Shayne took it easy and kept his hands on the wheel. A man climbed over the back seat and slid in beside him. Shayne glanced aside and was surprised to see that it was not Gene. This man had smooth, regular features and a tiny black mustache.
Shayne said, “Mr. B. Antrim, I presume?”
“It ain’t a bad monicker to sign on a hotel register,” he said.
“You’re a lousy shot with a rifle,” Shayne muttered.
Gene’s hoarse voice said from the rear seat, “Cut it out. Turn the corner here, Shamus… to the right. Cross the drawbridge and pull off to the side and park.”
Shayne punctiliously obeyed orders. He eased up to the curb on the other side of the drawbridge and stopped. A car passed with dimmed headlights, and there were no other cars in sight.
Gene said, “Get out and go around on the other side, Mark. Get under the wheel. You slide over, Shamus.”
“But what about going over him?” Mark protested. “After what happened today…”
“Yeh,” Gene agreed, “go over him. And for chrissake do a better job than Pat on it.”
Shayne sat stiffly erect and let Mark go over him inch by inch searching for a weapon. He clenched his teeth to keep from wincing when the man’s rough hands pounded against his sore ribs.
Mark, alias B. Antrim, exhaled happily when his pawing hands found the concealed. 38 which was holstered against the front of Shayne’s right thigh. “Here it is,” he announced. “He ain’t got no pocket in his pants and the gat’s right down here where it’ll tickle him between the legs.” He pulled the weapon out as he spoke.
Gene growled, “I’m damned. Go on over the rest of him,” he ordered thickly.
Mark went over the rest of Shayne, finally saying, “I’ll swaller whole any gun left on ’im.”
“All right, let’s get going,” Gene ordered.
Mark got out and went around the rear of the car to the left side. Shayne slid over and let him get under the wheel.
“Tie up his glims while I hold my gun on him,” Gene directed. “The boss don’t want him to see where we take him, though I’ll be damned if I know why. If I have my way he won’t be coming back to tell anybody.”
Two muscles in Shayne’s lean cheeks twitched while Mark tied a handkerchief tightly over his eyes. Then he relaxed and let his head loll against the cushioned seat when the car started again.
He said, “I hope you boys know what you’re getting into.”
“You’re the one who’d better be worried,” Gene snarled.
“Worried? Me? By you two punks?” Shayne chuckled. “You’ve already misfired twice today.”
The car made a turn to the left and presently swung to the right. “Third time’s the charm,” Gene remarked from the rear. “Your Irish luck has run out, Shamus.”
“Maybe.” Shayne was concentrating on the various turns Mark was making. He knew this south bayshore part of the city quite well, but all he could do was to keep a hazy sense of direction as the car wound around crazily through the twisting streets.
After a long time they stopped. Mark and Gene got out and the door on Shayne’s side was opened. A hand took hold of his arm and Gene said, “End of the line for you.”
Shayne got out and stood on loose dry sand. With a captor on each side he was led blindfolded across loose sand and up a short board walk. He heard a door being unlocked and he was thrust inside a room. He discerned through the handkerchief that the room was lighted. A hand fumbled with the knotted blindfold and pulled it from his face.
He blinked at a kerosene lamp on a wooden table, then turned with a slow grin to stare at the disheveled figure of Herbert Carlton who bounced up unhappily from a hard chair in the far corner of the roughly finished room.
“Shayne!” Carlson moaned. “So they got you, too. I had hoped they wouldn’t.” He sighed, wet his lips, and sank back into the chair.
Carlton was a sorry sight. His gray suit, so immaculate when Shayne had last seen him, was wrinkled and torn as though by a terrific struggle and his face was liberally patched with strips of adhesive tape that drew his features into a horrible grimace.
Shayne said, “Looks as if you’d been playing drop the handkerchief with a buzz saw.”
Carlton drew his shoulders up with dignity. “I resisted as best I could.”
“Damned if he didn’t fight like a wildcat,” Gene said with a hoarse laugh. “He ain’t got as much sense as you, Shamus.”
Shayne’s gray eyes roamed around the room slowly. There were two windows on one side, both securely closed with heavy wooden storm shutters. The rough pine floor was bare and scuffed, and cobwebs clung to the corners of the room. The walls were of roughly hewn pine boards, as was the ceiling, and there were two chairs and an unfinished pine table for furniture.
Gene and Mark stood together in the doorway. Beyond them he could see nothing but moonlight on white sand. He could hear the distant sound of waves lapping gently against a shore.
Gene’s right hand was bunched suggestively in his coat pocket, and Shayne’s. 38 dangled by the triggerguard from Mark’s right forefinger.
Shayne went across the room and turned the other chair around, and sat down facing its back. He rested his forearms on the highest rung and hooked his chin over them. He said, “All right. Now we’re here… all nice and cozy. What’s the payoff?”
“That’s up to you,” Gene told him. He brought his hand out of his pocket and handed an automatic to Mark, who disappeared outside with both weapons.
Gene closed the door. “Mark’s locking the door from the outside,” he explained. “I haven’t got a gun, so it wouldn’t be smart to jump me. This is the boss’s idea. If it was up to me I’d bump you both right now and be done with it.”
Shayne asked, “When is the boss coming?”
“He’s here now. He’s kind of bashful about showing his face.” Gene walked over and inserted his finger in a knothole about waist high in the plank wall. He tugged on it, and a short length of six-inch board came loose from the two-by-four uprights.
“The boss,” he went on, “is sitting right outside there listening, and after we’ve had our confab he’ll decide whether you and this guy keep on living or get turned into worm fodder.” He addressed Shayne, as though Carlton had already been apprised of the method of procedure.
“A very neat arrangement,” Shayne agreed. “It’s nice to know that the boss is listening in.” He turned to look at Carlton, who was huddled in his chair in a posture of utter hopelessness.
“How’d they get hold of you, Carlton? I thought you were too scared to stir a leg out of your house.”
Carlton answered miserably, “I thought it would be safe to go to my office. There were so many things demanding my attention. And I had a police escort.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I had gone a block before the police car suddenly stopped. I slowed and looked back, and another car rammed mine. Then… these… these men… piled out and grabbed me.” His body shivered. “I tried to fight them off but they overpowered me. They blindfolded me and brought me here.”
Shayne demanded, “Are these two men the ones who killed Wilson?”
“I… don’t know.” Carlton glanced at Gene, then went on strongly. “That is… no. I’m positive they are not. I’m ready to swear I don’t recognize either one of them.
“But for God’s sake, Shayne,” he went on in a sudden burst of fear, “I’m sure they intend to kill both of us if we refuse to deal with them.”
Shayne said sardonically, “That should please the listening boss. But why the hell,” he asked Gene, “are you fooling with Carlton at all? The safest way to make sure he doesn’t doublecross you is to kill him.”
“Sure. That’s what I told the boss. But I don’t know. He says there’s been too much killing already.” Gene’s hoarse voice sounded aggrieved. “I say we’re fools if we don’t feed both of you lead right here.”
“Not me,” Shayne told him. “My information will go straight to Gentry if I die. With what I’ve got the police will have all of you and a lot of others rounded up in an hour. But with Carlton it’s different,” Shayne pointed out wolfishly. “The only way he is a danger is as long as he lives.”
“Please, Shayne!” Carlton cried in alarm. “Are you turning on me, too?”
Shayne cocked a shaggy red eyebrow at Carlton and said, “I’m just trying to get things squared around. You’re done for,” he ended deliberately. “You haven’t got anything to bargain with. I have.”
Gene said, “Nuts, Shamus. You tried to pull that one this afternoon.”
“And you’re goddamned lucky Pat didn’t find my gun and I came out of it alive,” Shayne told him, emphasizing each word. “You’ve been lucky twice today. Your only chance to beat this rap is for me to keep on living. And you know it. You know goddamn well you can’t make a deal with Gentry.”
“Maybe it is that way,” Gene conceded in a surly tone. “Let the boss hear just what you’ve got to say and he’ll maybe make an offer.”
Shayne said, “No. I want you rats to keep on squirming. I want you to keep on thinking, ‘Hell, maybe Shayne don’t know anything. Maybe he’s just putting up a bluff, but your white livers won’t let you take a chance on it. You’re on the run and you know it.”
Gene’s black eyes glittered in his dark, pasty face. He drew in an excited breath and said, “That’s just what I’ve told the boss. I don’t believe Wilson had time to tell you a damned thing over the phone. If you know what you claim to know, why don’t you do something? That’s what I keep telling the boss,” he ended in a choked voice.
Shayne asked, “How do you know what Wilson had time to tell me?”
“It’s none of your goddamned business.”
“All right. Maybe I’ve got my own reasons for not doing anything.”
Carlton pulled himself up straight from a doubled position in his chair. “You mean you’ll listen to reason?” he asked eagerly. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Shayne? That’s the only thing we can do. If you’re so stubborn about it they’ll kill us both.”
“They’re not going to kill me,” Shayne said bluntly. “Anybody but a crazy punk would know they can’t afford to take a chance.” His eyes scorned Gene.
“The boss ain’t going to make a deal till he knows what you’ve got to trade,” Gene sneered, his eyes wavering.
“And I’m not going to tell him what I’ve got to trade,” Shayne said easily. “Not yet. That’s what the boss might call an impasse, isn’t it?” He addressed his words directly to the rectangular opening in the wall.
“He ain’t going to answer you,” Gene said impatiently.
“I didn’t think he would… which means he’s afraid I might recognize his voice.”
Gene frowned and his eyes were baffled now. “Damned if I see any way except to bump you both.”
“Please, Shayne,” Carlton cried hoarsely, cowering in his straight-backed chair again. “You have no right to jeopardize my position, also. I’m merely an innocent bystander, and you talked me into this dangerous situation. If I hadn’t listened to your arguments last night I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“But you’d have a dirty smear on your conscience.”
“I don’t care about my conscience. All I ask is to be allowed to go in peace.” Sweat stood on Carlton’s face between the strips of adhesive.
Shayne said, “I’m willing to listen to a proposition.” He turned to Gene with lifted brows.
“I’ve told you the only way the boss will dicker.”
Shayne sighed. “There’s our impasse again.” He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, with every indication of great enjoyment of the situation.
“We’ll have to see can we persuade you,” Gene said.
“I don’t persuade easily.”
“Then it’ll be just that much tougher on you.”
Shayne was keenly aware of his sore, broken ribs, but he argued placidly, “If the boss is smart he knows that torture never accomplished anything. Sure, you can maybe make me talk, but you’ll never know how much of it is the truth.”
Carlton rose from his chair and cried wildly, “How can you be so stubborn, Shayne? Don’t you realize we’ll both die if you don’t tell them what they want to know?”
“I don’t think so. They don’t dare kill me and they know it.” Shayne threw his lighted cigarette on the floor. He lifted his body with both hands gripping the back of the heavy wooden chair. “Know what I’m going to do?” He addressed Gene in a calm, conversational tone.
Gene took a backward step. “You better watch your step, Shamus.”
“You’re the one who’d better be watching your step,” Shayne grated. His anger anaesthetized the pain in his ribs as he lifted the chair. “I’m going to smash your head with this, then I’m going to unlock that door and walk out.” He moved forward, stalking the small dark man.
“No! Don’t do it,” Carlton screamed hysterically. “For God’s sake don’t! They’re waiting outside with guns.”
“You keep out of this,” Shayne growled, not looking at him.
Gene cowered, unarmed, against the door. Shayne set himself and swung the chair over his head.
There was another squawk of protest from Carlton, who lunged forward and threw his weight desperately against Shayne’s legs.
Shayne and the chair and Carlton went to the floor together. Cursing, Shayne extricated himself, got to his feet in time to see Gene dash through the door and slam it shut in his face.
He dived for the knob, but the door was locked again from the outside. He turned and grabbed the chair, raging at Carlton, “They’ll get away now, goddamn it. If you’d left me alone…”
“If I had let you go on with it we’d both have been shot,” Carlton said in a shaky tremolo.
Shayne’s hard gray eyes rested on him for a moment. He said, “I think they would have, at that.” Then he snorted in disgust and swung the chair over his head to bring it down savagely against the door.
A panel splintered under the impact and the sound of a racing motor came clearly as Shayne swung the chair again. This time the whole upper portion of the door gave way. He reached out and turned the key in the lock, opened the door and rushed out in time to see a red tail light fade away.
Carlton peered out fearfully, then came gingerly to join him. Shayne muttered angrily. “They’ve taken my car… and I don’t know where the hell we are.” He turned about, trying to get his bearings in the moonlight.
Carlton caught his arm and exclaimed, “They left my car.”
Shayne muttered, “If they left the keys.” He sprinted across the walk and plowed through the sand to Carlton’s green Buick coupe.
Carlton raced up beside him panting for breath. He pushed in beside Shayne and felt for the keys. “They’re here,” he said and gasped with relief.
“Get under the wheel,” Shayne ordered, “and let’s get to a telephone.” He got in on the right-hand side and leaned out to get his bearings as Carlton pulled away fast. By the time they had gone two blocks he had the location of the cabin fixed in his mind. It was in the midst of the undeveloped hammocked section in the south part of the city, lying about half-way between the bayfront and Coral Gables.
“Turn left at the first corner,” Shayne directed. “That’ll take us out to a little business section.”
Carlton drove ably and fast. He regained his composure and was no longer the shrinking thing he had been when he thought death was inevitable.
When he pulled up in front of a drugstore Shayne had the door open. He leaped out as the coupe slid to a stop. He ran in past a couple of startled loungers at the counter and on to the phone booth in the rear.
Dialing Will Gentry’s number and waiting impatiently for an answer, he tugged at his earlobe. When Gentry said, “Hello,” Shayne barked, “Get a call out on my car, Will.” He gave the license number. “A couple of hoods stole it… probably headed for Coral Gables.”
Gentry growled, “Hold it.”
Shayne waited and could hear a mumble as Gentry transmitted the order to the radio operator; then Gentry’s sharp demand in his ears, “What’s doing, Mike?”
“We’re on the last lap, Will. I haven’t time to go into it now, but get some men together right away. You’ll be using them soon.”
Gentry groaned and said, “Maybe you want this. Those prints on the liquor glass belong to a guy named Donald Frazier. A two-time loser. Last released from San Quentin a year ago. Counterfeiting both times. And that forty-five with the busted trigger from Tahiti Beach… Ballistics says it’s the same gun that fired the slugs into that kid in the railroad yards this morning.”
“That ties it up in a knot,” said Shayne exultantly. “I’ll call you, Will.” He dropped the receiver and loped back to the car, ordered Carlton:
“Get out to that printing plant of yours… fast.”