Brett Halliday - Armed… Dangerous…

He gave Rourke directions, and Rourke promised to try to have the girl there around midnight.

“Hey, I almost forgot. I brought you a jug.”

He took a pint of Courvoisier out of his coat pocket and handed it to Shayne. The detective opened it and took a long drink.

“That’s sweet liquor,” he said, handing it back regretfully. “Keep it for me. I’m disguised as a blended-whiskey drinker.”

The bored blonde in the ticket cage did a double take as Shayne bought a second admission. Even with dyed hair he carried an atmosphere that made him easy to remember. An unlighted cigarette in his mouth, he went up to the mezzanine. There were several pairs of young lovers there, a flock of alert, chattering homosexuals, several sleeping derelicts, a small handful of people actually watching the screen.

Shayne took a seat in a half-empty row, and soon closed his eyes. Presently a would-be pickpocket slid into the seat next to him. Shayne opened his eyes.

“Get far away from me, kid.”

The boy bridled. “Did-did you sign a lease on this seat?” he demanded, stuttering.

Shayne looked at him in the flickering light and the boy scurried away. Ten minutes later Michele took his place. Shayne’s eyes were closed again, but he could smell her perfume amid the reek of tobacco and other odors.

“How’s the picture?” she said.

“How’s the picture,” he said in disgust, sitting up and stretching. “Let’s get out of here.”

“With pleasure.”

She had brought a thin cowhide dispatch case. She resisted for an instant when he took it from her.

“Ladies don’t carry luggage when there’s a man along,” he said.

One of the homosexuals cut a slanting look at him as they passed up the aisle. “Isn’t he masculine?” he remarked to a friend.

Outside the theatre, Shayne said, “I want to buy a couple of shirts. Why don’t we decide where we’re going, and I’ll meet you?”

She took his arm. “Darling, you are sometimes funny. I would hate to mislay you at this stage. With the money in that case, plus a passport, you could disappear to Brazil and grow a big beard to go with a new name.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Shayne said.

“Because you know I would not allow it,” she told him. “You need more than shirts. I like to go shopping with a man, but I warn you. I have definite opinions.”

She signaled an eastbound taxi. “Brooks Brothers,” she told the driver.

When Shayne protested she said sweetly, “It is expensive there, but you have money to spend. This I can say of my own knowledge. And what would you spend it on otherwise?”

“Girls. Booze. Hell, I don’t know. I never have any trouble spending money.”

“Spend some of it on clothes, to please me, darling.”

Shayne looked at his unpressed gabardine. “What’s the matter with this suit?”

“What was the matter with the movie?”

The taxi took them up Madison Avenue and Michele marched Shayne into the citadel of correct gentlemen’s apparel. He submitted meekly, to the extent of six shirts, ties and a pair of Peale shoes on the main floor. The second floor yielded two suits, and the third, a sports jacket and slacks. Shayne balked at walking shorts, but gave in on a Locke hat. On the top floor, Michele exerted her full charm and exacted a promise that cuffs would be put on the pants by the end of the afternoon. Shayne paid cash all the way, and on the down-ride bought an English suitcase to put everything in.

Another taxi took them back to the Port Authority garage, where they transferred to Michele’s Chevy. She was bubbling with excitement.

“And now, darling!”

“Now we buy a bottle and some sandwiches and go to bed.”

“Yes! Hurry.”

He drove uptown on Eighth Avenue, stopping first at a delicatessen, then at a liquor store. In the liquor store he bypassed the shelves loaded with cognacs, and picked out a fifth of mediocre bourbon. Farther up Eighth, he turned into one of the big motels.

“Darling?” Michele said. “I thought my apartment. I might have a phone call.”

The same thought had occurred to Shayne. She couldn’t be told about the death of Herman Kraus if nobody knew where she was.

“I’m thinking about that dame in the hat,” he said. “Remember? She had a good long look at me, and I’m still wearing the same suit. I don’t want it to happen again. This time she might not faint.”

“Oh, merde, you are right, of course.”

He registered as Mr. and Mrs. Matt Maguire, of Rochester, New York. They were given a room on the eighth floor. It was a motel room, with no particular pluses or minuses. As she passed the TV she automatically switched it on. A solemn man was reading news bulletins. Shayne turned it off.

“Who wants to look at that crap?”

He pulled off his tie and jacket and made the drinks. Then he opened the dispatch case.

“Seven thousand, five hundred,” she said, watching him, “minus seven hundred and three.”

“What seven hundred and three?”

“You took eight hundred and three from me last night, and gave me back a hundred.”

Shayne grinned and dumped the packages of bills on the bureau. “Just for the hell of it, I think I’ll count it. Anybody can make a mistake, and the thing about you, baby, if there’s a mistake I know it’ll be in your favor.”

“You’ll find it all there,” she said coolly.

He counted it carefully, verifying that count with a second one. His expression became more and more thoughtful.

“Where’d you take your commission, off the top?”

“My commission? The word hardly applies, does it? The terms were clear. You agreed to them.”

He shook out a cigarette. It was the last in the package, and he wadded the package angrily and threw it across the room.

“Whose capital are you using? What the hell are you trying to pull off tomorrow? I don’t like this keep-him-in-the-dark business. You’ve got the moves all worked out. What I’m starting to wonder, are there a couple of moves at the end you didn’t tell me about?”

“What is your complaint, exactly?” she said with no change of expression.

“There are too many twists in this thing! I don’t want to end up in some waiting room at LaGuardia with egg on my face. The payoff, the payoff. Where do I draw the rest of the fifteen thousand?”

She said coolly, “If you wish, you can pick it up when you deliver the truck. I can have it there in cash, waiting. The passport is in order. I have arranged for us to leave together, but if you prefer to stay in New York and take your chances, I think in a moment or two I could manage to forget you.”

“That I believe,” Shayne said, blowing out smoke.

“But what brought this on? I have done as I promised. Perhaps you think it is easy to produce an American passport on twelve hours’ notice. It is far from easy. What has come over you all at once?”

“It hit me,” Shayne said, biting it off. “This is new country for me, kid. I went on one other joint job once, just once. Two other guys, and if you went by what they said they were very hard boys. It was a nice score, a hundred and twenty for the three of us. Then my wheelman got picked up on a murder rap, and on that they really had him. Before the D.A. let him cop a second-degree plea, he had to tell them every last thing he ever did, including my name and address. And the second guy wasn’t satisfied with forty G’s. He decided to go for eighty, only I jumped just in time. Two inches of the knife blade broke off between my ribs-I can show you the scar. By the time I finished with him I think he was sorry. I ended up with eighty. What I mean is-I made myself a promise. It had to be something I could do myself from then on, or forget it. Don’t worry, I’m not copping out,” he said when she started to speak. “But hell, from your own point of view, you’ll get better service if I know more about it.”