“You opened the trunk and started to take out the gas tank. You probably began to worry when you saw that the bolts weren’t tightened all the way down.”
The muscles around Diamond’s mouth stretched in an involuntary grimace. “Do you have it?”
“You know I don’t,” Shayne said irritably. “And I can’t tell you where to look for it. I’ll contribute a few facts and you contribute a few, and maybe we can put something together.”
“The word is maybe. That’s not worth twenty thousand.”
“Diamond, tear a dollar bill in half, and you’ve got two pieces of paper. Scotch-tape it together, and you can spend it.”
Diamond hesitated for a moment, rattling his fingers on the formica, and nodded. “All right. I’ll make the call. This time you’re the one who won’t listen.”
He went off to the booth. Looking around, Shayne spotted Max Wilson a few tables away, moodily drinking coffee. Shayne nodded toward the phone booths, and Wilson drifted over to look for a number in the book. But from the way Diamond was crowding the phone, Shayne could tell that Wilson wouldn’t be able to overhear anything.
While he waited, Shayne wiped the silverware carefully with a paper napkin. Wilson, glancing up, saw what he was doing, and a slight movement of his scarred eyebrows told Shayne that he understood the message.
Diamond came back and sat down. Picking up the freshly wiped spoon, he helped himself to sugar and stirred it into his coffee.
“It’s on the way. And the weird thing about this is, I still don’t know what I’m buying. I still don’t know what Little did to get himself knifed.”
“I’ll go back,” Shayne said. “Here’s the story he told me. Did you notice a girl named Anne Blagden who was hanging around with him on the ship?”
“Sleeping with him was something else she was doing.”
“OK, she was sleeping with him. She works in the London office of the steamship line — this is the story, you understand. Her boyfriend asked her to get him the names of all the passengers who were taking cars along on this crossing, and he sold them to somebody. All clear, a smuggling operation. Somebody was going to pick a respectable name off the list, borrow his car for a few hours the night before sailing, and stash the shipment in the spare tire or under a seat. It didn’t bother Anne too much. These things happen, and smuggling isn’t that much of a crime. This time her boyfriend decided to pull a switch and make a little more money. He found out whose car was being used — Little’s — and tipped the American Customs to shake it down.”
“And you didn’t believe this?”
“All I did was listen. Anne had a vacation coming, and she went along for the ride. Out of curiosity, she picked up with Little. She began to worry about what was going to happen to him. Here was a classic case of an innocent bystander. Even if he managed to beat it, the publicity might kill his new job.”
Diamond said casually, “What were they smuggling, did she know, or say?”
“What could it be but narcotics? They built it into the gas tank, and that means it’s a high-profit item. Little was a known user at one time, and that would be sure to come out — bad scene all around. They hired me to handle it for them. I did the one thing that was possible, spent a couple of hours in the hold and shifted tanks. You wanted to know what you’re buying. You’re buying the make and the license number of the car I put it into, and the name and address of the owner.
“That information,” Diamond admitted grudgingly, “would almost be worth the money.”
He refused the cigarette Shayne offered him, and began playing nervously with his coffee spoon. Shayne swung an elbow and upset his coffee. By the time they had mopped up, with the help of a busboy, Shayne had the spoon with Diamond’s thumbprint on the handle.
He went on, “I checked with a guy in the Customs. No tip on the Bentley was ever turned in. So Little knew that somebody had to be lying to him, probably Anne. He’d been pouring down drinks all day, and he was coming unglued. He told me he’d found a Miami address in Anne’s purse, and he wanted me to go along and bodyguard him while he checked it out. That was the Brownsville house. I fell for it. Somebody was waiting for us inside. I’m supposed to be able to take care of myself, but this time it was close. I was slugged as I went in the door. I managed to get out the knife as Little and somebody else were hauling me upstairs. I put it in Little. Then the building fell in on me.”
“I don’t get that. Why do you think they wanted you killed?”
Shayne shrugged. “They didn’t kill me. Maybe they just wanted to put me in the clinic for a few hours. All I can do is guess. The stuff got ashore. I know which car I put it in. So do they, obviously, and without me around to ask them questions, such as why the Customs people didn’t shake down the Bentley, they could pick it up and cash in. The first thing I’ve got to do is find out who slugged me. Otherwise I’m in a serious jam.”
He paused, and continued soberly, “If I can lay some cash on the right people I may be able to squeeze through. Twenty thousand bucks at the right time in the right place can work wonders. The knife can’t be traced to me. Until I find out different I’m going to assume there aren’t any more witnesses. It’s the drug angle that makes it bad. There’s no question that I’m the one who switched tanks, and nobody’s going to believe I fell for an obvious con. It’s going to look like a straight two-man import deal, and then a fight about the split. I’m sorry to say the county attorney is a little prejudiced on the subject of Mike Shayne. He’s been looking for something like this for years.”
“It was self-defense.”
“I know that, but if I walk in with the story I just told you, I’m dead. I need money for grease. I need a few more facts, to have something to trade. Names and affiliations.”
“Such as my name and affiliation?”
“Use your head, Diamond! I don’t want the county attorney to know you exist. You can identify that knife, and trade it for permission to cop a plea. Murder’s the big thing around here. If you end up with the H, that’s fine with me. I don’t want that coming into court to haunt me.”
“It isn’t narcotics.”
Shayne waved that away, but Diamond insisted, “Drugs are too heavy right now. I don’t touch them. People have funny emotional reactions when the subject comes up.” He was speaking too emphatically, looking at Shayne with the sincere expression of a life insurance salesman who wants desperately to be believed. “Like even with you. Something like money is noncontroversial. But start thinking about it in terms of junkies nodding on street corners, and you’re likely to do something against your own best interests. I want it back. That’s all you need to know... There he is, he made pretty good time.”
A nondescript, gray-haired man came in from the street carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Seeing Diamond, he picked up a cup of coffee and brought it to their table.
“Hard to find a bank open at this time of night,” he observed, speaking with a slight accent. “Hard? Impossible.”
“The coffee stinks in here,” Diamond said. “I don’t recommend it.”
The man spread his hands. “Not for the coffee, for the sake of appearances.”
“We’re in executive session.”
“Good enough. Any messages?”
“No.”
The man hadn’t looked directly at Shayne, but Shayne had the feeling that he wouldn’t be quickly forgotten. In spite of the shabby clothes and self-effacing manner, he didn’t look like someone who was accustomed to running errands.
He sauntered away. Shayne touched the package he had left on the table, and felt the edges of the crisp bills.