Shayne picked up the cognac and drank again, his face unfriendly. “Doc, you’re a pain in the ass. What’s your definition of fair?”
“I can’t take people to court, can I? I got to rely on my own enforcement, but at the same time you know and I know that with Michael Shayne, because of what the name used to mean to the people of Miami, I’m walking on eggs.”
“Don’t shoot me,” Shayne said bleakly. “That’s good business advice.”
“And don’t I know it,” Zito said, rubbing his face unhappily. “But I can’t let it slide, either. How much have you got on you?”
“Not enough.”
“I know that, for God’s sake. What, a couple of grand?”
“Less than that.”
“And you think you’re going to run it to ten, and get off the hook.” Zito shook his head pityingly. “I used to think you had brains. Give me a grand to prove good faith. When you get back to the mainland, I want to see you sell your car. With all those gadgets, you ought to net a couple of grand, minimum. There are creeps who’d pay that so they could work it into the conversation that they’re driving around in Mike Shayne’s car.”
“I need it to work.”
“Your working days are over, let’s face it. You still got a few friends, you can raise another couple. Give me five for now and three more at some later date. What I’m saying to you, I’m ready to wipe the vigorish off the books. The Don tells me I ought to, in the interest of peace and harmony. Tell me if you could ask for a better deal.”
Shayne made a menacing gesture, and Zito went on, speaking fast, “Don’t say something you’ll want to take back later. Look at it from my side of the table. Here you have this crazy private dick, not too bad a guy, not one of those bug-outs who think anybody with some Sicilian in his ancestry ought to be stuck in the can, automatic. He’s short of cash. The banks have cut off his credit so he looks for Larry Zito, who extends him the loan against his better judgment. And he defaults! He drags it out and don’t even come to see me, and I get the word from my friends that he’s snickering at us.”
“I haven’t been laughing much lately,” Shayne said soberly.
“Let me finish. With everybody flapping about this Meister killing, we want to stay out of the spotlight if it’s in any way possible. The shylock business right now, it’s down to zero. Half my people are staying indoors, and the other half are out on some fantastic bail. Pray God it won’t happen” — his eyes jumped — “but if Mike Shayne, who everybody knows is having problems with the Beach shylocks, is picked up some dark night with his head shot off—”
He cut it off there. His hand remained near his gun. The threat was clearly implied, and the Michael Shayne of the Miami legend had always reacted explosively to threats. But that Michael Shayne hadn’t ever borrowed eight thousand dollars from loan sharks. He said mildly, avoiding Zito’s eyes, “Shylocks have to enforce. I don’t argue with that.”
Zito continued, a little shrilly, “What I’m saying is that if there’s a way out that won’t be too hard on anybody, why not? That’s why I’m willing to forget the vig, as much as it goes against the grain.”
“I pay my debts,” Shayne said. “I just want to try this tonight, O.K.? Hell, I’ve been taking chances all my life. I happen to believe in hunches, and when I seem to have a modest little streak going, I’ve got to back it, Larry, or give up, pull out for good. Think back. Didn’t you ever have a time when you could play something one of two ways? Either safe, or screw the percentages and go all out. And I know which way you went. Otherwise you’d be living in a little two-by-four house in Coral Gables, complaining about crime in the streets and the rise in the cost of living.”
“Which might not be too bad a life,” Zito said.
He studied the big man curiously, his hand no longer near his gun. After a moment he said gently, “Well, go ahead, then, knock your head on the wall. I must be getting sentimental or something. Because you know you can’t win, Mike. When you’ve got to win, you lose. In my business, believe me, I see it all the time.”
“Tonight I’m going to break the rules.” Shayne smiled broadly. “Talk about hunches — I had a hunch that if I kept my temper and laid it out for you, you’d break down and act human. You’re not as much of a prick as people tell me.”
“Thanks,” Zito said dryly.
“You won’t regret this, Larry. I mean it, because I’m going to pay you the whole goddamn thing, every penny. Just don’t keep looking over my shoulder. I need a little open space. Room to swing.”
He finished his drink and left the glass on the shelf. “I just want to do one thing, to get me back in the mood.”
He turned the doorknob carefully and drove the door against the back of the guard outside. He was on top of the man before he could recover, and brushed him off, apologizing. Zito, nervous again, watched from the doorway.
“Now, don’t worry, you’ll get your money,” Shayne told him, and walked away.
3
He was several thousand ahead when he felt Sarah’s cool hand on his neck.
“You seem to be doing all right.”
Shayne continued to concentrate on the cards in the dealing slot. “Where’s Mercedes?”
The dark girl answered behind him. “Right here, Mike, cheering for you.”
He looked around and gave one of her full breasts a squeeze. “What great tits, no kidding.”
“Now, you cut that out.”
Shayne shook his flask, drank off what was left, and handed it to Sarah.
“Just in time to get me a refill.”
Shayne was playing two hands. There were four others at the table, but they didn’t matter. It was between Shayne and the dealer, an indifferent young man with oiled hair, quick hands, and a professional pallor. He was betting by the book. He had hesitated only once, when Shayne stood on a hand totaling fourteen. He made the percentage move, went over, and paid Shayne seven hundred dollars.
Shayne’s run continued.
He ordered the two girls to stay behind his chair, reaching back to touch them from time to time. They became more and more excited as the chips continued to flow from the dealer to Shayne. Shayne raised his bets, and went on winning. The dealer made another mistake on a judgment play, and Shayne caught a very faint vibration: the dealer wasn’t unhappy to see the house losing.
And immediately after that, Shayne was beaten four times in a row.
Mercedes whispered, “Out, Mike?” but Sarah told him excitedly, “Hang in there, it’ll come back. I love you.”
Shayne lost again.
A voice said behind him, “Gambling again. What kind of example is this for the Greater Miami Cub Scouts?”
Shayne looked around, surprised.
It was Timothy Rourke, the long, lean crime reporter on the Miami Daily News. He was sucking at a swizzle stick, being in the midst of one of his frequent and unavailing attempts to give up cigarettes. He swayed drunkenly and bumped Sarah, causing her to spill some of her drink on Shayne.
“Excuse, please,” Rourke said. “I’ve been watching that roulette ball go around and around and around and around…”
“Are you down here on a story?” Shayne asked.
“I’m always working,” Rourke declared. “Writing my semiannual Mafia series. Do you know who owns this operation, through a dummy corporation in Panama? Come to think of it, you’re the one who told me… Mike, I’ve got a plane to catch. Two minutes of your valuable time.”
“Not now, Tim. I’ve got a streak going.”
“Card?” the dealer called.
Shayne turned and asked to be hit. A face card came snapping out of the deck.