gently, “Are you sure that’s what you want, Phyl?”
Against her will, she felt compelled to open her eyes. She saw his face, bruised and bloody, but still set in lines of grim determination. Her gaze wavered for a moment, then searched his eyes. Her tears stopped flowing and she shook her head slowly. A smile that had in it something of maternal anguish touched her lips briefly. She said:
“No, Michael. I don’t want you to quit—ever.”
He leaned over and kissed her lips. “Thanks, angel,” he said. “And now you’d better get the stickum from that tape washed off with alcohol. I’m going to the bathroom to see what cold water will do for my face.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE TELEPHONE RANG while Shayne was painfully getting into a clean shirt. Phyllis was in the tub having her long-delayed soaking, and Shayne sat on the edge of the bed to take the call.
Will Gentry said, “I’ve got some news for you, Mike. We’ve turned up a line on that Jim Lacy killing this afternoon.”
Shayne growled, “Painter won’t thank you if it takes the heat off me.”
Gentry made an uncomplimentary remark about the detective chief from Miami Beach. “A man and a woman appear to have witnessed the shooting,” Gentry explained. “They were driving across the County Causeway from the Beach about four o’clock when they saw a car ahead of them cut in sharply on another car headed this way, and force it to the guard rail. Two men jumped out of the first car and ran back to the one they had stopped. This couple drove past slowly and realized there was some sort of an argument going on, and they got the license number of the car with the two men, but didn’t stop. They didn’t want to get mixed up in anything because the woman is married, but not to her companion.”
Gentry paused, and Shayne asked, “Lacy was in the second car?”
“There was one man in it, and their description of him fits Lacy to a T. After they had gone on about a hundred yards they thought they heard two or three shots behind them, but weren’t positive it wasn’t a car backfiring. A few minutes later Lacy passed them, hunched over the wheel and driving like hell. So they decided it must have been backfires instead of shots, and agreed not to make any report of the incident. But when they read about Lacy’s death they realized they must have actually witnessed the shooting without realizing it. So they came in and told their story. It sounds straight enough.”
“What about a description of the two men?”
“Very vague. One was heavy-built and one was slim. Not much there.”
Shayne didn’t tell him how well the sketchy description fitted his two late visitors. He asked, “Have you had time to check the license number?”
“Yep. But it’s no good. A rental car that had been reported stolen from Miami Beach a little before four o’clock. And it was picked up a short time ago on Flagler Street. No prints. It was probably just snatched to pull the Lacy job, then ditched.”
“Who reported it stolen?”
“Fellow who had it rented. Name of Gorstmann—headwaiter at the Danube Restaurant on the Beach. It was stolen from in front of the restaurant.”
Shayne said, “Thanks for tipping me off, Will.” He hesitated, then asked, “Have Clancy and Bates reported in on the call they made to my apartment a short time ago?”
“Not yet. Something important?”
“Not a bit. That’s the hell of it.” Shayne forced a laugh from his bruised lips. “Just a family brawl. Don’t pay any attention to their report—and, for God’s sake, don’t let the newsboys get hold of it. As a matter of fact, Phyl felt playful and bounced some chinaware at me. I got sore and tied her up in a chair until she cooled off. The phone was knocked over in the excitement and the desk clerk heard the goings-on and sent Clancy and Bates up. I hated to air my family troubles to a couple of harness bulls, so I gave them a song and dance about a couple of thugs
Against her will, she felt compelled to open her eyes. She saw his face, bruised and bloody, but still set in lines of grim determination. Her gaze wavered for a moment, then searched his eyes. Her tears stopped flowing and she shook her head slowly. A smile that had in it something of maternal anguish touched her lips briefly. She said:
“No, Michael. I don’t want you to quit—ever.”
He leaned over and kissed her lips. “Thanks, angel,” he said. “And now you’d better get the stickum from that tape washed off with alcohol. I’m going to the bathroom to see what cold water will do for my face.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE TELEPHONE RANG while Shayne was painfully getting into a clean shirt. Phyllis was in the tub having her long-delayed soaking, and Shayne sat on the edge of the bed to take the call.
Will Gentry said, “I’ve got some news for you, Mike. We’ve turned up a line on that Jim Lacy killing this afternoon.”
Shayne growled, “Painter won’t thank you if it takes the heat off me.”
Gentry made an uncomplimentary remark about the detective chief from Miami Beach. “A man and a woman appear to have witnessed the shooting,” Gentry explained. “They were driving across the County Causeway from the Beach about four o’clock when they saw a car ahead of them cut in sharply on another car headed this way, and force it to the guard rail. Two men jumped out of the first car and ran back to the one they had stopped. This couple drove past slowly and realized there was some sort of an argument going on, and they got the license number of the car with the two men, but didn’t stop. They didn’t want to get mixed up in anything because the woman is married, but not to her companion.”
Gentry paused, and Shayne asked, “Lacy was in the second car?”
“There was one man in it, and their description of him fits Lacy to a T. After they had gone on about a hundred yards they thought they heard two or three shots behind them, but weren’t positive it wasn’t a car backfiring. A few minutes later Lacy passed them, hunched over the wheel and driving like hell. So they decided it must have been backfires instead of shots, and agreed not to make any report of the incident. But when they read about Lacy’s death they realized they must have actually witnessed the shooting without realizing it. So they came in and told their story. It sounds straight enough.”
“What about a description of the two men?”
“Very vague. One was heavy-built and one was slim. Not much there.”
Shayne didn’t tell him how well the sketchy description fitted his two late visitors. He asked, “Have you had time to check the license number?”
“Yep. But it’s no good. A rental car that had been reported stolen from Miami Beach a little before four o’clock. And it was picked up a short time ago on Flagler Street. No prints. It was probably just snatched to pull the Lacy job, then ditched.”
“Who reported it stolen?”
“Fellow who had it rented. Name of Gorstmann—headwaiter at the Danube Restaurant on the Beach. It was stolen from in front of the restaurant.”
Shayne said, “Thanks for tipping me off, Will.” He hesitated, then asked, “Have Clancy and Bates reported in on the call they made to my apartment a short time ago?”
“Not yet. Something important?”
“Not a bit. That’s the hell of it.” Shayne forced a laugh from his bruised lips. “Just a family brawl. Don’t pay any attention to their report—and, for God’s sake, don’t let the newsboys get hold of it. As a matter of fact, Phyl felt playful and bounced some chinaware at me. I got sore and tied her up in a chair until she cooled off. The phone was knocked over in the excitement and the desk clerk heard the goings-on and sent Clancy and Bates up. I hated to air my family troubles to a couple of harness bulls, so I gave them a song and dance about a couple of thugs
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