Shayne opened the door into a narrow hallway, closed it, and opened another door straight in front of it. The room was small with a bar at one end and a few square tables lighted by low-hanging bulbs. Most of the stools were filled by men who slouched against the bar drinking straight whisky. Two of the tables were occupied by sober-faced men squinting at poker hands through thick smoke.
A door to the right had Private painted white on the dark upper panel. A big man with a pockmarked face leaned against the door sill. Bulky muscles swelled a jersey sweater and he was built solid all the way to the floor. As Shayne came close, he asked in a surly tone, “Lost somethin’?”
Shayne said, “I want to see the boss. Is this his office?”
The big man nodded. “He’s busy. You’ll hafta wait.”
Shayne said, “I haven’t got time,” impatiently, and made a forward move to shoulder the man out of his way.
The man’s eyes glittered. He shoved Shayne back with his left hand and brought his other hand out of his pocket gripping a pair of brass knucks.
Shayne shifted quickly to the left and landed a blow on the bottom of the man’s chin. The man staggered backward, his eyes bewildered, and swung a ponderous right with the knucks.
Shayne stepped aside and hit him on the side of the jaw. His weight helped carry the man to the floor. Shayne turned the knob and swung the Private sign inward.
Four men looked at him as he closed the door. Two were seated at a desk and the other two were leaning forward with their hands on the desk as though they had been listening intently.
Dan Trueman sat facing the door. He took a cigar from his mouth and looked at the intruder with mild surprise. The man who sat across from him had to turn in his chair to see Shayne. He was a big man who had no eyebrows or lashes, and his mouth was very small. He looked smart and cruel. The other two men were young and slender and looked like cokies.
Trueman said, “I guess you’ve made a mistake. This is a private office.” He enunciated his words carefully as one speaks to a dimwit or a drunkard.
Shayne said, “If you’re the boss here I’d like to speak to you a minute.”
“If you’ve got a beef,” said Trueman, “it’ll have to wait. How did you talk Tige into letting you in?”
“I persuaded him.” Shayne blew on his bruised knuckles. “This’ll only take a minute, Trueman.”
Dan Trueman said, “He must be tough, boys. Take him out and keep him out till I’m through with Nolan.”
The two gunmen straightened up and turned toward him. Shayne didn’t look at them. He was watching Trueman as he said, “I’m Shayne.”
Trueman’s eyes narrowed. Then he smiled faintly. “Mike Shayne?”
“That’s right.”
Trueman said, “Skip it, boys. Go out and see about Tige. Tell him to throw those knucks away or learn to use them.” He waited until the two young men had gone out. He blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling and gazed at it, saying softly, “I’ve heard of you, Shayne. What’s on your mind?”
Shayne glanced at the big man sitting in front of Trueman. The proprietor of the Laurel Club said, “Don’t mind Jim Nolan. He’s my attorney and knows more about my business than I do.” He smiled disarmingly.
Shayne said, “I’ve got emeralds on my mind.”
“Is it a disease?” asked Trueman.
“You phoned me this afternoon offering to sell a necklace.”
Trueman shook his head. “Come again. I’m no jeweler.”
“These emeralds are hot. So damned hot they’re going to burn somebody.”
“Nor a fence,” Trueman told him quietly.
Shayne rubbed his jaw, then his mouth spread in a grin but his eyes were cold. “I don’t make mistakes. Maybe you’re handling it for another party.”
“If I were, what would you want me to tell him?”
“Just this. He’d better get out from under because I’m after that necklace. There’ll be no buy from the insurance company.”
“No?” Trueman crossed his legs and sat up straight in his chair, his elongated eyes considering-Shayne. “If you’re talking about the Lomax thing-I was reading about it in the papers.”
“Let’s say I am talking about the Lomax emeralds.”
“I hear it was insured for a hundred and twenty-five thousand,” Trueman purred. “A company hates to put out that kind of money if it can be bought back for, say, forty. No-if I knew the party who had it I’d advise him to hang on for a time.”
Shayne’s laugh was sour. “And you’d be right nine times out of ten. But wrong this once. My company’s got a legal out if it comes to that.”
“So?” Trueman seemed only mildly interested.
“We don’t want to take it. We’d rather recover the stuff and I expect to. But I want you to get this straight-there’ll be no buy.”
Trueman looked inquiringly across the desk at his lawyer.
“Does this talk make sense, Jim?”
“What sort of legal out?” Nolan spoke for the first time since Shayne had entered, and he kept his back turned. The sounds emitting from his small mouth were thin and high, almost a falsetto.
“Negligence of the insured,” Shayne told the lawyer’s fat back. “It’s open and shut. So much so that Lomax admitted it to me privately this afternoon. But his wife is stubborn. To avoid losing a lawsuit Lomax even offered to advance the money himself to cover the loss. That’s how much we’re in the clear.”
“Why bring this story to me?” Trueman asked.
Shayne stepped up to the desk and looked down into Trueman’s eyes and said quietly, “Just so you’ll know where you stand. I don’t like misunderstandings about a thing like this. I’ve been in the middle of some fixes and I hope to be in the middle of a lot more. But not this time. And I don’t want any howl of a double-cross going up. I’m beginning to light a fire and somebody’s going to get burned.”
“Are you all through talking?” Dan Trueman bared his teeth.
“That’s all I’ve got to say.” Shayne turned and the outer door opened.
Tige filled the doorway and the pair of youthful torpedoes were behind him. Tige licked his thick lips hungrily. He had taken the knucks off but both big fists were doubled.
Trueman made a quick motion and said sharply, “Let the boys handle this, Tige.”
Tige looked disappointed, but he stepped aside. Trueman got up and followed as Shayne went to the door. The two gunmen stayed outside.
Trueman said, “Take him all the way out to the sidewalk, boys.” Then raised his voice, “Don’t be rough with him if you can help it, but I’m tired of listening to the beefs of a bum loser. Don’t come here to play, Shayne, unless you can afford to lose your three dollars and fifty cents.”
Shayne stopped on the threshold. The two gunsels waited for him on each side of the doorway, gun-hands bulging in their coat pockets. The three were targets for amused glances from the patrons in the rear barroom.
Shayne said, “All right, Trueman. I’ll go out this time without making any trouble. Next time I come back it’ll be different.”
He went out and through the room, sauntering along with the two lads keeping pace a little to each side and slightly behind him. He went straight through the foyer and out the front door, stopped and took a quick backward step as he reached the threshold. He swung both arms back and brought them up in a wide circle that slapped an open palm on the outside of each gunsel’s head. He brought the heads together in front of him with enough force to knock them dizzy, then slid his hands downward and wrested their gun-hands from their pockets.
Twisting a. 32 automatic from the lad on his left, he tripped the one on his right and he fell sprawling. Shayne pocketed one gun and shoved the owner forward, stooped and picked up the other from the floor, saying, “Tell Dan Trueman to give you some more toys to play with,” and strode back to the cocktail lounge.
Lana was waiting for him in a booth near the door wearing a long black velvet coat with a platinum fox collar over her dinner gown. She got up and came toward him fastening her wrap.
Shayne frowned and said, “I thought we were going to celebrate.”
Lana’s tawny eyes held a brooding look and her full mouth drooped sullenly at the corners, as though she had grown impatient, almost angry, waiting for him. Her expression changed as she slid a gloved hand under his arm. “If we’re going to do any real celebrating, Red, I’d rather do it at home,” she said softly, smiling up at him with her eyes wide and candid.
Shayne’s frown deepened. He still hadn’t figured out the self-possessed, moody girl beside him. She was either very simple or very, very smart. He asked, “What about your job here? Your percentage is in the red so far tonight.”
She urged him toward the door. “I don’t let it happen often. You’re the first to quit on me in the gaming room.”
Shayne said, “I don’t gamble to lose.” She regarded him obliquely as they walked to the main exit and said, “Remember what I said? Who cares whether you gamble or not. A girl likes to have some fun-sometimes.”
“Yeh. I know what you mean.” His tone was gruff.
They went out and up the three steps to the sidewalk. Shayne waved to a taxi driver who pulled up to the curb between two no-parking signs and they got in. Lana gave her address and they drove away.
In the middle of the first block Lana squirmed around, put her palms on Shayne’s cheeks and placed her moist lips against Shayne’s mouth. Her body went limp against him. He put his arm around her and held her tight.
“You can’t leave me now, Red,” she said in a throaty voice.
When Lana quit kissing him he relaxed and angled his long legs out to a comfortable position. They rode the short distance in silence. Lana cuddled against him, and in the dark tonneau of the car Shayne worried the lobe of his left ear with his thumb and forefinger, his bushy brows bridging a deep scowl between them.
The driver stopped in front of a four-story apartment house.
Lana roused and said, “Well, here we are, Red,” gaily.
Shayne freed his arm from her waist and ducked out the door when the driver opened it. He took Lana’s hand and held it while she gathered her long coat around her and stepped out.
“Look, it’s late-and I-” Shayne began.
“You can’t leave me now,” Lana said again. She pressed his fingers hard.
Shayne’s free hand brought out coins from his pocket. He paid the driver, and at the front door of the apartment building he hesitated.
Lana faced him and said mockingly, “So it’s late and you have to do what?”
“Nothing-nothing at all.” He grinned and they went inside.
“Then, let’s get drunk,” she suggested.
“Suits,” said Shayne, “if you can work it. I don’t get drunk easy.”
They went up in a self-service elevator to the fourth floor and down a green-carpeted hall. Lana fumbled in her evening bag all the way and had the key in her hand as they reached the door.
The living-room of her apartment spread out to the left and right of the door, and straight ahead was an alcove into a hallway. On the left an open door disclosed a bedroom. She took his hat and topcoat and draped them on a chair, then went across to a large combination radio-phonograph. With her back turned to him she said, “I’ll get some soft music,” and turned the dials until the music came.
Shayne watched her back with narrowed eyes. She picked up something from the top of the cabinet and thrust it under her coat.
Lana turned around and started hurriedly into the bedroom, smiling at him over her shoulder. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Shayne got in front of her before she could go through the doorway. “Let me see what you’ve got hidden under your coat.”
She recoiled from him, biting at her full underlip. “What are you talking about?”
“What you just picked up from the top of the cabinet and slipped under your coat.” He held out a big hand and waited grimly.
She said, “All right. If you’re going to be fussy about it,” and laughed shakily. She handed him a small framed photograph of Lieutenant Drinkley in a sergeant’s uniform. An inscription on the right-hand side read: To my darling Lana.
“I-just didn’t want you to see it and be jealous,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t mean anything now, but some men are funny that way.”
Shayne handed the picture back to her, folded his arms and said, “Let’s quit stalling. You know that I know all about your lieutenant.”
“What makes you think- what lieutenant?”
“Don’t be naive,” Shayne snapped, “it doesn’t suit you. Lieutenant Drinkley. Hell,” he went on angrily, “you begged to be picked up there in the Laurel Club when you recognized my voice after hearing it through Drinkley’s bathroom door.”
Her eyes were cold and very yellow. Her shoulders stiffened and her husky voice was calm when she said, “Of course I knew it was you, Mike Shayne.”
“What did Drinkley tell you about me this afternoon?”
“Not much. He said you were a detective. He didn’t want you to find out about-us.”
Shayne scowled and stepped aside to let her go into the bedroom. He said, “Go ahead and mix those drinks. Then we’ll have a cozy chat.”
Lana went into the bedroom and put her coat and bag on the bed. She came back after a short time with heightened color on her cheeks and lips, and went through the hallway to the kitchen.
Shayne went over to look at a tape recorder. There was a stack of tapes, several of which had been used but were not labeled or dated. He was staring somberly at the small framed photograph of Drinkley when Lana returned with a tray of drinks.
She said, “Come on, Red. We were going to get drunk. Remember?” She set the tray on a low glass-topped table between two chairs arranged to face each other.
Shayne sat down and took a drink from one of the glasses. He asked, “How long have you known Lieutenant Drinkley?”
“For about a year. That is, I first met him about a year ago. What’s he worried about, Red? Suppose that silly girl did commit suicide? I don’t think he really loved her.”
“Did he love you?”
“He did-a year ago.”
“Before he met Katrin Moe?”
“Yes.” Lana met his gaze levelly. Her eyes were green again, now that she had removed the black coat.
“And you think he still loves you?”
“I think he will again.” Her voice had a vicious sound. “With Katrin out of the way-”
“So you wanted her out of the way,” Shayne said softly. “You’re nuts about him, aren’t you?”
“That’s a hell of a question to ask,” she blazed, “after the way I’ve carried on with you tonight.” She softened her tone and added, “We were going to celebrate, Red-get drunk.”
Shayne made an impatient gesture. “You admitted you were just leading me on-to find out how much I knew about Drinkley.”
“It started out that way.” Lana lowered her eyes and she sounded honest. She took a long drink and continued, “I wondered what was up this afternoon when Ted made me hide in the bathroom and then rushed me out as soon as you left. But you got under my skin.” She emptied her glass and reached for his hand, pushing the table aside with her foot.
Shayne felt a cold draft of air on the back of his neck. He was leaning forward looking intently into Lana’s tawny eyes. He asked gravely, “Did you murder Katrin Moe?”
She gasped, “Murder?” and her fingers tightened convulsively on his. “I thought she killed herself.”
“A lot of people think so. But Lieutenant Drinkley knows it wasn’t suicide. That’s why he’s worried, Lana. This love affair with you provides a motive-”
Shayne sensed rather than heard movement behind him He turned in time to see a man’s arm descending toward his head.
Lana screamed and lurched toward him, burying her head hard against his stomach as the blow struck the side of his head just above the right ear.
He doubled forward over her and then fell sideways on the floor.