Shayne had no trouble finding the Homestead Beach address. It was the upper half of a two-family house, three blocks from the ocean. Like many of the houses on the block, the For Sale sign was up; Homestead Beach had been hit hard by the cutbacks at the nearby airbase. The windows were curtainless. Shayne drove past. It was a street of nearly identical houses, most of which needed paint or other forms of attention. In a few more years, the only thing to do with the place would be to burn it down and begin again.
He parked and came back across-lots, approaching the house from the rear. The two-car garage was empty. He went quietly up the back stairs. The door was unlocked.
He turned the knob, and entered a kitchen. Like her mother, Helen felt no obligation to keep abreast of the dishes. The fare here was TV dinners, sardines and crackers, store pie, instant Sanka. Much beer had been drunk, many cigarettes had been smoked. The remains were everywhere.
He heard a belch. A girl walked in with a beer in one hand. When she saw Shayne she screeched and the can went flying. She had just come from the bathroom and her jeans were open. This was clearly Helen. She had her mother’s hips and thighs, from which she would probably have been glad to shed a few pounds. Her hair was in curlers. Without them, and with a new expression on her face, she might have been almost pretty.
“How are you making out down here?” Shayne said. “I’m Michael Shayne. A couple of questions to ask you.”
She grabbed her jeans as they started to slide. “Goddamn you, goddamn you. Two minutes later I would have been on the road. How did you find me?”
“You left footprints.”
She took a step forward. “What do people have to do to get a break in this world? Please, please! Don’t take me back.”
The shock of finding a strange man in her kitchen had drained most of the color from her face. Even her lips were white. She held out both hands to him and said desperately, “Please! You don’t know what he’ll do to me.”
“Your father? What will he do?”
“Beat me to a pulp. Do you think I’m kidding? You know how he does with the pot-heads. He comes home with scabs on his knuckles. Why do you think I kept dropping out of school? Because I was bruised up! Give me a break, Mr. Shayne?”
“Let’s find out what the situation is first. Where’s Gold?”
She stared. “She- it,” she said in disgust. “I hoped you didn’t know about that.” She came closer and picked at his sling. “I can’t offer you money because I don’t have any. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in-” She gave him a look. “No, I didn’t think so. But I’ve heard about you. You’re supposed to be halfway fair. I don’t care about Murray, I don’t care about anybody in the goddamn fucking world. I’ll confess every little sin I ever committed, if you won’t make me go home.”
“You still haven’t told me where Gold is.”
A calculating look fled across her face. “I’ll make a deal. I’ll tell you the whole thing, from the time I first went down on him, if you’ll say you won’t make me go back. You don’t know what it’s like there.”
“I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea. Maybe you can persuade me.”
She gave a relieved laugh. “Then come on in and have a beer or a smoke. Are you a pot-man, by any chance?”
“Sometimes, when I’m not working.”
The kitchen had a table and chairs, but the only furniture in the living room were two mattresses and a folding beach chair. Helen sat down cross-legged on a mattress.
“You’re the guest, you can sit in the chair.” She waved around. “Ghoulish, yes? And if I told you what they charge for this place!”
Shayne sat on the footrest of the long chair. Helen popped a beer can and offered it. When he declined, she took a quick pull at the beer herself.
“Luke,” she complained. Setting it down, she began taking out curlers. “I must look like a singed cat. Not too irresistibly attractive, huh? I know where you want me to start, and I’m not going to start any place until you give me your oath. If I answer all your questions to the best of my ability, so help me God, will you bug off and tell my old man you couldn’t find me?”
After considering for a moment, Shayne nodded. “Unless you’ve done something you can be arrested for.”
“You could probably get me for conspiracy, but that’s the shittiest law there is, and besides I’m a juvenile.”
“Conspiracy to do what?”
She said sincerely, leaning forward, “Mr. Shayne, I honestly don’t know! Murray kept telling me it would be better if I didn’t. The idea I had at first, he was bringing in a shipment of hash. But considering how nervous everybody’s getting, I think it may be something a little stronger. A little more illegal. Anyway, I had nothing to do with that part, and I know Murray will bear me out if you can find him.”
Shayne lit one of his own cigarettes, the kind containing tobacco. “How did he get in touch with you?”
“Oh, I wrote him a silly letter. I was feeling moody that day. I didn’t expect anything to come of it, but what did it cost me? I sort of exaggerated how much I missed him. I like Murray, he’s sweet, and he’s not too enterprising sex-wise any more. It’s been practically all oral on my part. I told you I wasn’t going to keep anything back.”
As the curlers came out and the dark hair fell around her face she looked younger and prettier. “I’m supposed to be kind of good at that, as a matter of fact. I can make almost anybody squeal. Be that as it may, I drew him some X-rated pictures to get that old tingle going. I had this nutty idea, that if he ever came back it would change my luck. And that’s the way it happened! But I don’t see why I owe him a hell of a lot of gratitude, considering I have to think of my own self, don’t I?”
“Yeah.” Her mother had said much the same thing.
“Well, I do! He called from New York. I was so thrilled! He told me to rent a place, and then he came down, looking just like all the other tourists. He told me he rented a car, but what he really did, he stole it at the airport. So all the time I’ve been hurrying here and there, I was driving a hot car, and if some nosy trooper had picked me up, wouldn’t that have been marvelous, though?”
“Where does Artie Constable come in?”
She gave a high laugh and took some more beer. “You’ve been talking to dear old mom. He’s this friend of mine from school. Murray needed somebody who looked sort of tough and I suggested Artie and we contacted him, and he said sure. He’s been staying here, and the less said about that, the better. Murray doesn’t mind, he’s so out of it himself.”
“Now about the heroin, Helen.”
“I never said it was heroin. All I know is, some Arabs brought it in for him.”
“What kind of Arabs?”
She went into a handbag on the floor beside her. “I’ve got a clipping. I cut it out when Murray broke jail. I’ve been reading everything, all that stuff about the citizenship, keeping my fingers crossed that he wouldn’t get it and he’d have to come back. Well, I know it’s here somewhere, but take my word for it. It had the name of one of the Arabs, Rashid whatever. Murray sent me to this certain mansion in Boca Raton to ask for somebody with that same identical name, and don’t tell me that was a coincidence. And to bring him down here. A neat guy, but he looked right through me. He could be a fag-I wondered about that. He and Murray had a lot to chew over. Do you mind if we pick up the beat a little, Mr. Shayne? I was about to split when you walked in. I’m going to try and make it in Southern California.”
“Without your two friends?”
“Seriously! Artie’s O.K., but all he likes to do is smoke dope and float. And Murray I said goodbye to this morning. He gave me two hundred for a going-away present, which wasn’t too bad. That was no permanent thing. To begin with, how long would he last? All I wanted was travelling money, and I got that. So.”
She poured down more beer. “I bought a few things for him. You may not believe this one-ping-pong balls and a hypo. I know! Don’t ask for an explanation. And there was a sergeant here from the airbase one night.” She giggled, sounding for an instant like her mother. “He put his hand on my ass in the kitchen, which I appreciated because he knew it was risky, with Artie and Murray in the next room. Am I helping?”
“Some. What happened this morning?”
“He packed his bag. So long, kid, thanks a million. I didn’t ask any questions! Artie was so wound up he had to keep going to the bathroom. Before they left he hopped himself up with some jumpers. Murray told him to take three. He took five. I popped a couple myself, does it show?”
She sneaked a look at her watch.
“How are you travelling?” Shayne said.
“By thumb, natch.”
“What do you think they’re doing now?”
“What I think they’re doing now-I could have wormed it out of Artie, but I decided not to-is picking up a package and taking it somewhere and turning it into cash. And then they’ll go their separate ways. Murray did some phoning last night. Plane reservations? Maybe. He’s got a wonderful Lebanese passport, it looks just exactly like him. He grew a beard, did I tell you? And he has this creepy hairpiece that looks about as real as Astroturf. Well.” She looked at her watch again. “The thing is, I want to be out by the time Artie gets back. He thinks we’re going to stay through the month. What he doesn’t know is, I already got back the deposit. If you want to, you can drop me on the highway. And gee-I certainly want to thank you, Mr. Shayne. It shows there are nice people in the world, after all.”
Shayne picked up her overloaded purse. Before she could object, he spilled it on the floor. “I don’t want to find out later I made a mistake.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to find in there. That stuff has been piling up for years.”
She was trying, but she couldn’t conceal her anxiety. Shayne stirred the pile with one finger. The money added up to over $500. There were various pill containers, extra underwear and socks, Band-aids, earplugs, postcards, jacks. There was a library card and homework assignments, three or four keys, including one with a tag: “Nefertiti.” He swept it all up and stuffed it back.
“Can we go now?” she said. “I’m ready if you are.”
“I think I’ll have a beer while I think about it.”
“I just drank the last one. Mr. Shayne, my feet are itching. I want to be on my way! If Artie shows up, it’ll just be one big hassle. I’m not driving anywhere with him in a stolen car.”
Shayne put another cigarette in his mouth, watching her. “One minute won’t make any difference.”
“It may! If you’re going to grab Murray, don’t you think you’d better get out to the airport?”
“All I could get him on now is jumping bail. It’s not enough.”
She was on her feet, moving impatiently. When he still didn’t get up, she said, “All right, it makes me feel like a fink, and maybe it doesn’t mean anything. The St. Albans.”
“What about the St. Albans?”
“Do I have to keep telling you I don’t know? Nobody told me anything, but I’m human too, and whenever there was anything to listen to, I listened. The St. Albans kept cropping up. They had a floor-plan, a diagram. If you hurry, maybe you can catch him at it. But don’t for God’s sake tell him I told you anything.”
Shayne continued to smoke.
“I know how it sounds,” she said, “that I’m making this up because it’s really happening someplace else, but what do I care? He’s not the big thing in my life.”
To her relief, Shayne came to his feet at last. “Is there a phone here?”
“No, but there are booths downtown.”
All she took with her was her purse. She gave one last look at the sordid room.
“Parts of it were fun.”
She told him to drop her on the main road to the expressway north. He offered her a lift as far as Miami after he finished his calls, but she was in a big hurry to get out of the car.
“Not that I don’t like you!” She kissed his cheek quickly. “If you were driving west, we could have ourselves a high old time. I just don’t want you to get religion and decide it’s your duty to turn me in.”
He left her on the corner. She was still there, signalling cars, when he turned into the main shopping street and parked.
He brought in his operator and asked for police headquarters in Miami Beach. It was busy. So were the police numbers in Miami. Those switchboards were frequently overloaded when something important was happening, and Shayne had an unlisted number which would put him through directly to Will Gentry. The operator tried this number. It, too, was busy.
Shayne’s own private radar was picking up blips. He hadn’t liked the way the girl had kept sneaking peeks at her watch. It was now 10:59. Apparently he had injected himself into Gold’s schedule at an inconvenient time.
“Mike?” the operator said. “Are you still with me?”
“Get me the St. Albans, on the Beach.”
That line was open. Shayne asked for the manager, an acquaintance of his. He had to go through a secretary, who wasn’t sure Mr. Farber was free.
“Put him on right away,” Shayne said. “It’s urgent.”
In a moment, a man’s voice: “Mike? I’ve got some people in the office. Can I get back to you?”
“No. Listen to this, and take it seriously. Are there any Israeli government officials staying at your hotel?”
“What are you talking!” Farber said, alarmed. “Not that I know of. Are there supposed to be?”
“Here’s what I know. These are facts. There’s a party of Arabs around. Their leader broke out of an Israeli prison a few weeks ago. They’re carrying submachine guns, and they’ve been studying a floor-plan of the St. Albans. Do you have anybody staying there who might be a target? Or can you think of any other reason why they might be focussing on your hotel?”
“But this is fantastic! In the United States? Impossible-” He paused. “No. We’ve got a meeting of the Coordinating Committee, chairmen of all the big fund-raising outfits, in fact I’m on it myself. I have two gentlemen with me here right now. But good God, you don’t seriously-”
The phone thumped. Something was said sharply elsewhere in Farber’s office, and that was followed by confused noises, a scraping movement, a command, several voices speaking at the same time.
Then the phone was hung up decisively.