“It’s dark. How can you tell how I look?”
She snapped on her cigarette lighter and looked at him over the flame. “Just as I thought. Skeptical. I’m a pretty moral person, as it happens, but because of Sam nobody believes me. I always have to tell people I’m scared to stray because Sam would kill me if I did, but he’s really pretty reasonable about that, too much so, in my opinion. I’m off the subject.”
“Maslow was sitting there eating popcorn.”
“According to him, Grover barged into his hotel room with a deputy sheriff from his hometown, one of those mean red-necks from the back hollows-”
“If his name is Turner I know him.”
“I don’t know his name. They both had stripped-down shotguns in a shopping bag. They sat down and assembled the guns without saying a word-this is in Maslow’s hotel room, with Maslow pretending not to be frightened to death-and then they fired at imaginary birds, still without saying anything.”
“Maslow has a Xerox copy of some payoff figures, the judge told me. He claims they were faked.”
“They were sort of faked. I could explain, but didn’t you say you’re in a hurry? Maslow thought they proved something, and Grover, the idiot, picked this way to warn him not to push his luck, that shotguns have been known to go off. And Maslow wanted me to tell Grover to cool it. With sound effects from the popcorn.”
A highway patrol car whooshed past, its red beacon revolving.
“They’re a bit slow,” Shayne said. “Did you tell Sam about this scene at the drive-in?”
She missed a beat before answering. “No. He was worried enough. I asked Grover about it, and he claimed it hadn’t happened. So take your pick.”
Shayne, in the darkness, added a new piece to the puzzle. “Lib, who’s your real opposition? I don’t mean Jackie’s committee. Who’s putting up the dough?”
“You mean they didn’t tell you?” she said, surprised. “Are you doing this for love or something? Al Luccio.”
Shayne slapped the steering wheel. “From St. Albans.”
“Sure. My God, Mike, we thought you knew! His syndicate put four million into a new casino, and the grease on that came to a million even. That’s a real nut to work off. Now the big rollers from New York leave their wives and kids on the Beach and jet over to St. A. for the gambling. If we get gambling on the Beach, Luccio can turn his pretty new casino into a farmer’s market. As someone may have mentioned, there’s money at stake here.” She laughed. “Poor Al. He’s squeezed for cash. That’s why he’s going around baring his teeth. He’d like to be cool, but he can’t compete.”
“Al Luccio,” Shayne said under his breath.
“Hey, I told you something you didn’t already know! Pay me back, Mike. I know you owe Boots, but stay away from him till the banks open, at nine. That’s not much to ask. I’ve tried to be helpful.”
“I’ll check on a few things, and if you’ve been telling the truth-”
“Cross my heart.”
“Nine o’clock will be cutting it close.”
“You’ll have an hour before they convene, and the chaplain goes on and on. I’ve never listened to longer prayers. Boots is at some old-timey cabins on the road to Chattahoochee. He thinks he’s in hiding, the jerk. Mike, you don’t think somebody actually murdered Maslow?”
“Yeah-too many people wanted him dead. My first choice is still Sam.”
That jarred her. “Mike, don’t go around saying things like that! I thought you were beginning to get some sense. Why Sam? Why not Luccio? Why not Boots Gregory? Anybody had more reason to kill him than Sam had, and who says he was killed? Didn’t you hear about the coroner’s verdict, or whatever they call it? I think we ought to talk some more, and not out here where some cop may wonder what a Ferrari in good condition is doing in front of a body shop. I know we can’t go back to the Skyline, but there are other motels.”
He started the motor. “I need a car. I’ll borrow this one and drop you at a cabstand.”
Reaching across, she turned off the ignition. “Seriously.”
“I’m serious. On top of that, you’re a moral girl, and you don’t go to motels with strangers.”
“Not usually,” she admitted, her hand still on the key. “But this time I have a reason.”
She didn’t resist when he moved her hand. “Everybody else has been trying to block you out and you’re still hanging in there, aren’t you? I didn’t really expect-” She kissed his shoulder. “I wish we could play on the same team sometime.”
He heard the wail of a siren. He waited. It seemed to be moving in the opposite direction, and he backed out onto the highway. But he drove more cautiously, watching the mirror. Soon after they entered the city limits, another siren joined the first, and this one was much closer. He turned abruptly into a driveway between two houses and cut his lights.
“Get down.”
They slid down in the seat and Lib’s hand found his. “Damn, damn,” she said. “If it’s the cops, does our deal still hold? Nine o’clock?”
“If it’s the cops, all deals are off.” After a moment he sat up and turned on the lights. “It’s a fire. We’re all getting jittery.”
He backed out. A long hook-and-ladder clamored across the nearest intersection.
Shayne drove downtown and found an all-night cabstand at the bus depot.
“I hope I convinced you,” Lib said. “Be generous to those less fortunate than yourself. Nine A.M. Not eight fifty-eight.”
“I’ll see how it goes.”
She got out, a rewarding sight with her lovely unconfined body and white hair. A driver scrambled to open a cab door.
CHAPTER 14
The night clerk at the Prince George sent Shayne to a small bar off the lobby. It had closed officially hours ago, but Tim Rourke had hired the barman to stay on so he could use it as a command post. The barman, only the bald spot on the top of his head showing, was sound asleep at one of the tables. Rourke, one hand in a cast, was sprawled out along a banquette, a drink balanced on his chest, his head in a blonde girl’s lap. The light was bad, but Shayne thought the girl had been a guest at the party at the Kendrick fishing lodge.
Rourke waved his glass. “Mike, the night’s about over. They’ll be voting in another four hours. Did you meet Rosalie? Mike Shayne.”
“How are you, Rosalie?” Shayne said. “You look sleepy.”
“I am, aren’t we all? Timmy’s a very tired boy. I’ve been trying to get him to-” She sat up straighter. “You mean you want me to go to bed so you can talk business? I don’t happen to be registered at this hotel.”
Rourke sat up with an effort. He passed her a room-key and whispered something which made her giggle. As she leaned forward getting up he patted her rump fondly.
“I won’t put on cold cream or anything,” she said.
“Nice kid.” Rourke remarked, watching her leave. “Don’t wake up the bartender. Get your own drink and we’ll settle later.”
Shayne located the cognac. Rourke came after him and deposited himself on a stool, smothering a yawn.
“Glad you could get some use out of the chopper. That’s one way to do it. Rush around, put on the mileage, fool yourself into thinking you’re getting somewhere. That’s not my way. I like to stay in one place so everybody knows where to find me, and let the information seep in. What happened with Judge Kendrick? I hear they had you in jail up there.”
“That was just so he’d know where he could put his hands on me.” He drank some of the cognac. “What did you do about Jackie?”
“Mike, some of this you’re going to like, and some you’re not going to. I had to use my own judgment, so please don’t second-guess me, o.k.?” He opened a ten-by-twelve manila envelope and slid a glossy print across the bar. “A kid from the local paper was out at the lake taking pictures. This is just after the fire truck got there. See if you recognize anybody.”
Shayne held the picture to the feeble light from the back bar. Assorted guests were grouped near the fire truck, facing the fire. Shayne saw Senator McGranahan, holding a moose head he had carried out of the building. Another man, probably also a legislator, had noticed the camera and was hiding behind his cupped hands. Anne Braithwaite, the English girl Shayne had left tied up in the room with Maslow, stared at the camera disdainfully. There were others in the background, one a fat man wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.