Brett Halliday - I Come to Kill You

“I don’t worry about that crap.”

“It’s like checkers. You take one. De Blasio takes one. It gives the media jerks something to talk about, and the cops get excited and close down the crap games. I’ve got a better suggestion.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Which will cost you money.”

“What else is new?”

“When I say money, I do mean money.” He looked thoughtfully at the glowing end of his cigar. “Because you realize I’m right in there. They love me on that island. I’m in a position where I can do you some good.”

“Tell me more about that, and we’ll talk price.”

Shayne shook his head. “The other way around, Bobby. I’m wondering how serious this is with you. Are you down here to make a nuisance so they’ll buy you off, or do you want it all?”

Burns, very erect, very cocky, snapped, “I’ll settle for the Beach. That’s for openers.”

Shayne nodded. “For openers. I thought so. That’s what the Don thinks, too — that if he made an agreement with you, you’d keep it only as long as you felt like it. You know you won’t get a hundred percent of the Beach by negotiating, because that’s where the money is.”

“Are you spokesman for anybody?” Burns said sharply.

“No, I’m the wild deuce. But I had a long talk with the man this morning.” He dismissed De Blasio with a gesture. “Nothing much there anymore. The organization stinks. And without Siracusa—”

Burns leaned forward. “What do you mean, without Siracusa?”

“An accident at sea. He went for a sail with the kid, and didn’t come back.”

“You mean with Carlo?” Burns said incredulously.

“Yeah, it surprised everybody. So how does that leave them for leadership? The old man, a kid out of college, a couple of nervous has-beens like Larry Zito. Soft and slow. It’s my judgment that they can be taken.”

Burns came to his feet, his muscles rippling, and took several strides toward the front windows, turned, and came back. He kicked an empty beer can out of the way violently.

“You’re positive about Siracusa, he’s definitely out of it?”

“Hell, I’m the one who wrapped him in the tarp and committed him to the Gulf Stream.”

Burns made an attempt to control his mounting excitement. He stretched like a cat, and sat down.

“Siracusa. There was one son of a bitch it was a good idea not to fool with.”

“So what you’d better do,” Shayne said, “is forget these small fry and go for the Don himself.”

“That’s common sense. But you know he’s going to stay on that island. He’s got it fortified like Fort Knox.”

“And if you want to knock over Fort Knox,” Shayne said, “you blow it up from inside.”

In spite of the exciting ideas in the air, Burns was exercising isometrically, lacing his fingers in front of his chest and trying to pull them apart.

“If somebody could blow up that main house…”

Shayne shook his head. “Most of their guns and ammunition are in a room over the garage. I know where I can put my hands on a chunk of plastic explosive and a detonator. It would make a nice loud bang and scare everybody.”

Burns studied him. “You could really do that?”

“All I have to do is go into the garage and reach up.”

“When?” Burns demanded.

“Tonight would be a good time. Four of your guys have seen me here. I’m sure they’re all honest and loyal, but I could be blown with a phone call.”

The hoodlum’s face and shoulder muscles were knotted with concentration. “How do you see this? You set off the bomb…”

“You’re out in the bay in a couple of power boats. There’s a floodlight system along the water, but don’t worry about that, I’ll pull the main switch first, and then detonate. While they’re running around wondering what the hell happened, your guys come ashore. I can let you have some aerial photos and a survey map. You don’t want to get involved in a fire fight if you can avoid it. I’d advise you not to hit the Don, but grab him. With any luck you can be back in the boats in five minutes.”

“How many men would we be up against?”

“I’ve only seen about eight or ten, but don’t go by me. You want to get in and out before they know what hit them.”

“You know, it could work,” Burns said in a low voice. “In five minutes. You’re sure that bomb will go off?”

“Sometimes they don’t, but that’s your signal. If nothing happens, call it off and go home.”

Experience told Shayne that this kind of proposal required a minimum of three repetitions. He explained it to Burns again, went back to his car for the photographs and ground plan of Ponce de Leon, and explained it once more, this time with two of Burns’s advisers in on the discussion.

Finally Burns said, “Now, money.”

“I’m asking fifty. Half now, half if it works. And that will be it. I don’t want you to do me any favors after you take over. If you meet me in a restaurant, don’t say hello. If I think I can get you busted for anything, expect me to try. I’ve had a bad run lately, but this is going to put me on the other side of the line. I only want one thing out of you besides money.”

“What?”

“I need to bag somebody for the Meister killing.”

“Why talk to me about it?” Burns said cautiously.

“Because I’m making it part of the deal. Everybody knows it was bought by the Don, but none of the regular pigeons have turned in anything specific. Give me a couple of names to start with. The cops are sore at me for one reason or another. Sore at me — hell, they want to strip me to the buff and run me out of town. If I can come up with an arrest on that and give them the credit for it, maybe they’ll forgive me. I need it. If a couple of the Don’s boys go over for it, why should it bother you?”

“There’s only one thing wrong,” Burns said. “That was our hit.”

Shayne was holding his cigar on his knee, the microphone pickup inside the leaves pointed at Burns’s chest.

“The hell it was.”

“I’m telling you.”

“You did everything on it? Who made the phone call?”

“I did. You’ll have to think of some other way to get square with the law. That one’s going to stay unsolved.”

Shayne shrugged. “You won’t have enough action for all the Don’s moochers, as well as your own people. If you feel like throwing me a couple when you settle, I’d appreciate it. We could put together a case, and you’d get off to a better start with the cops. It’s your smart move. Just remember, work it through me.”

Burns shook his head slowly. “I’ve heard about you, Shayne. You’re really something. You know that?”

They continued to talk while Shayne’s cigar burned slowly down. The microphone-transmitter was in the final two inches, and Shayne had to stub the cigar before the metal cylinder emerged. It was a costly piece of equipment, and he hated to leave it, but there was a chance he could retrieve it when everything was over.

One of Burns’s men went off in a car and returned some time later with twenty-five thousand dollars, which Burns counted and handed to Shayne.

“And if this is a con…” he said, scowling.

“I’ve got enough people mad at me as it is.”

They had one more briefing session, with eight men present, and worked out the timetable. Burns thought Shayne should take part in the kidnapping because of his familiarity with the terrain, but Shayne vetoed this idea. The bomb explosion would conclude his role, and after that he planned to be elsewhere.

Returning to his car at last, he locked up the money. This was turning out to be a profitable job. On the other hand, he had invested six months in it, and his expenses had been heavy.