s late. If you’re looking for a drink, take the bottle.”

“Sure, I’ll take a drink. But I want some conversation to go with it.”

“Not now. I’m dead. Tomorrow.”

“But didn’t I hear you’re taking off someplace in the morning?” Brad said vaguely. “I thought maybe you forgot that paper you was going to sign.”

“When did I say I was going to sign anything? I made it perfectly clear-I’m satisfied with the way things are.”

“You’re satisfied. But the rest of us ain’t. Maybe you didn’t think about all the angles. That Key belongs to us,” he said persuasively. “It’s Tuttle Key, that’s what everybody calls it, been in the family since aught-nine. Cal and me used to ramble around there together, trap muskrats and shoot snakes and have a high old time. I don’t give a damn how many legal-eagles say different, you can’t tell me Cal was in his right mind when he wrote that will. Just because you laid him in his old age, that don’t make you any part or parcel of the family to my mind.”

Kitty said sharply, “Now you get out of here, Brad! If you’re broke, look in my purse out there. Just leave me enough for a cab.”

There was a moment’s silence. Brad said thickly, “Who do you think I am, Ev? You can turn me off with a pint and a five buck bill?”

“I know exactly who you are. Brad, it’s one o’clock in the morning, and I have a headache.”

“You’ll have more than a headache by the time I’m done with you! You think I’ll let you get me potted and set me on fire the way you did Ev?”

Shayne’s eyes narrowed.

Kitty’s voice went into a thin scream. “Do you know what you’re saying, you damn moron?”

“Moron. Oh, sure. I’m stupid. I’m a moron. But I know more than you think! You were seen! You were seen getting him plastered. You were seen coming out of his room. We’ve got a witness! Surprised? Too bad, baby, it was a nice try. You’d better sign the paper, I’ve got it right here with me, or that little Ev matter goes to the D.A.’s office.”

“You’re raving,” she said coldly.

“Not that I hold it against you. Ev was asking for it. And it ups the percentage for the rest of us.”

“I think it’s time to put an end to this.” She raised her voice. “You can come-”