“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…”