Brett Halliday - The Careless Corpse

“There it is, Mike,” Will Gentry said flatly. “Laid right out in front of you. I know you don’t want to help the Commies any more than any of the rest of us.”

“Hell, Will!” Shayne burst out. “Just because a guy has a little revolutionary blood in his veins doesn’t mean he’s a Commie. I know a lot of damn fine Cuban patriots who are for Castro but who aren’t Commies. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced that Castro himself is really a Communist.”

“I’m afraid you’re one of those deluded liberals who cause us a great deal of difficulty in this country, Mr. Shayne.” Erskine spoke with more vehemence than he had shown before. “Well-meaning, but deluded,” he added sternly.

“At least I don’t see a Communist lurking behind every beard,” Shayne was stung to retort. “I know what the conditions were in Cuba before Castro’s regime.”

“That may well be, but I don’t believe you have the faintest idea what conditions are in your own country today. I think there is only one question right now, Shayne. Are you prepared to cooperate with your government or not?”

“By dropping the Peralta case?”

“By staying completely out of it for a few days while we close in on them. One wrong move at this point might stampede them so that months of patient undercover work on our part would be nullified.”

“Good God, Mike! There’s Lucy to think about, too,” interjected Gentry.

Shayne nodded grimly. “I’m thinking about Lucy.”

“This recent attempt on your life in Las Putas Buenas… if your version of the affair is to be believed… should convince you how desperate they are.”

“What do you mean… if my version is to be believed?”

Erskine smiled thinly and took off his glasses to polish them on a handkerchief. “None of us is completely credulous, Mr. Shayne. Don’t you think it is an insult to our intelligence to pretend that you dropped into that particular bar on this particular night and were singled out for attack? Nonsense.” He replaced his glasses firmly. “I suggest you were following some lead when you went there… that you were expected or were followed, and were then attacked.”

“It does sound awful damned coincidental,” Will Gentry agreed.

“Are you going to arrest me for it, Will?”

“Not if you give me your word to stay out of it from now on.

“Suppose I don’t, Will? Suppose I decide for myself what’s best for Lucy and for me?”

“And for the United States?” said Mr. Erskine stiffly.

Shayne gave him a baleful glance. “I’ve sat here and listened to you,” he burst out. “How do I know there’s a word of truth in what you’re saying? How do I know you didn’t steal the damned bracelet and figured out this hocus-pocus to keep the heat off?”

“That doesn’t make very much sense, Mike,” said Gentry reprovingly.

“Doesn’t it? That ‘paltry emerald bracelet,’ as he describes it, happens to be insured for a hundred and ten thousand dollars. He pointed out that it was probably lifted by someone on the inside, who knew the situation and had reason to believe Peralta wouldn’t even report it. Now, here he is putting pressure on Painter and me to drop the whole thing. I don’t know what the State Department pays its communist-hunters, but I don’t think his salary is big enough to keep him from being tempted by a quick hundred grand.”

“You are insulting, Mr. Shayne.” Erskine’s voice trembled and he rose to his feet slowly.

“Am I? How well do you know Felice Perrin?”

“I recognize the name from reports I have read. The former maid in the Peralta household. What has she to do with this?”

“Or Marsha Elitzen?” Shayne shot at him.

“I don’t know whom you mean.”

“What about her fair, white, young body?” Shayne taunted him.

“I think you’re going over the line, Mike.” Will Gentry got up to stand beside Erskine. “What in hell has got into you?” he went on angrily. “I’ve backed you up lots of times in the past, but I’ll be damned if I like the way you’re talking now.”

“So, you don’t like the way I’m talking, Will?” Shayne grinned infuriatingly at his old friend. “Have we still got freedom of speech in this country, or haven’t we?”

“All right then. I don’t like the way you’re acting, Mike.” Will Gentry shook his head slowly. “You can’t always be right… and everyone else wrong.”

“In my opinion,” said Mr. Erskine precisely, “you should put Mr. Shayne under arrest, Chief Gentry.”

“What’s that?” Gentry turned and regarded him wonderingly.

“A matter of protective custody,” explained Erskine. “I get the impression that he is much too volatile… much too concerned with his own prestige and his own reputation as a very tough guy… to be trusted to act in the larger interest of his country.”

Will Gentry frowned and spoke slowly, formulating each word and enunciating it carefully, “I’ve known Mike Shayne a lot longer than I’ve known you, Mr. Erskine. I’m going to leave him to act according to his own conscience.”

He started heavily toward the door, speaking over his shoulder to the reporter who had not spoken once since the interview started, “You coming, Tim?”

Timothy Rourke was relaxed in his chair with his eyes closed. He opened them to observe the half-emptied glass in his hand. “I’ll stick around and finish this drink, Will.”

Erskine turned to follow the chief of police, saying plaintively, “I do hope you understand what you’re doing, Chief Gentry. I must say that my next report to Washington will emphasize the fact that Chief Painter on the Beach was much more cognizant of our national peril, and much more cooperative.”

Will Gentry opened the door and paused with his hand on the knob for Erskine to precede him out of the room.

He said, “You do that, Mr. Erskine. In the meantime, I’ll run the Miami Police Department the way I see fit.”

He waited until Erskine passed him out into the corridor, then turned his head and said softly, “Take it easy, Mike.”

He went out and closed the door firmly behind him.

“You do have a hell of a way of putting your friends on the spot,” Timothy Rourke told the redhead dispassionately.

Shayne glared at him. “If you feel that you’re on the spot by continuing to associate with me, finish up your drink and beat it.” He angrily poured himself more cognac.

“Not me, Mike. Will Gentry. That’s pretty heavy pressure he had on him tonight.”

“Ahh!” Shayne exclaimed disgustedly. “Those fancy-pants boys from Washington trying to throw their weight around.”

“I wouldn’t call Mr. Erskine a boy, nor were his pants very fancy,” said Rourke acidly.

“You know what I mean.” Shayne drank half his cognac and set the glass down hard. He swung to his feet and started to stride up and down the room, rumpling his bristly, red hair fiercely. “What do they know about internal conditions in Cuba? My God, for years they sat back approvingly and let a rotten, murderous dictatorship rape the island of its resources and keep the great mass of the population in virtual slavery. Now, they start crying Communism… and smear everyone who sees any good in the revolution.”

“That’s quite a hunk of campaign oratory, Mike,” said Rourke cynically. “Know what you’re doing?”

Shayne stopped at the end of the room to glare at his old friend. “I’m stating some simple facts. What do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re working yourself up to a point where you’ll eventually decide it’s perfectly proper for you to disregard Erskine’s warning and move in on Peralta. Just because they’ve got Lucy Hamilton.”