Shayne sighed. “Unless the lady here decides to let me have it with a twenty-gauge shotgun, I promise I’ll call you.”
The shotgun, in fact, was leaning in a corner, and the lady had turned on the heat under a kettle on the stove and was casually taking out her curlers.
Shayne dialed the number of his mobile operator and identified himself.
“Has anybody named Jerry Diamond called me?”
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Shayne.”
Shayne’s grip tightened. He had been on first-name terms with this girl for months. Unknown to the telephone company, she worked for him as a kind of combined secretary and answering service. He took her to dinner occasionally, and had loaned her father money to open a liquor store.
He said carefully, “If I can’t get in touch with the guy I’ll have to let the cops have him. He won’t like that.”
Diamond’s voice broke in. “I’m on, bastard,” he said roughly. “That was quite a trick there, dumping Sam Geller to slow us down. Like throwing the baby to the wolves. I’ve been waiting for your number to light up. You know what’s going to happen if you don’t stop trying to finagle me? You’re going to end up dead.”
“I told you I have to do this my own way. If you want to waste time trading threats, go ahead. It’s supposed to be good to get things off your chest. What else is bothering you?”
Diamond hesitated. “You had something to tell me.”
“Do you want me to apologize for dumping Geller? That was a spur-of-the-moment idea. Those cars of yours stood out like fire engines, and I don’t like to be that conspicuous. You probably know that your man Dessau has been dealing for the gas tank with Little’s daughter. Has he asked you for your bid yet?”
“No,” Diamond said tightly. “Does he have it?”
“He did have it, but Anne Blagden took it away, all by herself. A neat little guerrilla operation.”
“If you’re crapping me, Shayne — Where is she?”
“On the way to the airport by now. She’s in a rented black Ford. She has to pick up two of her people at the Queen Elizabeth, and then she has a few traffic lights before she hits the expressway. If you hurry, maybe you can get there first.”
“Which airport, Opa-Locka?”
“I think so. The arrangements have all been made there. Would you like me to describe the plane for you and tell you where to find it?”
“Yes!”
“And if you take it away from her, you won’t forget you owe me another thirty-six thousand?”
“Of course not. We’ll be leaving from Miami International. Hubble Oil Company, executive jet. Meet me there.”
“That sounds believable, and I think I’ll believe it.”
He repeated the directions he had already given Gentry, and wished Diamond luck.
A moment later the operator was back on the line.
“He flew out of here so fast, Mike! He’s been pacing up and down behind me for fifteen minutes. My hands are so slippery I can hardly hold the phone.”
“Baby, you’re always a great help,” Shayne said. “Everybody’s offering me money today, and I’ll steer some of it your way.”
“Oh, well. He did have a wild look, but I knew he wouldn’t shoot me. It was the idea of it more than anything. I’m glad you’re all right.”
“We aren’t home yet. Get me Will Gentry. No, wait a minute. I forgot I’m not in the car. I can dial it myself.”
Across the kitchen, his involuntary hostess was setting out cups. “Do you want some coffee?”
He looked at her in surprise. Without the curlers, her hair fell softly to her shoulders. Her face shone with some kind of oil. She had laid her glasses aside, and all at once she was an amazingly handsome woman.
“I’m not going anyplace right away,” Shayne said. “My car’s got two flat wheels and a blown engine. What’s your name?”
“Sarah. Cream and sugar?”
“Just black, Sarah.”
He watched her, still astonished by the sudden transformation. Shaking his head, he dialed Gentry’s number.
“While we’re rounding up people,” Shayne said, “we might as well include everybody. I wouldn’t want Jerry Diamond to feel left out. He and two others are going to try to take over the Jet-Star. Now be careful, Will. Don’t move till they start shooting. Depending on what happened to a guy named Sam Geller, that may be the only charge against Diamond we can make stick.”
“Sam Geller?”
“Yeah, did you find him?”
“We pulled him out of a smashed-up car. He’s got a broken neck, but he’s expected to live.”
“Hold on a minute.” Shayne covered the phone and spoke to the woman at the stove. “How’s it happen you’re the one who comes downstairs with the shotgun? No man in the house?”
“No man in the house,” she said without looking toward him, “unfortunately.”
When he lifted the phone again, it was apparent at once that something new was happening in Gentry’s office. He heard an excited babble. His own name came through clearly. Other phones were ringing.
An authoritative voice, close to the open phone, told Gentry, “Enough is enough, Chief. Start talking or you’re under arrest.”
“In my own headquarters,” Gentry said mildly. “I’d never live it down.”
The other voice snapped, “Where’s Mike Shayne?”
“Somewhere around town. He keeps calling in. Now if you don’t mind, this call’s confidential!”
“Confidential!” the other man roared.
Gentry spoke into the phone. “Give me your number. I’ll call back as soon as some of the dust settles here.” Shayne read the number from the dial and hung up.
The woman held out the coffee. “Airplanes. FBI men. Shooting. What’s going on, is the public permitted to know?”
Shayne took the cup and kicked a stool over within reach of the phone.
“I don’t know how much will get in the papers. There’s going to be quite a bit of pressure to keep it quiet. How long have you lived around here?”
“Three months. I work at the university. Now don’t be alarmed, please, men sometimes are, but I’m a professor of romance languages. Recently divorced. It’s healing nicely.”
“Very nicely,” Shayne agreed.
She laughed. “I made a vow once. Nobody would ever see me in curlers except my husband. What can I do if somebody kicks down the front door?”
The phone stirred. Shayne caught it in midring.
Gentry said quietly, “Mike, there’s a little more trouble. We’ve got a bomb threat on the Queen Elizabeth, and you know what kind of a bomb. I’m telling people it’s a fake. Right? In the light of this Opa-Locka business—”
“Tell me about it,” Shayne snapped.
“Somebody phoned the mayor. Male voice, British accent. Atom bomb on the Queen. Said if the mayor didn’t believe in atom bombs, to check with Mike Shayne. He wants two hundred thousand in cash.”
“Delivered where?” Shayne said grimly.
“On the front steps of the Municipal Auditorium. And after that he wants an hour. He’ll call from wherever he is then and let us know how to find the bomb and how to disconnect. Mike, you aren’t taking this seriously, by any chance?”
“Damn right I’m taking it seriously. It’s another switch; I hope the last one. Get that money ready, and hurry.”
Chapter 16
Shayne thanked his hostess for the sip of coffee, and borrowed her car.
Less than ten minutes later, after a fast ride, he stalked into Police Headquarters on Northwest 11th Street. The downstairs rooms, the stairs, the hall outside Gentry’s office, and the office itself were crowded with people, most of them strangers to Shayne. Pat Crowley, the heavy, cold-faced Director of the FBI’s Southern District, was perched on the corner of Gentry’s desk. The police chief leaned back comfortably in his swivel chair, hands behind his head, an unlighted cigar in his mouth.