Brett Halliday - Kill All the Young Girls

She did a careful job. When she was finished, she came to her feet, put one hand on his shoulder, and kissed him hard. As she broke away, she bit his mouth.

Shayne took her by the breast as Zion had done. “Is that how he usually hauls you around?”

She withdrew from his hand. “It means nothing.”

She put a string quartet on the record player and made drinks for herself and Shayne. Jackie asked for a beer.

“No,” she said. “You are to stay totally sober. Mr. Shayne, I see that you feel a little unfriendly toward us; and Larry doesn’t want that. To get in your good graces, I’ll give you one of Larry’s special cigars.”

She went off into the bedroom and came back with a cigar box, which she opened and offered to Shayne. “He imports these from Portugal. Cuban, of course.” The raised lid of the box concealed its contents from the other two men. Something Shayne had said had convinced her, or perhaps she had been intending this all along and had only delivered him to Zion as a way of protecting her foothold in Zion’s life. The box contained two cigars individually wrapped in silver foil and Shayne’s.38. She had snapped the revolver open so he could see that it was loaded.

Shayne took one of the cigars; Alix, the other. She closed the box and put it on the table at Shayne’s elbow. They dressed the cigars and lit them from the same match.

He breathed out smoke. “Will he still be able to afford these when he’s ex-chairman of the board?”

“He has a large supply put away.”

“We’ve got time to kill. Anybody want to play some gin?”

Art said he was willing. Alix brought a deck of cards and moved a low table. She retired to the white sofa, where she curled up and blew expensive smoke at the ceiling. Jackie, more nervous, kept moving from one perch to another. Shayne gave his full attention to the cards and within half an hour had won $150 on paper.

Meeting Shayne’s eyes, Alix consulted her watch and gave him a steady questioning look, which he shrugged away.

“Larry said something about a movie. What’s the choice?”

“We don’t want to watch a movie. They give me a headache at this time of night.”

“I haven’t been to the movies in months,” Shayne said.

They all discussed it, and the vote went against her. She dug out some flat film cans and read the titles. They picked a mystery about a few fast days in the life of a fictional member of Shayne’s own profession.

She pressed various buttons. A projector came out of one wall; two panels on the opposite wall parted to reveal a screen.

Art turned his chair. Jackie took a position with his shoulder to the screen so he could continue to watch Shayne. Testing their alertness, Shayne made a quick movement forward for his drink. Both men responded. Art’s hand slipped inside his jacket.

Alix touched Shayne’s neck from behind. “Comfortable?”

“One foot’s gone to sleep, but never mind. Too bad you’re so attached to the man, I have a feeling we could get to appreciate each other.”

“Impossible. Unfortunately.”

“Do you think I gave Larry any new ideas?”

“The only thing I know, he is thinking about the small amount of time between now and tomorrow morning. And I think the same.”

“Patience, baby.”

He asked for more cognac. She brought the bottle to him; but before she could open it to pour, a shot was fired suddenly outside.

In the trailer, everyone froze. The shot was followed by a splash, the sound of people running.

Both Art and Jackie came to their feet. Alix returned to the projector. The on-screen detective, who had infiltrated the Mafia by pretending to be broke, bitter and drunk, was walking into a gambling casino to approach the Mafia boss. Art, at the window, drew back a curtain carefully. Jackie was watching Shayne with a.45 automatic.

Alix turned up the sound; and Shayne, without looking at her, reached for the cigar box. On the screen, an excited girl with a knife attacked the Mafia boss. Shayne took out the.38 and flicked the chambers into firing position with a hard turn of the wrist. The movement was concealed by the open lid, but some change in his manner alerted Jackie, and he started to bring up his gun. Shayne fired through the cigar box lid.

Jackie fell back, clutching his elbow. Alix swung the projector so that when Art turned, he had the beam in his eyes. Seeing that his companion had been hit, he moved toward him; but it must have seemed to him that the shot had come from the outside. Broken movie images flashed across his face.

Jackie pointed toward Shayne, his shout of warning swallowed by the noises on the soundtrack. As Art moved, Shayne shot him twice — once in the thigh, a second time high on his arm.

Two quick hops took Shayne to the wounded man. The second shot had knocked him against the window; and he was beginning to slide, a look of disbelief on his face. Shayne plucked the gun out of his hands and let him fall. He swept Jackie’s big.45 off the rug.

“Stay out of this,” he told Alix. “I don’t like to shoot women, but I’ve done it when I’ve had to. Turn down the goddamn sound.”

She reached for the knob. Earlier, she had snipped off the ends of the Cuban cigars with a tiny pair of golden scissors; and now Shayne used them to cut the tape between his ankles. The men he had shot were complaining.

“I want you to listen to this,” Shayne said. “I know it hurts, but think of the people who are starving in Pakistan. Hang on for a few minutes. I’m taking Alix with me, and I hope they think she’s valuable enough so there won’t be any more shooting. Hostage — do you know what the word means, baby?”

He looked for his shoes and socks, but they had been taken somewhere. Three shots in quick succession were fired near the trailer. Shayne waved a gun at the wounded men.

“Don’t open that door. I won’t be taking off until I’m sure it’s clear. I’ll be outside, and I’ll be jumpy.”

“A doctor,” Jackie said.

“There’s probably an aspirin in the bathroom.”

He motioned to Alix to walk ahead of him. Before she unlocked the door, he touched her spine with the muzzle of the.45.

“I’m serious about this. Cooperate.”

“All the way. It is Larry’s battle, not mine.”

They stepped out. She locked the door behind them and threw the key away.

The other trailers were alight. The headlights on all the trucks and construction vehicles were on. A bank of floodlights lit up the shore. There were moving lights on the deck of one of the pirate ships.

Shayne put the smaller guns in his pockets, the.45 in his belt.

“That was neatly done in there,” Alix said. “What is taking place, do you understand?”

“I have a general idea. We’re being raided by Oscar Olson’s people.”

“I must telephone. I was worrying, and I had nearly decided Larry would win. Now I believe you will smash it for him. Do you really need me as a hostage?”

“I’m not leaving yet.”

“Be careful, Michael. Larry has given orders at the gate. But I think it will be hard for anybody to stop you. Shall we have a drink tomorrow afternoon to exchange ideas?”

“That’s a long way off.”

“It is, and much will happen in the meantime. But one last thing I must tell you. How he has worked it I don’t know, but Larry has known almost from the beginning what the opposition has planned. So why is he surprised by this tonight? And one further thing still. The thing he is so good at in a story conference — I have seen it — when a roomful of brilliant men are wondering how to put life or interest in a story, is that he comes up with some marvelous twist that stands everything on its head and solves the difficulties. So expect something. Bye-bye.”