“What was Harry fencing?” He was probing for a reaction, and he got it right away.
“That’s a low blow, Mike Shayne, and you know it. With the money we inherited from our parents, Harry didn’t have to steal, and you should know he wasn’t the kind to do it without a real reason.”
Shayne said, “I believe you.”
“That’s better, then. No— Harry was always buying a new bike or boots for that bunch of hoodlums who rode with them. It was the only real hold he had on them. The only way he could be a captain was to throw his money around. That was his claim to leadership.”
She spoke bitterly.
“Harry wasn’t the first to buy a leadership position,” Shayne said.
“He was the first in our family.” She was still bitter. “Do you know what it costs to outfit a gang first class. I guess you don’t, but believe me, it takes a lot of money.”
“Harry could afford it, couldn’t he?”
“That’s all in the way you look at it,” she said. “He paid his way without going to the Old Man for a loan, but it couldn’t have gone on much longer. After all, our parents weren’t that rich, and the taxes and lawyers took a big bite out of what they did leave.”
“I see.”
“Anyway I did meet the Old Man. You better find a phone booth and let me call ahead though. And you’d better believe it’s the only way you’ll get to him alive tonight.”
VIII
Sally Comfort had no trouble getting through to the Old Man at his place of business. Setting up a meeting with Mike Shayne was another matter, though. She had to talk hard to convince Simon Kane that Shayne just wanted to talk.
Finally he agreed to let Sally Comfort bring the big detective to his home. The Old Man would wait there and talk with them.
“He’s got more sense than the rest of them,” Sally Comfort said.
“If he didn’t have, he wouldn’t be head man.” Shayne agreed.
“Anyway, he listened to me,” Sally continued. “I’m not sure he really agrees that you didn’t kill Rocky, but he’ll go along with me that you didn’t cut Harry’s throat. Anyway, he’ll talk to you — and I think that’s important right now. You convince him, for he’s the one man in town who can take the cycle gangs off your back. They will listen to him.”
“I hope they will,” Shayne said. “This crazy feud over nothing has cost two lives already. So let’s get on with it.”...
Shayne found Simon Kane’s house easily enough. The outside yard lights were on and so were the lights inside. There was no sign of an ambush, so the big detective parked in the driveway beside Simon Kane’s late-model Lincoln. The two-car garage made one wing of the house and was obscured from the street by a cement wall and some ornamental planting about ten feet high.
“He wants to talk to you alone,” Sally Comfort told Shayne as he parked. “I’ll wait for you in the car.” She reached over and pressed his big hand with her small soft one, added, “Good luck, shamus. Good luck.”
Shayne had to walk back down the drive to the street and then around the wall to get to the front entrance of the expensive house. The door opened the instant he rang.
“Come in, Shayne,” said Simon Kane. “Let me get a look at you.”
The bike riders’ Old Man had the look of any successful Dade County businessman. Short, stocky, balding, he wore an expensive sports shirt and slacks and soft leather sandals on his feet. His glasses were in solid gold frames and there was a heavy gold ring on his right hand with at least a two-carat diamond.
“Come in, come in,” he repeated. “We can talk freely here tonight. I live alone and my servants have gone home. No guards and no bugs, Mr. Shayne. Just you and I to talk.”
Shayne said, “That’s fine. I hope we can clear this up once and for all.”
His host led him through the living room to the rear of the house. There was a semi-Florida room — part pool and patio arrangement. The rear wall was screening backed up by ornamental tropical plantings. The rear of the house itself was a series of sliding glass doors opening directly onto the pool area.
Near the pool was a table and two wrought iron chairs. A bottle of rum stood on the table with two glasses.
“Pour yourself a drink,” the Old Man said and seated himself.
Shayne poured rum into a glass. It was high grade imported Jamaica — not as good as his favorite brandy but still a strong and warming drink.
“You’re sure we’re alone?” he asked.
“We are, as far as I’m concerned,” Simon Kane said. “Nothing at all up my sleeve. How about yours?”
“Both of mine are empty, too,” Shayne said. “Nobody came with me but Sally — and I told her to wait in the car. I wanted this to be private as much as you did.”
“Fine, fine! Now why are you going around killing motorcycle riders, Mr. Shayne?”
“I think you know I’m not killing anybody,” Mike Shayne said. He made it a statement, almost an ultimatum, and let it lie like something tangible on the table between them.
Simon Kane drank some of his rum — not very much — as a courtesy gesture to his guest. He looked over the rim of his glass at the big redheaded detective and took his own good time about answering. Outside, the hot tropical night seemed to brood over the house. The only sound was that of a television set in a neighbor’s patio.
Finally the Old Man spoke. “You know, Shayne, I’m inclined to believe you. I honestly am — and that’s what bothers me the most about this whole affair.
“If it was you by yourself carrying some crazy vendetta against bike riders — why, we could deal with that. Myself, I’d have you found and watched and tip the police where to find you. That would be reasonable man’s way to handle you — and I’m a reasonable man, no more a killer than any other businessman. I’m no mafioso.
“Some of the boys and girls on the bikes might try to kill you, of course. If they did, I’d try to stop them,” he added, “One way or another, we’d get you out of the picture. You’d have to be crazy to start a one-man war — and lunatics can always be handled.”
“I agree with you on that,” Shayne said. “My whole life has taught me the truth of what you say. Crazy killers go down fast.
“I’m not crazy, though, Kane. I’m not the one doing the killing. That complicates things. You don’t know where to look. There’s somebody killing bike riders and he’s using all this ruckus about me to hide himself.
“I don’t really know whether he wants me killed — or even whether it’s you he wants out of the way. Right now, he’s got us both looking over our shoulders. Maybe he thinks we’ll kill each other off.”
“I’m inclined to believe that may be it,” Kane said. “If it is, we’ll fool him there, at least. Have you come up with anything yet, Shayne?”
“Maybe,” Shayne replied. “Just maybe. Nothing I can really get my teeth into.”
“I was hoping that girl you rode up here with could help you,” Simon Kane said. “I’ve only met Sally Comfort a couple of times, but she struck me as a knowledgeable broad. She should have her heart in helping, anyway. Both the men killed were so close to her.”
“Both?” Shayne asked.
“Sure, both. One was her brother and the other — that Rocky — either was or had been her boyfriend. Didn’t you know that?”
“By God, I didn’t!” Shayne spoke emphatically. “She never mentioned that!”
“Well, well, well!” Kane Said. “Perhaps there is something else I ought to tell you.”
He never got the chance.
The shot came through the screened wall of the patio behind the still waters of the swimming pool. The screen held in and reflected the lights from the house. Anyone outside could see in, but Shayne couldn’t see out.