Бретт Холлидей - Murder in Haste

Shayne saw a square bottle sticking out from beneath the bunk, and he captured it. There were still two fingers of gin in the bottom. He swirled it around once and drank it, while Painter, from the bunk, watched indignantly.

“Did I say you were low?” Painter cried. “I suppose it didn’t occur to you to offer me some?”

“You’ve had enough,” Shayne said, tossing the empty bottle into the top bunk.

“You think so, do you? I’m not even getting started. You think you can hold your liquor better than ordinary people, don’t you? There’s a few drops in a bottle, and you hog it all. I don’t care how much they’re paying you! You made a bad mistake this time. You can’t break into apartments and rob people’s files and slug Senate investigators and sucker a police officer in the performance of his duty and get away with it, and you’ll find that out in a hurry!”

“Cut the clowning, Petey. I don’t need you to tell me that people have been killed by this bunch. If we’re going to get out of this mess, you’ve got to start talking sense.”

Painter ran out of steam all at once. He said helplessly, “I thought this was one time I was ahead of you. How did you know?”

“Know what?” Shayne said.

“That I had the real story on the Beach Trust robbery. What was it, instinct?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. Who’s this Senate investigator you think I slugged?”

“I only think you slugged him? I see. It wasn’t anything but a hallucination. You didn’t break into my apartment. You didn’t tear the place to pieces. Certainly not. You didn’t take me on a wild-goose chase up Collins, and lead me into a dead-end so your pals could grab me. Oh, no. Four of them — they came at me from all sides at once — I didn’t have a chance to defend myself — four to one, real sporting of you, Shayne. But that wasn’t you. You’re too law-abiding.”

Shayne was trying hard to make sense of this. “Will you go through that again, Petey? Slowly?”

“I’m surprised you deny it. It worked, and that’s the main thing, isn’t it? I thought you’d be bragging about it. I have eyes, after all. It was your license number.”

Shayne said sharply, “You were chasing a car with my tag?”

“A car, hell. Your car. I recognized it even without the number.”

Shayne’s mouth was grim. “You were suckered, all right I left my car outside a Beach saloon. Somebody must have borrowed it.”

Painter sneered weakly. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“Pretty goddam dumb,” Shayne said, “if you think I’m fronting for killers. Why did I do all this?”

“For money! You’d sell your best friend, if the price tag was right, and I’m not your best friend, as everybody knows.”

“That’s true,” Shayne said. “The more I see of you, the less I like you. And while we’re on the subject of no-brains, if you found some evidence to clear Sam Harris, why in God’s name have you been sitting on it?”

“I had my reasons,” Painter said smugly.

“They’d better be good. Because as a direct result of your damn foolishness, a man named Fred Milburn was killed, a hood from Baltimore tried to take a shot at Rose Heminway and came pretty close to doing it, somebody else blew up Benjamin Chadwick’s room at his nursing home. But you’re not dumb. No, you’re brilliant. They’ll write about you in Argosy.”

Painter looked at him, blinking. “Somebody shot at Rose? But why would anybody—?”

“That’s one of the things I don’t know. I happened to be behind a door and I jumped him before he could pull the trigger, but it might as well have worked out another way. Fred Milburn was killed because he knew it couldn’t have been Sam Harris who robbed the bank. But who did, Petey?”

“I’ll reveal that in my own time, on my own terms.”

“Petey,” Shayne said, more and more exasperated with the little man. “Don’t you have even the faintest inkling of the jam you’re in? And we’re both in the same boat, in more ways than one. I’ll try to help you, God knows why, but we don’t have any chance at all unless you level with me. Who pulled the Beach Trust job?”

“Don’t tell me there’s something the great private eye doesn’t know?”

“Petey, will you forget that old feud for once? Forget about who’s going to get the credit. We’ve got to use our heads, and take advantage of any break that comes up. What’s the tie-in with the Truckers?”

“It’ll be a long, cold day when I answer any questions you ask me, Shayne. You’ll try to help! What a joke. I know what you think of me — you wouldn’t throw water on me if I was on fire. You’re trying to find out how much I know so you can tell your newfound friends. They couldn’t get anything out of me any other way, so they rung you in. And as for somebody shooting at Rose, or killing that no-good con Milburri, I don’t believe that for a minute. How could anybody kill him? He’s in jail.”

“Am I working for hoods or not?” Shayne said angrily. “If I am, I wouldn’t have to ask you any questions. I’d know the answers.”

“Maybe you don’t know every last detail. This wouldn’t be the first time in your life you’ve tried to play both ends against the middle. But you won’t come out on top this time. You can whistle for that recovery fee. I’m enjoying this,” he said, his tone contradicting the words. “I really am.”

Shayne made a sound that was only half a word. He took a step forward, towering over the dishevelled figure on the bunk. “I’ve seen you do some moronic things, but you’re surpassing yourself. It’s between you and me now.”

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on me!”

“I’m going to lay more than my finger on you if you don’t answer some questions. What did Plato have to do with the robbery?”

“Plato?” Painter smiled unpleasantly. “Not a thing that I know of.”

Shayne reached out for him as the door opened. The small man named Gray walked in briskly. Jack Klipstone followed. The third man, the husky one with the tattooes, blocked the doorway. Painter looked past the redhead, and when he saw Gray his face changed.

“Gray! It’s about time.”

“Is it?” Gray said.

“I knew you’d show up sooner or later. They’ve been treating me like dirt, but I kept telling myself not to worry. The Senate was on their trail. This man Shayne is under arrest Watch yourself with him. He can be tricky.”

Gray smiled at Shayne. “Tricky, eh? What’s wrong with your friend here, been hitting the sauce?”

“Oh, you know him, do you?” Painter said. “Well, I hope you brought enough cops with you, because there’s one thing I learned about Shayne, he doesn’t like to be arrested.”

“I can understand that,” Gray said cheerfully. “I’m like that myself.”

“They certainly did a good job on you.” Painter said, peering at him more closely. “Nobody would ever know your head had been cut open.”

Gray touched his head and looked at his hand for traces of blood. “They cut me open? My, my. I hope they didn’t take out anything I need. Here’s the late news, men. You’re making too much noise here, and we’re going to tape you up. You first, Shayne.”

Klipstone advanced on Shayne.

“He’s one of the hoodlums, Gray!” Painter cried. “Grab him.”

Gray laughed. Looking at Shayne, he tapped his temple meaningfully. “What next? Pink elephants?”

Painter said, confused, “You mean you aren’t — Well, I’ll say this, you look just like him!”

“When will you smarten up, Petey?” Shayne said. “Get it through your head — you’ve been conned.”

“Conned?”

Gray went on laughing. “Put him out of his misery, Shayne.”