Two men were seated at the table with Lucy Hamilton. One was a balding, wiry, middle-aged man in his shirtsleeves with bright red and yellow suspenders. The other was younger and heavier, wearing a seersucker suit. He was holding Lucy’s left hand, leaning close and talking rapidly. Two gold teeth showed beneath his short upper lip as he talked.
Lucy’s face was flushed, and she nodded continually, her brown eyes glowing as though she listened to pearls of great wisdom. The brandy bottle was practically empty. She didn’t look up when Shayne threaded his way between the tables. The bald man glared with open hostility when the tall redhead stopped beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder.
Lucy was startled. She drew away from the heavy man when she saw Shayne, and said vivaciously, “I’ve been having such a good time, Michael. These gentlemen have been telling me all about Centerville, and it’s simply fascinating.” She put her hand on the bald man’s forearm. “This is Mr. Rexard… Mr. Shayne. And this is Titus, Michael. He’s a state representative and very important.”
Shayne nodded and said, “It was kind of you to entertain Miss Hamilton while I was gone.” He seated himself between Lucy and Rexard, looked at the depleted bottle with raised brows. “I’m afraid you haven’t been very hospitable, Lucy. Shouldn’t we order another bottle?”
“Well, if you promise not to drink too much,” she said hesitantly. “They’ve been telling me the most awful things, Michael. About how the police are in cahoots with most everybody in town. I think it’s just terrible, Titus, the way you say they do. Tell Mr. Shayne about it.”
He cleared his throat, flashed his gold teeth and drawled, “Miss Lucy forgot to say my name is Tatum, Mr. Shayne. I’ve been telling her how they work things in Centerville, seeing you all are strangers and mighty nice people. A man’s got to walk a pretty straight line to stay out of trouble hereabouts.”
“The police just run the town the way they want to,” Lucy put in indignantly. “It doesn’t matter whether you get drunk or not, if you’re a stranger and in a place like this and take a few drinks and they think you’ve got any money, they arrest you when you go out and put you in jail for drunkenness. Then you have to pay a fine and the judge splits it with the proprietor for tipping them off about you.”
Rexard looked worried. “It’s not so good to say it right out loud like that, Miss Lucy.” He glanced nervously around them. “You can’t get any proof that they pay for the tipoff. It just happens that a policeman’s always waiting outside to grab a man after he’s had a few drinks and shows a roll. The Eustis isn’t any worse than other places.”
Shayne listened soberly and thoughtfully, then beckoned a waitress, ordered another bottle of brandy and said, “What happens if a man is arrested when he isn’t actually drunk?”
Both Tatum and Rexard laughed jeeringly. “If a cop says a man’s drunk, he’s drunk,” said Rexard.
“And if you don’t plead guilty,” Tatum contributed, “you get thirty days in jail.”
“But they have to have some proof,” Shayne argued. “You could demand an examination by a doctor.”
“In Centerville?” Titus Tatum’s gold teeth showed to the gum line in a hoarse laugh. “Argue with them and you get beat up,” he explained simply. “It don’t pay. Safest thing is to keep your mouth shut and pay.”
“It’s just like the Gestapo in Hitler’s Germany,” Lucy said. “Some men stay in jail here three months without being allowed to see a lawyer and not knowing what they’re charged with. Isn’t that what you said, Titus?”
“A man hasn’t got much chance once he’s locked up,” he admitted cautiously. “The City Hall gang has things pretty much their own way… have for thirty years. Run the slot machines and liquor business and all. It’s a losing game to try and buck ’em. Smart folks just keep their mouths shut and stay out of trouble.”
“So… you be smart, Michael.” Lucy squeezed his arm, then continued excitedly, “Have you heard the big news? About the end of the strike? The miners are going back to work tomorrow.”
The waiter brought a bottle of brandy. Shayne said to Lucy, “I heard about it,” opened the bottle and poured some in four glasses. He asked Rexard, “Do you live here?”
“Dry cleaning business,” Rexard told him. “I say it’s a shame for the miners to give up that way, but I reckon the poor devils didn’t have a chance. George Brand certainly let ’em down when he killed young Roche.”
“Do you think he did?”
“It makes no difference whether he did or didn’t,” Rexard said gloomily. “Strike’s broken, and there won’t be another one for years.”
“Do you know, Michael, there’ve been five men killed in Centerville in the past month? Counting Mr. Roche last night and that man on the highway this afternoon. But that was an accident, I guess.” Something in her voice warned Shayne that it was important for him not to comment upon it.
Shayne took a sip of brandy and said casually, “An accident on the highway?”
“Just about sundown,” Titus Tatum said. “Not more’n a mile west of town.”
“This side of the Moderne Hotel,” Lucy said. “Titus was telling me about it.”
“That’s right,” said Tatum. “Car went out of control over the side, I reckon. They found him with his head bashed in.”
“A couple of special deputies found him,” Lucy interposed, her voice vibrating with anger and warning.
“Fellow by the name of Margule,” said Rexard.
Shayne said, “Margule? Wasn’t that one of the men who played poker with Brand last night?”
“That Brand claims was playing poker,” Rexard agreed unemotionally. “It’s tough on Brand having it happen… right on top of them saying Jethro Home has skipped town.”
“That leaves only one other witness for Brand,” Shayne said slowly.
“Yep. Dave Burroughs. I’d hate to be in Dave’s shoes right now. Wasn’t so bad when he had two others to back him up.” The heavy congressman spoke in a heavy voice.
“Were there any witnesses to Margule’s accident?” Shayne asked casually.
“If there were I reckon they’re not talking,” said Rexard.
There were lines of tension in Shayne’s gaunt face. He took a sip of brandy. It went down easier now that the way had been paved by Ann Cornell’s corn. He looked slowly around the restaurant. It was well-filled now. There was a small cleared place in the center where a few couples were dancing to a hillbilly tune from the juke-box. A lot of men and some women were lined up at the slot machines, feeding coins into the machines and pulling cranks and waiting apathetically for the cylinders to stop so they could deposit another coin.
He wondered what their attitude toward the ending of the strike was… what they thought about the highway accident that had removed one of George Brand’s witnesses from the jurisdiction of the court while a second one of the trio had unaccountably disappeared. What did these people think about a police force and a judge and a small army of special deputies who acted wholly outside the law?
If the group gathered in the restaurant was representative of Centerville’s citizenry, Shayne decided that they didn’t think about things like that. Over a period of years they had probably ceased to resent being pushed around by the local authorities. Those who could, he surmised, catered to the police and tried to get in on the graft. Those not lucky enough to do that tried to avoid trouble by being passive and staying out of their way.
Lucy and Titus Tatum pushed their chairs back and got up to dance. Shayne poured more brandy in Rexard’s glass and jerked his head towards Titus.
“One of your local politicians?”
“Titus isn’t as bad as some,” Rexard told him. “Knows which side his bread is buttered on and doesn’t cause any trouble.” He hesitated, then added, “Nobody gets elected here without backing from the city hall bunch.” He accepted a cigarette from Shayne’s extended pack and confided, “Miss Lucy says you all are just driving through.”
“We might stay over a few days,” Shayne told him. “Depends on several things.”
“She didn’t say what your business might be,” Rexard probed.
“Didn’t she?” Shayne scowled into his glass for a moment, then watched the couples who were dancing.
Rexard turned in his chair, grinned broadly, said, “That Titus. He’s quite a chaser. Seems like he took a shine to Miss Lucy soon’s he saw her sitting here alone. But you needn’t make nothing out of that,” he went on hastily. “He’s a gentleman, if I do say so.”
Shayne wasn’t particularly concerned with Lucy and the Centerville Lothario. She knew when to be naive and when to get tough. He said abruptly to Rexard, “I don’t quite understand the situation here about the miners. Aren’t they affiliated with John L. Lewis’ United Mine Workers?”
“Not in Centerville. Some mines in Kentucky are organized, but not hereabouts. Organizers from outside don’t last long.”
“What happens to them?”
Rexard lifted his skinny shoulders. “Lots of things. Car runs over a cliff, maybe. Like Joe Margule this afternoon…”
“You mean they get rubbed out?” Shayne interrupted sharply, turning his gaze from the dance floor to his bald-headed companion.
Rexard moved uneasily and looked cautiously around. “For God’s sake Mr. Shayne,” he said in a low voice, “don’t say things like that out loud. It’s not healthy in Centerville. We leave well enough alone here. The mine owners don’t like union organizers, so they don’t last long.”
“George Brand lasted.”
“That’s right.”
“How?”
Rexard twirled his glass, said hesitantly, “I reckon he’s tough. Lots of people have wondered the same thing since the Roche strike started, but the management just didn’t seem to worry much.”
“But suppose Brand’s union had won?”
“They didn’t.”
“From what I hear, they might have if Charles Roche had lived a few more days,” Shayne said.
“He didn’t.”
“Was it known publicly that Roche intended to compromise with Brand and end the strike as soon as he took over control of the mine?”
“There was talk,” Rexard told him, keeping his voice low. “It wasn’t something Roche would print in the paper, I reckon.”
“What sort of woman is Ann Cornell?” Shayne asked abruptly. The music had stopped and Lucy and Tatum were feeding the slot machines. Lucy was plucking coins from Tatum’s palm, her brown eyes shining and her laughter floating across the room.
Rexard said, “Ann Cornell sets out a tasty drink of corn,” and grinned at Shayne.
“From Lafe Heddon’s still?” Shayne asked, and turned his full attention to Rexard.
The bald man narrowed his eyes. “You do get around… for a stranger.”
“It’s my business,” the detective told him cheerfully, “to get around.”
“That so?” Rexard drawled. There was fleeting suspicion in his expression. “I don’t believe you’ve said what your business is.”
“I don’t believe I have.” Shayne poured brandy into their glasses. “Aside from a drink of Lafe’s corn, what does Mrs. Cornell offer a man?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m married and my wife’s a Methodist.”
“She must stand in with the police,” Shayne mused, “to get by the way she does. Mrs. Cornell, that is,” he added, grinning.
“She doesn’t run any house,” Rexard said with emphasis. “Maybe some men drop in for a drink, and it might be Hank Elwood likes a shot of corn as well as another. And it might be the Methodist ladies look the other way when Ann Cornell comes down the street, but that doesn’t bother her none.”
“Could Charles Roche have been visiting her instead of Brand when he left his car parked at the corner last night?”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” said Rexard blandly. “This is mighty nice drinking liquor. Imported, isn’t it?” He took a long drink, then studied the label on the bottle.
Lucy and Titus Tatum came back to the table. “We’ve been having fun,” she said gaily. “Titus promised me all he won at the slot machine, but he lost three dollars.”
“Maybe I might have better luck.” Shayne pushed his chair back and lurched to his feet, grabbing Lucy’s arm for support. He steadied himself and grinned foolishly. “That brandy sure goes to a man’s head,” he said in a loud voice. “Le’s get some change an’ try my luck.” Still holding Lucy’s arm he led her on a circuitous route, staggering around the tables, to the cashier. He got his billfold out and extracted a fifty-dollar bill. “Take out for the las’ bottle an’ gimme ’bout five bucks in change for the slot machines.”
“Sh-h-h,” Lucy whispered. “Don’t talk so loud… you sound drunk, Michael,” she added anxiously. “And don’t waste five dollars on those machines. Titus says…”
“Plenty more where that comes from,” he bragged, shaking his wallet at her. “Gotta have a high ol’ time thish evenin’.” He pulled her along with him toward a group of three machines that were idle, handed her a handful of silver and said, “You drop it in and I’ll pull the crank. That way, maybe we’ll be lucky.”
“You’re not drunk,” she accused. “Why…?”
“Act as though I am,” he said quietly, swaying against the machine and jerking the handle. “Think you could handle Titus if I get locked up in the hoosegow?”
“I could handle him with my little finger,” she assured him disdainfully. “But Mr. Rexard might be harder. He practically propositioned me while you were out. Offered to drive me back to the hotel and tuck me in if you didn’t show up soon.”
Shayne muttered, “By God, it’s going to pay off! Three dimes. The syndicate should be told about this.” He laughed drunkenly and turned to wave at the two men sitting at his table watching him.
Lucy put one of the dimes back and leaned close to him. In a frightened voice she said, “Do you realize… when they told me about that accident on the highway this afternoon…”
“You didn’t mention our having seen that so-called accident?” Shayne interrupted soberly and swiftly.
“Of course I didn’t,” she snapped. “But the more I think…”
“Then stop thinking about it.” He kept the machine clattering steadily. “I’m going to the men’s room after a time. I’ll be pretty drunk when I come out. You get up and come to the machines with me again and bring your purse with you. I’ll have a batch of stuff to put in it. Then we’ll get into an argument and I’ll stagger out alone. Pretend you’re disgusted with me and play along with those two birds as long as you want to. Then go back to your cabin and lock yourself in and stay there. If I haven’t turned up by tomorrow afternoon, find Seth Gerald of the Roche Mines and tell him I’m in jail. Go to the governor if you have to, but…”
“Michael! I’m frightened. Remember that man on the highway this afternoon. Those were officers… and they murdered him in cold blood just to ruin Brand’s alibi. They might…”
“I’m tougher than these birds they’re used to pushing around,” Shayne growled close to her ear.
“But when the police find out you’re a detective working to free Brand…” She shuddered, leaning close against his arm.
“I’ve fixed that,” he told her. “Among the things I’ll give you will be a piece of paper signed by the man who runs AMOK showing I’ve been retained by the mine operators to look into Brand’s guilt. Keep hold of it, and don’t worry about me.”
“You think you’ll have a chance to see Brand in jail?”
“It looks like a good chance… and the only chance.”
“But if you represent the mine owners, wouldn’t they just let you go in and talk to him?”
“They might. But I want to get to Brand before he finds out I’ve gone over to AMOK.” He patted her cheek and asked loudly, “Any more dimes?”
“Just one.” Lucy put the coin in. Shayne pulled the lever and turned away without waiting for the cylinders to stop. Lucy waited until it stopped on a lemon, and followed him back to their table.
Shayne drew a chair out for her and asked Rexard thickly, “Which way to the li’l boy’s room?”
Rexard chuckled and gave him directions, then watched anxiously as Shayne lurched toward the rear, narrowly avoiding a collision with an elderly couple.
Inside the wash room, Shayne went through his wallet, removing all the money except a hundred and fifty dollars, and all business cards and other identification. He put the agreement signed by Persona with the other things. He withdrew the letter from Charles Roche which was in his hip pocket. After reading it carefully once more, he tore it into tiny pieces and flushed it down the drain.
When he made certain there was nothing left in his pockets or wallet to identify him, he slid the small pack of banknotes and papers in his trousers pocket and went back to the dining room.
Titus Tatum was holding Lucy’s hand and flashing his gold teeth when Shayne approached the table. He dropped her hand hastily, but not quickly enough to prevent Shayne from standing over him with doubled fists and protesting drunkenly, “Thatsh my girl, see? Keep your han’s off her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Michael!” Lucy sprang up and grabbed his arm. “Sit down and have another drink,” she begged.
Shayne shook her hand from his arm. “Don’ wan’ ’nother drink. Wanna win shome money. Lotsha money.” He caught Lucy’s hand and almost fell as he pulled her to a deserted machine in a corner.
Her handbag was suspended from her left shoulder by a leather strap. The flap was down, but the catch was released. She stayed close behind him, facing the machine, while Shayne turned slightly, slipped the packet from his pocket, turned again and placed them in her purse which she held open with her left hand while her right hand deposited a coin. Shayne pulled the crank and muttered, “Good work, Angel, I’ll see you…”
Shayne glanced up and saw a man coming through the doorway.
Mr. Persona was alone. He stood just inside the door for a moment, a broad smile on his thick mouth and triumphant gleam in his light eyes as though he expected the people to rise and pay him due homage before making an entrance.
Shayne said, “Put a nickel in the slot… quick. And take a look at the short, dark man standing at the door.”
Lucy put the coin in and glanced at the man. “Who…?”
“That’s Persona,” he told her as the machine clattered. “Big-shot in the Mine Owners of Kentucky and the man who’s retained me to convict Brand.” The machine stopped. “Put in another nickel and watch where he goes.”
“He’s going to the rear,” she reported. “Titus is getting up and waving… he’s going to our table,” she went on in a low, excited voice.
Shayne said grimly, “I’m going to stagger out and I’ll keep my back turned. When you go to the table try to keep my name out of the conversation. Is he looking this way?”
“No… his back is turned. They’re all talking together.”
“Good. Listen, Angel. I’m going to ease out. Get back there and turn on your charm. Get him talking about strikes and murders. Get him liquored up if you can. Get the lowdown on Seth Gerald. And… watch your step.” He turned and swayed the few steps to the door, glancing aside to see a look of hostility on the cashier’s face.
Outside, he stood swaying, irresolutely, staggered a few steps in one direction, turned and staggered back, wondering how long he was going to have to wait before a cop arrested him.
The local tipoff service was evidently working perfectly. Two men came toward him purposefully, both in uniform and both swinging nightsticks.
Shayne grinned foolishly, squinting first one eye and then the other, then both, as though straining for focus.
They were big, burly men, fat paunches straining their belts. Each took a firm hold on one of Shayne’s arms. One of them said, “Seems like you don’t know which way to go, fella. Come ’long an’ we’ll show you. Fact is, we’ll give you a little ride.”
Shayne jerked his arms and protested angrily. “Don’ wanna ride. My girl…”
The policeman on his right slapped him across the mouth. “We don’t like drunk bastards in Centerville. Get movin’.”
Shayne licked his lip and tasted blood. He gritted his teeth and let his legs go limp. They caught him up and dragged him to the police car and dumped him in the back on the floor, got in the front seat together and drove away.