She moved toward him and said, “Yeah?”
Shayne looked at the rows of bottles behind the bar. He saw the label of a cheap domestic brandy that wasn’t too bad. “Gimme a slug of that,” he said in a tough drawl and added, “water on the side.”
She poured a shot of brandy and set a glass of ice water beside it. He put the half dollar on the counter, drank the brandy at a gulp, and washed it down with the full glass of water. She put a dime and a nickel in change on the counter.
Shayne asked, “You got a telephone in here?”
She said, “The booth’s right there,” pointing to the rear.
Shayne used one of his nickels to call Miami’s chief of police, Will Gentry, at his home. Gentry had been his loyal friend for many years past, and had never yet failed him.
He heard the phone ring three times before a woman answered. He asked, “Is Will there?”
She said, “Mr. Gentry is at his office. I imagine you can reach him there.”
Shayne said, “Thanks,” hung up, and used another nickel to dial the number of Gentry’s private office.
Gentry’s heavy voice heartened him as it boomed over the wire. “Hello.”
“What are you doing at the office this time of night, Will?”
There was a brief silence at the other end. Gentry’s voice lost its booming heartiness. He answered cautiously. “Sure, Mike. I’ll be glad to talk to you in about five minutes if you’ll call me back. Busy right now.” Gentry hung up.
Shayne opened the door of the booth and leaned against it, wiping sweat from his face with the palm of his hand. He was certain Gentry had recognized his voice, and just as certain that Will had a very good reason for not speaking his name aloud. Sure, Mike, could sound like a mere slang expression to whoever was listening in the chief’s office, but to Shayne it meant, Watch your step, Mike. I’ll get rid of this guy and be ready to talk to you in five minutes.
The men’s room was directly across from the telephone booth. Shayne went in and switched on the light, looked at himself grimly in the dirty mirror. His face was clean after the cupped-palm shower he had given himself, but his upper lip was badly swollen and there was clotted blood in the cut. He wet his hair and combed it with his fingers, then loitered in the room until he felt sure five minutes had passed.
When he called Gentry again, the chief of police sounded weary and worried and angry.
“Mike! Where in God’s name are you?”
“Out on North Miami Avenue.”
There was a long, indrawn sigh at the other end of the wire. “I just got Petey Painter out of here. I’ve spent the last hour proving to him that you were on a plane bound for New Orleans. How the living hell did you get back to town? And why?”
“I missed my plane again.”
“No, you didn’t. We checked with National. We know you were aboard when Flight Sixty-two took off tonight. The first stop was Palm Beach forty minutes later and there wasn’t any plane back. Even if you had quit the plane there and driven back the way you drive, you couldn’t possibly have reached Miami by one o’clock. That’s the only reason there isn’t a pick-up out for you right now,” Gentry ended.
“Why? What the hell is Painter trying to hang on me now?”
“It doesn’t matter much since you couldn’t possibly have been here. I suppose you did jump the plane at Palm Beach and drive back. Why, Mike? Why didn’t you keep on traveling away from here? Did you know you were sticking your neck out a mile? God in heaven! Less than three hours ago you were selling everyone on the idea you had to be on that midnight plane. Was that just a stall? Are you mixed up in this kidnaping? Is that why the fellow claimed he recognized you at the wreck where you couldn’t possibly have been?”
“Hold it, Will. What kidnaping? What fellow and what wreck?”
“The Deland kidnaping, goddamn it. There was an automobile wreck on Thirty-sixth at one-fifteen. A man and a woman in a gray sedan. The woman was cut and knocked out, and the man got away before anyone stopped him. One of the onlookers told police that he saw the man and swears it was you. Says he knows you well. Fellow by the name of Farrel.”
“Chick Farrel?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got his statement here. Edward H. Farrel.”
“That’s Chick,” Shayne told him. “He must have mistaken someone else for me.”
“Of course he did. That’s the idea I’ve been selling Painter. But when Petey finds out you did jump the plane in Palm Beach, he’ll figure you had an atomic rocket waiting to whisk you back, and even the discrepancy in time won’t convince him you weren’t in that wreck.”
“What would it matter if I were?” Shayne demanded.
“Plenty. The people in that car were the Deland kidnapers.”
“I haven’t heard of any kidnaping lately.”
“Neither had I until Painter came around an hour ago. They’re on the Beach, and it’s all been hush-hush until midnight tonight when the expected contact failed. The ransom was paid tonight. Fifty G’s. But the kid wasn’t returned by midnight as promised. They don’t know what went wrong. The contact man hasn’t showed either.”
“You say the couple in the wrecked sedan were the kidnapers? How do you know?”
“Because the girl’s body was crammed in the trunk of the sedan,” Gentry told him grimly.
Shayne’s belly muscles tightened. He asked, “Did the woman confess?”
“We haven’t got her,” Gentry rumbled. “She wasn’t hurt much. Just a crack across the head that knocked her out. She refused to go to a hospital, and an obliging cop drove her home and left her there.”
“After the body of the kidnaped girl was found in her car?” Shayne asked incredulously.
“It wasn’t found until later,” Gentry snarled. “None of them thought to look, of course. That would be too much to expect of the brainless wonders on my force.”
“If you know where she is or where she lives-”
“She’d skipped by the time anyone thought to go after her. What’s your interest, Mike? Are you mixed up in this thing?”
“Right up to my neck, Will,” said Shayne bitterly.
“How?”
“If I told you the truth, Will,” Shayne said soberly, “you’d have to arrest me. You couldn’t help yourself.”
Gentry breathed, “For God’s sake, Mike,” in a resigned whisper, and then was silent.
Shayne leaned against the side of the steaming hot telephone booth and thought rapidly. “Let me get this straight. Is Painter checking me on the plane?”
“That’s right. Even though the airline positively stated you were aboard, Petey figures you pulled some sort of trick to stay behind and get messed up in kidnaping and murder. You know how he is about you. As soon as your name was mentioned-”
“I know,” Shayne interrupted impatiently. “If he finds out I was aboard the plane when it left, what would he do?”
“He has already given orders to have you taken off at the next stop and brought back for questioning.”
Shayne said, “Fair enough. Let’s go on from there. Who was the blonde driving the death car?”
“I didn’t say she was a blonde and I didn’t say she was driving,” Gentry lashed out. “Look here, Mike-”
“I heard some men talking about the accident in this joint a few minutes ago,” Shayne lied glibly. “Of course, I didn’t know I was supposed to be the guy in the car, nor about the kidnaping. Who is she?”
“Gerta Ross. She runs a nursing home on West Fifty-fourth.”
“A nursing home? Any record?”
“No. We’ve had an eye on her for some time, but she’s smart. Probably a front for illegal operations, but nothing to pin on her.”
“You know Fred Gurney?”
“Better than I want to.”
“Know where he hangs out? What he’s up to these days?”
“We haven’t picked him up for months. Is he in this?”
“I’ve got a lead that points in his direction,” said Shayne cautiously. “Where would you look if you wanted him?”
“I’d ask around Papa La Tour’s. For God’s sake, Mike, give me something.”