Brett Halliday - Armed… Dangerous…

Shayne thought for a moment. “I’m grateful for all this, Terry. The cops will probably be willing to listen to you tomorrow, but if you let it go another day you may not have to talk to them at all. Tim or I will be in touch.”

Rourke cleared his throat gruffly. “I’ll take that over. You’ll have other things to do, Mike.”

A grin formed on Shayne’s lips, but he kept his voice level. “We can fight it out later.”

Terry put her hand on his arm as he turned. “I’m still as much in the dark as I was, but I think I feel better. I’ve been so mad about everything all day I haven’t had a chance to feel sorry about Herman. I don’t know how much you charge, but if you can find out what happened to him-”

“I intend to,” Shayne said, getting out. “But somebody else is paying my fee. Now go home and get some sleep.”

“Yes, I think I can now.”

Somebody had left a light on in the kitchen, but the rest of the big house was dark and quiet. The people in it were apparently asleep. Shayne approached cautiously, hoping that the day was finally over and he, too, could get some sleep.

He stepped up on the porch rail. Reaching up with both hands, he got a grip on the overhang. A piece of rotten wood broke off. He shifted his hold, tested the new place for firmness, and committed himself to the upward spring.

His full weight was on the two-by-six for only an instant. Then he was over. He lay quietly, listening. The tree toads were still clamoring. He propelled himself forward on his elbows.

Irene’s voice spoke clearly above him. “The tomcat returns.”

He rolled over and sat up. The little moon threw just enough light to show that this was another member of the legion of girls who see no point in wearing anything to bed. Her jet-black shock of hair made a clear frame for the pale blur of her face.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Shayne said irritably. “You’ll have bags under your eyes tomorrow.”

“I had bags under my eyes when I was born,” she said pleasantly. “I thought I heard you walking around, so I tried your door. And what do you know? There was a bureau against it.”

“That was to keep Billy out, not you.”

“Ha-ha. I never thought of climbing in the window. Why don’t I do that now? Then if anybody wants to interrupt, the bureau’s in the way.”

She put one bare leg out. Shayne grasped her ankle, but he wasn’t able to stop her. She wasn’t prepared for the pitch of the porch roof, and she came down on top of him.

“Ugh,” she said. “It’s all cindery.”

“Irene, get back in your room and I’ll come in with you. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Who wants to talk? What I want to do-”

She put her mouth next to his ear and told him what she wanted to do, using the good old Anglo-Saxon expressions to make him realize she meant it.

“Yes, dear,” he said, resigned. “You wouldn’t consider waiting till tomorrow night, when we’d have more privacy?”

“No. I know you. You wouldn’t show up. A bird in the hand is my motto.” She drew back. “Where’ve you been, anyway? Out making a phone call?”

“Keep your voice down,” he told her. “Climb back in and I’ll tell you.”

“Because I don’t care,” she said, and bit his ear. “But I’ve got you this time, haven’t I, Tiger? Cooperate, or I’ll tell Michele. It’s OK with me if you call the cops, so long as I know about it in advance. I’m not that sold on this thing tomorrow. I’ll just disappear ahead of schedule.”

“Believe it or not,” Shayne said patiently, “I was burying some money.”

“And I don’t believe it. You weren’t listening to me-I don’t care. Let’s do it right here,” she suggested. “Me on you.”

One of her hands fumbled at him. Shayne tried to keep her under control, but it was like trying to control a marlin with boxing gloves, in the fish’s own medium. He felt a board give way. He let go of the girl, twisting.

“You wouldn’t want me to yell, would you?” she said dangerously. “I said cooperate. When you’re going to be raped, you might as well relax and enjoy it. That’s another old saying. And Buster, you are definitely going to be raped.”

She was bearing down with her full weight. She was nothing but skin and bones, but at the moment much of the skin and all of the bones were in motion. Another board went. Then an entire section of the roof broke out beneath them.

Realizing what was happening, Irene kicked out for the window sill. The kick took out another rotting board. They went separate ways for a moment. Shayne’s fingers closed briefly on the outer stringer, long enough to correct the angle of his fall. A post caved outward, the stringer broke, and Shayne and the naked girl went through to the porch beneath in a cascade of broken shingles and splinters of rotting wood. Shayne thought for an instant that he was going to keep on going. Irene landed in a hideous jangle of springs on a metal and chintz glider.

“Jesus,” she said.

Shayne laughed. He tried to free her, but she was jammed in.

“Goddamn you,” she said, “cut out that laughing and get a pair of pliers or something.”

There were noises inside the house. A light came on in the living room, and then the porch light. Michele ran out, wearing only a slip. Brownie was right behind her, his muscular torso bare and gleaming. He had a shotgun.

“Somebody get me out of this thing!” Irene demanded. “Brownie! Use that shotgun-pry up the back.”

“Here, baby,” Shayne said. “I’ll stand on it. See if it helps.”

He stepped up on the swaying glider, one foot on each side of the stuck girl. The springs contracted. Moving carefully, Irene began to work herself free.

Michele came down on them like a sailboat in a stiff breeze, everything flying. She looked up at the gaping hole in the roof, then down at the naked girl jackknifed between the seat and the back of the glider. Shayne, bouncing gently, grinned at her.

“What does this mean?” she cried. “Tonight of all nights!”

Her English couldn’t do justice to the situation, and she broke into a flood of angry French. Irene came free with a little pop. She, too, had begun to think there was something funny about what had happened, but seeing Michele’s face, she decided it was serious after all. Billy came out of the house, zipping his pants.

“Anybody hurt?” he asked, looking at Shayne. “Which of you is to be the spokesman?” Michele said coldly. “Irene, dear? Were you trying to climb in his window?”

“Hell, no! The son of a bitch was trying to sneak out to phone. And phone who, I wonder?”

Shayne stepped off the glider. “If everybody will just keep quiet for a minute-”

Szigetti came charging out of the house. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what we all want to know,” Shayne said. He started to take off his jacket. “Irene, baby, put this on. You’ll catch cold.”

She sniffed and marched into the house. It was a fair exit, Shayne thought, but she was too skinny; everybody continued to look at Shayne.

“You were about to explain,” Michele said with icy sweetness. “Is what she says true? You were climbing out of the window to make a telephone call?”

“We better do this without an audience,” Shayne said.

“Pardon me while I laugh,” Szigetti sneered. “We’re in this together, Jack. What’s the story?”

The flesh around his eyes had puffed out so the eyes could scarcely be seen. They glinted suspiciously at Shayne within their pockets of gray flesh, but apparently he had forgotten identifying Shayne just before the tide of wine and whiskey had risen to engulf him.