“Deal with on what?”
“No reason I shouldn’t tell you. Not narcotics.”
Shayne snorted. “That’s what it sounds like.”
“Mike,” De Blasio said with sincerity, “I’ll give you my word on this. We have an ironclad law — we don’t handle the stuff. It’s people, Mike. Italians, outside the quota. They pay five hundred a head, we get jobs for them, and after that, when we need somebody we can call on…”
“You wouldn’t be sending Carl,” Shayne conceded, “if you expected anybody to get shot. Just the three of us?”
“That’s all.”
“We go out in the ocean and meet a boat. How many people are going to be on it?”
“A couple, three at the most. But you saw the key thing right away. Any chance of blood being shed, would I include Carlo? Not to speak of Siracusa. I made him myself. He’s been like my son.”
“But I’m the one who’s not in the family.”
“Somebody in the family, there’s suspicion right away. I explained that. We wouldn’t get the chance to straighten the guy out, iron out the situation. The price is five C’s.”
“A grand.”
“Split the difference,” De Blasio said, holding out his hand. “Seven-fifty.”
Shayne gave the hand a light slap. “Funny the way things turn out. I never thought I’d be strong-arming for a dope delivery.”
De Blasio said worriedly, “I’ll say it again. Narcotics at a time like this, I’d have to have a head full of marbles. And Carlo.”
“Whatever,” Shayne said, “we’ll bring the kid back without any holes in him.”
“You sure as hell better,” Carl put in.
Shayne began filling his flask from the cognac bottle, keeping the flow steady even when Siracusa came in, in a hurry.
“Don, I just found out something about—”
He broke off, seeing Shayne at the bar. Shayne screwed the cap on his flask.
“Get your topsiders, Musso. We’re going sailing.”
Siracusa came around the Ping-Pong table to give De Blasio a look full of meaning. “Talk to you for a minute.”
“When you get back. This has precedence.”
“Don, it’s important.”
“So is this. Carlo, give him the rundown. Mike, one thing I forgot.”
He waited till the other two men had left the room. Reaching out, he touched the gun in Shayne’s belt. “Good, to be prepared. I want you to watch Musso.”
“What do you mean, watch Musso? You made him yourself, twenty years in the thing, and you don’t trust him?”
“The number of guys I can trust… Don’t keep asking questions. Everybody’s jumpy. Just play the cards you get dealt. But go a little slower on the juice, Mike…”
Shayne gave him a cold stare. “Nobody tells me how much I can drink.”
“I’m not trying,” De Blasio said hastily. “I don’t preach to people. And you’re no boy, right? The only reason I mention it, I don’t want you to doze off on me.”
“I’m O.K.”
De Blasio came outside with him. Shayne put on his dark glasses.
“This is strictly a one-shot,” he said. “Don’t start including me in the count. Because if I had to lay bets, I’d be tempted to put my money on Burns.”
“On Burns? How did you hear about him?”
“It’s around. Just that he’s here, and he’s looking for an end. Young, yeah, but he’s got desire. You’re tied down with real estate.”
“That’s laughable,” De Blasio said, though he wasn’t laughing. “You think there’s going to be war in the streets, like the old days? No. When the time comes, I’ll cut him to bits. Get this thing out of the way for me, and come back and we’ll talk.”
Shayne misjudged the first step down from the terrace, but swung his arms quickly and stayed in balance. He glanced up at the windows over the garage, and seeing the girl’s face, gave her an obscene one-finger salute.
Siracusa and the younger De Blasio were already aboard the biggest of the three boats, a forty-five-foot Pacemaker motor yacht with a rakish flying bridge. Shayne’s movements suddenly became very careful, a signal to the other two that the cognac was taking hold. Siracusa looked down from the flying bridge. “You’re going to be a big help.”
Coming aboard, Shayne’s heel caught, and he came close to falling. Three long strides took him to one of the padded chairs on the cockpit deck.
Carl cast off the lines. Siracusa, above at the wheel, backed out of the slot.
“How’re you making it?” Carl said, passing.
“Just great.” He gestured with the open flask. “Want a whiff?”
“No, thanks.”
Shayne put the flask to his mouth, stopping the flow of cognac with his tongue. Carl climbed to the flying bridge, where Shayne heard the two men talking in low tones. Shayne was far enough under the overhang so he couldn’t be seen from above. He worked his pistol out of his waistband and wedged it between his thigh and the side cushion, covering it with his right hand.
There was considerable small-boat traffic in the bay, and they moved slowly at first, the twin diesels operating at a fraction of full power. They began to pick up speed after clearing the causeway, into Government Cut between the southern tip of Miami Beach and Fisher Island.
It was a sparkling, stinging day. Shayne smoked, kept his pistol ready, and waited.
Carl checked on him from time to time, appearing briefly at the top of the ladderway to exchange a few remarks before returning to the fly bridge. A ten-knot breeze was blowing out of the east, kicking up a choppy cross-sea. The Beach shorefront structures dropped rapidly astern, to disappear in the haze.
The engines throbbed steadily. Soon they were alone on the ocean.
Suddenly, without warning, there was a heavy, shattering explosion on the flying bridge. Shayne came forward, the gun in his hand. The boat heeled over, rolling in a different way as the chop caught her on a new quarter. A long moment passed.
Carl’s voice said weakly, “Mike Shayne.”
“Right here, kid,” Shayne answered.
“I need help.”
Shayne said after a moment, “We’ll see. Your old man said to be careful. Drop two guns down the ladder, yours and Musso’s.”
A moment later one automatic fell onto the cockpit deck.
“That’s mine,” Carl said. “He didn’t have one.”
“Careless of him,” Shayne said. “Raise your hands with the palms out and turn away from the ladder.”
He kicked out of his shoes and went up fast, his gun high. Carl, his hands raised, was facing the bow.
Shayne came onto the enclosed bridge, lowering his pistol. “O.K., Carlo. Let’s check the damage.”
Siracusa, at the wheel, shifted in the rotating chair and began to slide. Carl said something deep in his throat, not quite a word. The bullet from Carl’s heavy.45 automatic had entered Siracusa’s head from behind and blown it apart. The mess on the inside of the plexiglass windshield looked like smashed tomatoes.
11
Carl’s shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. “My God.”
Shayne touched him from behind to make sure he had no other gun, and then put his own pistol away.
“Now you’re a real Sicilian.”
“Sick…” Carl said, bringing his hands to his face.
“Outside, outside,” Shayne said. “There’s already enough to clean up here.”
Carl stumbled to the rail. Shayne spun the wheel, bringing the bow back into the wind. He set the automatic pilot and throttled the engines down so they were barely turning over. After that he joined Carl at the rail, uncapped his flask, and held it out.