Brett Halliday - I Come to Kill You

“You got me,” he said. “I’ve got to take care of this drunk here. Mercedes, hold my place. I’ll be back.”

He stacked his chips, gave each girl a handful, and pocketed the rest. Sarah dropped one of the chips and had to go down to chase it. She was flushed with excitement.

“Mike Shayne, you’re absolutely the most marvelous—”

She took his arm, but he shook her off roughly. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t like to be handled?”

He walked off with Rourke, who observed, “That’s one chick I wouldn’t mind being handled by. Correction. Those are two chicks I wouldn’t mind being…”

“Sleep over, and maybe I can get you included, Tim. They like me.”

“You just handed them about a grand apiece, man,” Rourke said. “Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“I’ll buy you a drink, but organize your thoughts. I’ve got to get back before I cool off.”

“It seems to me that already started.”

“No, I’ve got a dealer who wants to stick it to the management, for some reason. That doesn’t happen too often. What are they having, labor trouble?”

“Competition. Let’s do this in camera, Mike. The room they gave me is really a linen closet, but we can both squeeze in if you don’t take any deep breaths.”

Shayne turned toward the bar. “No. You said two minutes. I’m clocking you.”

“Mike, come on, don’t be a horse’s ass, will you?”

Shayne found a place at the heel of the crowded bar and ordered bar cognac. Rourke asked for rye with a beer chaser. “You look terrible,” he said objectively. “What’s the expression? Death warmed over.”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Damn it, will you stop hammering?” Rourke kept his voice low, just loud enough for Shayne to hear it in the general babble. “I’m not your Aunt Tilly, for Christ’s sake. I don’t care how little sleep you get or how much you drink or how many chicks you take to bed at the same time…”

“Don’t knock it before you try it,” Shayne said.

“How was it, incidentally?”

“Different.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, but why did you have to be so damn public? You couldn’t throw a paper airplane in that casino without hitting somebody from Miami. Maybe they’d all like to get a little of that multiple sex, but they’re too tied up to come out and say so.”

“They’ll have to work out their problems with no help from me. Will you get to the point, Tim?”

The bartender brought their drinks. Shayne leaned down to meet the glass as it came up, and drank thirstily.

“Mike,” Rourke said. “Mike, old buddy. You can trust me. What in the name of God is going on?”

“Nothing mysterious. I’m just trying to enjoy myself for a change.”

“I know you better than that. You’re up to something.”

“Am I?” Shayne said wearily.

“Because if you’re not,” Rourke said, “if you don’t realize what this kind of crap is doing to the image—”

“I haven’t been getting much mileage out of it lately. From now on I intend to do what I like, and not what the public expects.”

“I’m for that,” Rourke agreed. “But by the same token, you’ve built up a certain — I don’t know how to say this without sounding like the worst type of square — a certain reputation, Mike. Leaving everything else aside, it’s money in the bank. Do you really want to throw it away? Now, don’t just stand there grinding your teeth. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t—”

Interrupting, Shayne said brutally, “And if clients stop calling me up, what happens to Tim Rourke? Everybody knows I’ve been carrying you for years.”

Rourke said carefully, “In vino veritas, is that it? You’re crocked, Mike.”

“I’m not so crocked I don’t know the score,” Shayne said, drinking again. “Why does the paper pay you that salary? Because you write better than other people? Literary style has never been your big thing. They keep you on the staff because I let you follow me around. Nothing to be ashamed of. It only gets bad when you start kidding yourself.”

Rourke sagged against the bar. “Mike—”

Shayne’s knuckles whitened as he squeezed the glass. “All I’m pointing out is that when you want to keep me in operation you’ve got your own axe to grind. You’re the Shayne specialist, and you don’t want to lose your meal ticket. That’s natural. But I’ve got a new policy. I’m going to start telling the truth, and the hell with whether or not it hurts. And that includes the truth about the famous private detective who never lost an important case. Look at the competition, for God’s sake. The Miami and Miami Beach police force and the state highway patrol. Strictly bush.”

“There’s no point in talking if you’re going to be that stupid. We all have our bad days, but keep it in proportion.”

Shayne made a gesture of controlled fury. “I was lucky for a long time, and I was fool enough to think I had something to do with it. God help me, I got a kick out of being recognized. Don’t try to con that man, because that’s Mike Shayne. The one-man army. He can outdrink, outfight, outscrew — You and the rest of the media jerks, you’re the ones who got me that reputation, and do you want to know the part that really bugs me? This idea that I can soak up cognac for a week on end, fifth after fifth, and be just as good in bed, just as fast on my feet — Tonight I’m going to prove I’m human.” He rattled his glass. “I’m going to go on drinking this stuff until I fall down.”

“You’re well on your way, man.”

Shayne turned bloodshot eyes on Rourke. “No. The weird thing is, I haven’t started to feel it. I know how many chips I’ve got in my pocket. I know how much money I owe back in Miami. I managed to forget it with those babes, but the minute I went into the casino, back it came.”

“That was going to be my big topic,” Rourke said. “I mean, you and I have done some nutty things, but borrowing money from Larry Zito—”

“How do you know about it?”

“You can’t keep a thing like that corked. Everybody in Miami is chortling about it. You’ve been right too often! Yeah, you’ve been lucky. Of course you’ve been smart too, and tough when it counted, and there’s nothing phony about your record. But with most people, all they see is the luck. And when luck turned against you, I mean they were delighted! I’ve learned about human nature in the last few months. I’m talking about the cops, who never liked reading about your big fees. About cab drivers, the guys on the paper…” He was speaking so quietly that Shayne could barely hear him. “I don’t know why you haven’t returned any of my calls. I heard you were asking guys to loan you some dough. How come you didn’t ask me?”

Shayne said dryly, “How much can you let me have?”

“About forty-nine cents at the moment. That’s not the point. Name a sum and let me try to raise it. The paper will give me an advance. There are plenty of people around who owe me a favor. I can get up a purse—”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Shayne said gruffly. “And we could have a touching little ceremony, with speeches. I’d have to keep blowing my nose… Tim, why do I have to explain the most elementary things? I’d use the money to pay Zito. And then how would I pay you?”

“We wouldn’t be charging a hundred and twenty percent interest. You could pay it back when you had it.”

Shayne’s face worked. “And if the luck hasn’t turned, something just as bad or worse will happen next week or the week after. I’m not looking for stopgaps. If I can keep that dealer on the run, what’s a little thing like ten or fifteen grand? Tim, I know your heart bleeds for people in trouble, but help somebody else, will you? They aren’t going to kill me. They aren’t even going to beat me up. I talked to Zito, and he’s nearly as embarrassed as I am. We’ll make a deal.”