Both girls reacted. Shayne drank and smiled reminiscently.
“What a pile-up. But I think I can honestly say we enjoyed ourselves.”
“Mike, you’re a comedian,” Sarah said.
“No, wait a minute. Nobody was thinking about money in that bed. We were one big happy tangle. That’s what sex is supposed to do for you, but it doesn’t always happen. I went down to the casino afterward, and I could read every card in the deck. I’ve never had a run like that in my life. An hour and a half later I walked away with seventy-five thousand.”
“You’re as superstitious as a caveman,” Sarah said.
“People have been believing in magic for thousands of years,” Shayne said. “There has to be something to it.”
“Do not include me in your magic,” Mercedes said firmly.
“I’m sure Room Service can provide you with two other girls,” Sarah suggested. “You’re welcome to use the room.”
“It wouldn’t work that way,” he told her. “I gave the girls in Vegas five thousand apiece. But they didn’t do it for money, they did it because they were sure I was going to be lucky. And I know you won’t do it unless you really believe. That’s the point. Confidence is what I need. We’ve got plenty of booze, plenty of ice, plenty of time. They don’t close the tables till six in the morning.”
Sarah smiled calmly, shaking her head. “Mike, Mike.”
Mercedes’ pretty dark face was set in a sullen mask, and she remained far forward in her chair, her legs crossed. It wasn’t until the third drink that she sat back. Shayne was talking about the famous occasions when casino managements had been beaten for important sums of money. He kept moving about the room. Once he perched on the arm of the dark girl’s chair and gently helped her out of her stockings.
The two girls made friends. It was Sarah, finally, who made the decisive move, going to the bathroom and coming back a moment or two later undressed.
2
The lights stayed on.
Shayne moved his arm to look at his watch. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed but remained there for a time, massaging his forehead.
Mercedes lay face down, her dark hair loose. Sarah was reversed, her head toward the foot of the bed. She still wore her emerald necklace. There was lipstick on her teeth. She watched Shayne through her artificial eyelashes.
“Tell me, is the magic working?”
He seemed to consult an internal adviser. “I think so.”
He came to his feet and located the cognac. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after drinking, and lit a cigarette. He extended the package to Sarah.
“I couldn’t move,” she said. “I may stay right here for twenty-four hours.”
He smiled at her through the smoke. “All right? Just checking.”
“God, you’re a lovely man.”
“You two seemed to have lots in common.”
“She’s sweet. Mercedes, are you listening to me?”
The other girl remained motionless, snoring slightly. Shayne went to the bathroom, leaving the door open, and stepped into the shower. He remembered too late that he was smoking a cigarette, and threw it away. When he came out he toweled himself briskly, did a dozen fingertip-pullups in the doorway while Sarah watched, and borrowed her hairbrush to use on his rough hair. His clothes had ended up in different corners of the room. He retrieved them and dressed.
“Do you want me to make an effort?” Sarah said.
“No, I have to watch the dealers for a while, see if I can spot one who’s just going through the motions.”
“Have luck,” she said softly.
He filled his pocket flask with cognac. Before corking the bottle he sprinkled some on Sarah’s stomach.
“That makes you my girl.”
He saluted her with a confident circle with his thumb and forefinger, unlocked the door, and tossed the key on the bed.
There was even more of a jam in the casino than when he had been there earlier. He moved through the crowd without hurrying, an unlighted cigarette between his lips. A small tense man slid into his path and snapped a lighter.
Shayne accepted the light without thanking him. “What are you doing here, Larry?”
“Like everybody else. Mike, I want to talk to you.”
Shayne had given him only a glance, to identify him. Larry Zito, known as the Doctor in newspaper stories, did most of the Miami Beach loan-sharking. His nickname referred to the early days when he carried his cash in a doctor’s bag. He had been loose in those days, everybody’s friend, but as he rose in the ranks he had become more and more jumpy, and now everything about him seemed to be in constant motion — his hands, his moustache, his eyes. He was small and quick, with a largish paunch, which he usually made a practice of kneading when he was sitting down.
“I don’t feel like talking now, Larry,” Shayne said quietly.
“Believe me, I know the feeling,” Zito assured him. “But you’ve got to stand still and listen to me while I make a few remarks, or I’ll get some help.”
Shayne still didn’t look at him directly. “I know I owe you. I don’t need any reminders. You’ll get your money.”
“I know I’ll get it, Mike,” Zito said reasonably, “it’s a matter of how. Come over here out of some of this uproar.”
Shayne swore. He picked a glass off a tray being carried past by a scantily clad waitress, emptied the ice cubes, and half-filled it with cognac.
“Just don’t put on any pressure. I’m at a point where it wouldn’t take much.”
Zito was smoking a miniaturized cigar. He motioned with it.
They went across the big room to a carpeted staircase, and down to a dimly lit lounge. A muscular blue-jowled man wearing a striped blazer and a badge saying, “Mr. Maxwell, Security,” stepped aside and let them through a door marked “Employees Only.” They entered a two-stall lavatory.
“About the only place you get any privacy around here,” Zito said. “I don’t like to shout business in public. I saw you earlier with a broad. You notice I waited. Don’t bother to thank me.”
In a quick two-handed motion, he clapped Shayne under the arms to make sure he wasn’t carrying a pistol. Completing the motion, he opened his own jacket, to show an automatic in a shoulder holster.
“Not putting muscle on you, Mike. Just want to make sure you get the picture.”
Shayne’s eyebrows had drawn together in a scowl, and Zito stepped back quickly, his hand going to his lapel.
“Now, Mike, I do it this way because I know you’re a man with a good pair of balls. Use your head and stay out of the hospital.”
Shayne drank from his cognac glass, set it on the glass shelf over the wash basins, and turned to use the urinal.
“Don’t show me the gun again unless you’re planning to use it. What’s all the excitement? With the vigorish running at twelve percent a month—”
“On paper, Mike. And let me point out to you, I haven’t seen any twelve percent a month. I made you a loan for a definite two-month period — sixty days, to be picky — and at the end of those sixty days I like to see the green stuff coming back in. And you don’t even give me a buzz and ask for an extension.”
“I’m working on it,” Shayne said evasively.
“I do sincerely hope so. I didn’t want to lay that eight on you in the first place, but I decided I better because I thought you still had some worthwhile connections. Me and my big mouth, I happened to mention to a couple of people you were late getting it back, and that makes it semi-public. If I let you get away with it, everybody else thinks likewise. My action’s way down because of the situation. I want to wind this up, and I’m prepared to be fair.”