Brett Halliday - This Is It, Michael Shayne

One was tall with a hook-nosed profile and not much chin. All he could see of the other man was square shoulders and the round back of a partially bald head.

Shayne excused himself, saying, “Nice to have seen you again, Ethel,” and began moving casually but definitely toward the exit, his right hand clenched at his side.

Forcing himself to walk slowly as he neared the door, he was ready to step out and increase his speed through the lobby when a tall, quiet-faced man straightened from a lounging position against the wall and caught his right arm just above the wrist. At the same instant a bulky man pushed in on the other side to wedge him tight against his brother officer.

“We can do this without any fuss,” the tall man said quietly, “or we can have fuss and cuffs.”

Shayne set his teeth hard together. “You boys must be new,” he grated. “I don’t remember seeing you around.”

“We’ve seen you around, shamus,” the bulky man assured him. “Do you walk in the manager’s office quiet, or do we make it a pinch?”

“Is it a pinch?” Shayne demanded hotly. He twisted his right wrist unobtrusively and strained to free it, but the tall man gripped it solidly and brought his other hand across to close over Shayne’s fists as though he guessed the redhead wanted to drop something from it.

“It’s a pinch if you want it that way,” he said.

“What charge?” Shayne growled.

“Drunk in a public place will do long enough to go over you,” said the bulky cop implacably.

They started forward, and Shayne went with them. “Wait’ll I see Will Gentry,” he said bitterly. “You two mugs will be pounding the pavement by this time tomorrow. You must be damned new in Miami, or you’d know Will and I are just like-” He tried to lift his right hand to demonstrate.

“Don’t get your guts in an uproar, Shayne,” the tall man advised. “You’ll get your chance to complain to the chief.”

They reached a paneled door marked Manager. It stood slightly ajar. They pushed it open and shoved Shayne inside.

“Hello, Mike.” Will Gentry sat solidly in a swivel chair behind the manager’s desk.

Shayne’s eyes glittered with anger. “So this is the way you decided to play it,” he said savagely.

Gentry shifted his dead cigar to the other corner of his mouth and agreed imperturbably, “This is the way I’m playing it.” He narrowed his eyes at Shayne’s clenched fist and added, “Open it up and let’s see the note, Mike.”

“What note?” Gentry glanced inquiringly at the two officers.

The bulky one nodded emphatically and said, “He didn’t drop it. Soon as he started out I followed him and watched his fist after I gave Allen the office, and he grabbed him at the door.”

“Open up, Mike,” Gentry ordered.

The trenches in Shayne’s cheeks deepened. He drew in a long breath and said:

“So you did tap my wire. I had a hunch you were going to pull something like that. That’s why I kept the guy from giving anything away over the phone. I didn’t mind you casing the joint here and trying to pick him up,” he went on angrily, “but you should have warned these clucks to leave me alone until I got the line I needed. We’ll never solve the case now-the way you’ve messed it up.”

“What about the man who passed the note?” Gentry asked the bulky one.

“I’m not sure which one of four or five guys might’ve done it. I stayed close as I could without interfering, but there was such a-”

“I imagine the note will give us the information we need,” Gentry broke in happily. “He’ll spill what he knows when we get him to headquarters.”

“But there isn’t any note,” Shayne told him. “Whoever he is, he may not even be here yet. Or if he was out there, he saw me get picked and beat it.”

“No one has beat it since you were picked up,” Gentry assured him. “I’ve got men blocking the exits. Give it to me, Mike.” He creaked the swivel chair forward and held out his heavy hand, palm up.

Shayne shook his red head slowly. “I’ve never lied to you, Will. In all the years-”

“You lied to me tonight,” rumbled Gentry, “when you swore Miss Morton hadn’t succeeded in contacting you today. Don’t forget I’ve got a transcript of your telephone conversation to prove it.”

“You’re a fool, Will.” Shayne spoke the words flatly, regretfully. “If you weren’t so damned bent on proving me a liar you’d realize I was playing the guy along, pretending I knew all about him when I didn’t know anything. You’ve ruined my one chance to get any real information out of him.”

He held his arm out and slowly spread his fingers out. His hand was empty.

Gentry stared in disbelief and surprise, then his beefy face grew dark with anger. “That won’t do, Mike. I’ll have Allen and Bates search you right here if you don’t hand it over.”

“Isn’t that getting pretty high-handed, Will?” Shayne’s voice was deceptively gentle. “You can push me so far-”

“And farther if I decide to.” Gentry bit the words off curtly. “I’m not fooling, Mike. If you make any trouble, you’ll run your business for the next six months from a cell in my jail.” He nodded to the two officers. “Get the note off him.”

Shayne shrugged, then stood still as the men moved in, suppressing his rage as they explored every pocket, and every possible place where a small note might be concealed, their faces showing anger and complete consternation when they started taking off his shoes and socks.

Allen stood up, scratched his head as protruding eyes went over Shayne as if he expected to see the note pinned, on his suit, and reported, “It’s not on him, Chief. I don’t get it.”

“I swear he couldn’ve got rid of it,” the bulky one began.

“There never was a note,” Shayne grated. His temper went out of control as he put on his socks and shoes. He tied the last lace, stood up and smoothed his coat, lit a cigarette, stepped over and lowered one hip to a corner of the desk.

“Your men messed everything up by moving in before any note was passed. Our man is probably out there now biting his nails and wondering how in hell he’s going to make contact.”

“He’s still bottled up,” Gentry muttered. “We can go over the lot of them-”

“And find out what?” Shayne demanded hotly. “All we know about him thus far is that he’s some man who has had some connection with Miss Morton that makes him a logical suspect for her murder. No name. No description. Nothing. So you’re going to shake down a barroom full of men looking for what?” His voice was savagely jeering.

“From the way you talked to him on the phone-”

“Nuts. You know damned well I was playing him along.”

“You admit guessing your line was tapped and that you deliberately prevented him from naming a time and place to meet where we could have picked him up,” Gentry exploded.

“Of course I did. The one thing I don’t want is for you to pick him up.”

“Because he offered you ten grand to keep him put of the investigation.”

“Maybe. That’s reason enough. But there’s another reason. You’d realize it if you took time to think. You grab him and he clams up. Without an alibi for the time between six-thirty and seven he admits he’s definitely on the spot. So he won’t tell you anything. Why should he? But he’ll spill his guts if I get to him alone and handle him right. He thinks I already know what his connection is.”

“And Miss Lally knows, too,” Gentry reminded him. “All we have to do is ask her-”

“You’re not going to ask Miss Lally anything,” Shayne cut in. “Don’t you see? This bird will make a deal with me only so long as he thinks I can keep his part in it quiet. It’ll all be off the minute he learns that either Lally or I have talked to you.”