Brett Halliday - Murder Spins the Wheel

“I can see why you don’t want to cover it now,” Shayne said. “If he tells you I’d only been on the boat for half an hour you’d have to do some thinking. I know how hard that is for you.”

Painter started to speak, but Shayne decided it was time to raise his voice. “There were five people in the party when I got there, three girls and two boys. The third boy is dead. His name’s Vince Donahue. He’s the Nugget’s captain. I’m working for Harry Bass, and the reason I have to get out right away-”

“If you think you’re going to get out, you’re out of your mind.”

“The reason I have to get out,” Shayne repeated, raising his voice even more and speaking to Sanderson as much as to Painter, “is that Harry’s on the loose with a concussion. He has a bad temper and something to be mad about, and I want to get to him before he does anything that can’t be reversed.”

“I’ve been waiting for Harry to make a wrong move,” Painter said. “Nothing would please me more.”

“The political organization that put you in office,” Shayne said evenly, “gets a monthly contribution from Harry Bass, and I doubt if that’s news to you.”

The little man’s face was livid. “Are you accusing me-”

“Oh, knock it off, Petey!” Shayne exclaimed. “You didn’t just show up here from the back hills. This is a tourist town. Without gambling the hotel business would fall off by a third. If anything happens to Harry there’s going to be trouble.”

Painter smiled unpleasantly. “I cut my eyeteeth on trouble. I’ve let you have your say, and now you’ll listen me.”

He motioned to the stenographer, who opened his book. “We’re going to cut out the fooling and get down to business. Oddly enough, I’ve managed to inform myself on a few points. I know that an eight-passenger Cadillac caught on fire tonight not far from Harry Bass’s house on Normandy Isle. The license plates were destroyed, but we do know that Harry owns an eight-passenger Cadillac, which is not now in his garage. A Negro man named Billy Wallace was found on the scene with a fractured skull. The registration on his pistol gives his address as care of Harry Bass. You’re one of Harry’s cronies. All this is well known. I don’t really have cotton in my head, Shayne. When you show up at a party at Al Naples’ boat, with Harry Bass’s son Steve-”

Shayne looked at him sharply.

“Oh, he didn’t use his right name when he was booked,” Painter said, smiling. “Further, when a hypodermic needle is found under the bed in the main cabin, and adhering to the point are a few burned grains of a substance that will undoubtedly prove to be heroin-” He looked quizzically at Shayne. “Do you follow me?”

“Petey, I really don’t,” Shayne said candidly.

“OK,” Painter snarled. “If you don’t want to pick up a hint, see how you like it this way. Your public is going to eat up this orgy story. Unless you cooperate to the fullest extent, I’m going to play that deadpan. Laugh it off if you like, Shayne. It’s going to hurt. But I’m willing to compromise. I’ll put the lid on. I’ll see if I can quash the charges against you for hitting Maguire. It’s going to play hell with morale in the department, but I’ll go out on a limb, in the larger interest. If you want to be tough about it, it stands. I’ve finally got a club I can use on you, and don’t think I won’t use it unless you tell me all you know, and I do mean all.”

“About what, Petey?” Shayne said patiently.

“About that shipment of heroin.”

Shayne looked at him in surprise. He quickly added a mocking half-grin to make the surprise seem less real.

Painter said, “I see you know nothing about it. Of course not. Did you expect anything else, Sanderson? Frankly, I didn’t.”

“Refresh my memory,” Shayne said.

“I’ll tell you what little I know, so you’ll know precisely what gaps I want filled.” He moved around the table and sat down, tipping into balance on the back two legs of the chair. “My relations with the Bureau of Narcotics are currently not too good. We had a difference of opinion a few months ago. They thought I had something to do with the failure of a raid they had hopes for. Actually they bungled the affair themselves from start to finish. Well, I’ve had a tip from my own sources. This one I’m keeping to myself. When I’m ready for an arrest I’ll hand it to those slewfeet on a silver platter. They’re the experts on drugs, they think. Everybody else is nowhere.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?” Shayne said.

“Without interruptions,” Painter replied. “The tip comes from an export-import man who’s been feeding me information for years. He heard from connections in France that five hundred thousand dollars worth of heroin was on its way to Miami. That’s a retail figure, of course. Thanks to efficient police work, we have the drug problem under control here. It can’t be eliminated entirely, considering the comings and goings of travelers from New York and the Caribbean. All of a sudden heroin has become surprisingly simple to procure, excellent heroin at a non-panic price. I know that the shipment left Nice during a ten-day period in October. I cabled the French police to check hotel registrations. One of the Miamians who was visiting Nice at the time was Harry Bass.”

“Harry has nothing to do with narcotics,” Shayne said flatly.

“As a regular thing, of course not. He wouldn’t have public opinion behind him on it, which is unfortunately the case with bookmaking. But as a one-shot, to meet a sudden demand for capital? I wonder. The profits are enormous, and they can be realized immediately. We’re putting pressure on all our stoolies to find out about it, but it’s being handled very cleverly. We had our first break this afternoon. Sanderson, you tell him. He might not believe me.”

Sanderson said, “It’s second or third hand, Mike. Just a rumor that one of the big bookies is behind it.”

“I don’t pretend to have all the answers,” Painter said. “How about Steve Bass? Is he a pusher?”

Shayne ground out his cigarette on the floor. “This is all news to me.”

“Now Shayne,” Painter said pityingly. “The steno is taking this down. That statement’s absurd on the face. There are too many coincidences here.”

“Harry’s an extremist on the subject,” Shayne said. “He won’t do business with anybody who comes anywhere near narcotics.”

Painter teetered on the back two legs of his chair. “That kind of operator will always make an exception if the price is right. And how about you, Shayne? Your principles have a way of bending when there’s money involved.”

Shayne put both hands flat on the table. A pulse in his forehead was beginning to beat dangerously. “You think I’ve been going in for smuggling heroin?”

Sanderson put in, “Chief, maybe we ought to get back to that kid who was missing from the boat. Shayne says-”

Painter stopped him with a movement of his hand. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Shayne’s.

“If Harry Bass and Al Naples have a heroin deal going, they need a contact, somebody with a tough veneer to keep the small boys in line, somebody who can go back and forth with parcels without stirring up the narcotics people. I’m an admirer of your footwork. I may not be able to pin it on you. But I can make you stand still for this assaulting-an-officer rap, and that’s the deal I’m offering. A clean bill of health, in return for which you tell me everything you know on the subject of the Basses, senior and junior, Al Naples and his boat and half a million dollars worth of uncut heroin.”

Shayne came to his feet “You little pipsqueak, I wouldn’t give you the time of day! If I’m going to be slammed for hitting a cop, I think I’ll compound it.”