Brett Halliday - Murder Spins the Wheel

In the library, a room with a fireplace, numerous athletic trophies and leather furniture, he saw his first old grad. He was a short, nearly rectangular man, with a broken nose and receding hair. Alarm stirred in his eyes as they met Shayne’s. He had his back to a wall covered with framed photographs of football teams, and he wasn’t socializing with anybody.

Shayne went on asking for Black. Having seen him only from a distance on TV, in a football helmet, he knew he wouldn’t recognize him here. Presently the broken-nosed man made up his mind and came toward him. One of the teeth at the front of his smile had a corner missing.

“I’m Bus Colfax,” he said, putting out his hand, “and I’m trying to decide if I know you. Didn’t you use to line-back for the Packers?”

“Mike Shayne,” the redhead said, shaking hands. “Which Packers?”

Colfax laughed heartily. “Which Packers! That puts me in my place, all right. After all these years I ought to know an ex-pro when I see one. Can I use my influence and get you a beer? That’s what the kiddies are drinking, not that I don’t have a couple of pints of rotgut in the car. Which will it be, Mike?”

“Neither right now, thanks. I’m looking for somebody.”

Colfax laughed again. “Isn’t everybody?”

A dark girl with bangs almost down to her eyelashes came up through the haze.

“Excuse me,” she said to Shayne. “Are you the one who was asking for Mr. Black?”

Shayne told her he was, and that his name was Michael Shayne.

“Would you mind telling me what you wanted to see him about? If you’re a sportswriter he’s not giving any interviews.”

Shayne grinned down at her. “How about autographs? Tell him we have some mutual friends, and I’ll only take fifteen minutes.”

The girl looked doubtful, but brushed her hair back from her eyes and went away.

Bus Colfax had audited this exchange closely. “For three or four weeks at this time of year,” he said with sympathy, “they’re kings. You have to study their moods, play on their weaknesses and back out when you leave the room. But the minute they sign, they’re property like everybody else. That’s the way I console myself.”

He looked around quickly, shed his bantering manner and became all business. He tapped Shayne lightly on the forearm with the rim of his beer can.

“Shayne, I won’t make a guess at what club you represent. That would give away who I consider our chief competition. I’m down from the Warriors. I don’t have to tell you that I wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want the boy. I’m ready to spend money to get him. Frankly, I can’t give him the sky. Play it close to your vest, keep throwing in blue chips and maybe you’ll end up with Johnny Black on your roster, at some astronomical bonus figure which is sure to leak to the press. Then all the other All-Americans get a highly inflated idea about how much he’s worth. Or there’s the other possibility, that I’ll end up with Johnny Black at a similar figure, and you’ll end up sucking hind tit, with nothing to show for your expense account.”

Shayne was beginning to see a way to handle Johnny Black. He looked thoughtful.

“I see what you mean, but I don’t have much leeway.”

“You don’t realize how much leeway you’ve got,” Colfax said joyfully. “All you are is the man on the spot, and what the people in the front office don’t know won’t keep them awake nights. If you got here an hour later, I could already have inked the kid, and vice versa. Maybe we can save ourselves some headaches and save our clubs some dough. We both need a quarterback. That’s why we’re here. I don’t have to read your mind to know you could use a good lineman. From here I go to the University of Miami, and you know who I’m contacting there-Humboldt. I don’t care who you are, could you use Humboldt or couldn’t you? Bidding is what we want to avoid. How about if we talk it over, have a can of beer and a couple of shots, discuss our mutual needs and requirements, and decide which boy to go for. If we both have the same boy at the top of the list, then we bid for him, but only as a last resort.”

“And you want a passer?” Shayne said.

“We want a passer. Back away from Johnny, Mike, and as far as the Warriors are concerned you can have Humboldt at your own figure, and I’ll put that in writing.”

“Shayne?” a voice said behind the redhead.

He turned. Black was shorter than he had looked playing football, but he seemed just as powerful even without artificial padding. His hair was cropped close. He was chewing gum and smiling pleasantly, as though all his worries were far in the future.

“Johnny!” Colfax exclaimed, faking a blow to the muscle of his throwing arm. “I’m Bus Colfax, and I’m going to pull a little rank on my friend here. I’ve still got a long way to travel, and there’s an old saying, first come, first served. Let me outline a few points to you on behalf of the Warriors, then I’ll be on my way. Is that fair, Mike?”

“Bus Colfax,” Black said solemnly. “Mr. Colfax, you don’t know what this means to me. You’ve always been one of my-well, idols. I hope you don’t have to push on tonight. We can fix you up with a bed. Golly, when I tell the fellows who you are-”

Colfax cocked his head. “Johnny, to tell you the truth my schedule is flexible. There’s nothing I’d like better.”

“That’s great! The Warriors-Mr. Colfax, as far back as I remember it’s been my ambition to be a Warrior. I’ve just about made up my mind that it’s either the Warriors or med school. I’ll see what Mr. Shayne has on his mind and be right back. The things I want to talk about!”

Colfax beamed, and somebody handed him a newly filled can of beer. Still smiling pleasantly, Black moved away through the crowd with Shayne. He was greeted continually from all sides.

“Johnny boy.”

“Where you going, Johnny?”

“This is pretty public,” he said to Shayne. “We could go outside.”

“Yeah, we better go outside.”

“You’re in the private-detective business, right?”

Shayne nodded.

“I thought so,” Black said carelessly, replying to a girl’s wave. “It didn’t register on Bus, and that’s fine. I won’t ask you any questions right now, but I’ve got them, believe me.”

He took Shayne back to the porch, where he was caught up briefly in a group of new arrivals, and then down the steps. “Now,” he said in a low, intense voice, “I want to know what the hell this is all about.”

“Don’t choke up,” Shayne told him. “Who knows, everything may still be all right. Let’s ride around. You can show me the campus.”

He started toward his parked car. After only an instant’s hesitation the quarterback followed. Another girl called to him from the porch. He grinned, pointed to Shayne and shrugged helplessly.

He said nothing until they were under way. He tried to keep his tone casual, but Shayne could tell that it wasn’t easy.

“Now. Who’s in trouble, and what can I do for you?”

“A lot of money changed hands on the game this afternoon,” Shayne said. “The betting pattern was peculiar, and I’ve been retained to ask you a few questions.”

They turned off the street of fraternity houses. Black was sitting in an athlete’s relaxed slouch, hands clasped between his legs. Suddenly, without warning, he whirled and chopped hard at Shayne’s jaw. Shayne came forward and the blow landed behind his ear. He had been hit in that exact spot earlier in the evening, with the barrel of a gun.

He went away for a second. When he came back he found that his reflexes had taken over to do what was necessary. Without touching the brake, he had swung the wheel and headed for a telephone pole. At the same time he hurled himself sideward. Black was young and strong, a contact athlete in top condition, but Shayne doubted if he had done much fighting in the front seat of cars. The first surprise punch was the only one Shayne intended to allow him. He kept his own arms and shoulders in motion, tying Black up against the door. It was over in a moment. Black’s powerful neck and shoulders were tightly braced, as he tried to get Shayne to hold still for another shot at his jaw. The Buick rode up over the curb and banged into the pole, and at the same second Shayne yanked Black’s head forward and downward against the top of the dashboard. He felt the resistance melt out of the boy’s body. To make sure, Shayne turned him slightly and clipped him with a crisp, professional left. It didn’t have his weight behind it, but it went in where he wanted it. He could tell by the solidity of the contact that it was a knockout punch.