“Sure, doesn’t everyone?”
She smiled, and her lower lip twisted a little. “Yes, I guess so. I go there a lot.”
“What’s your friend’s name, the one who owns the boat?”
“Pete Allegretti. You know him? Everybody around here knows him.”
“No, but I know some guys that do — in Miami. As you say, Pete gets around. Maybe we can go out on his boat and have a party?” He gave Ann a smile.
“I’d like that. But lately he hasn’t taken her out. I don’t understand it. He used to. All the time.”
“Does Pete come in here?”
Once in a while. Most of time I meet him at the Sly Fox. That’s down the street, about two blocks.
“I know the place.”
“If you want to meet him? Why don’t you go there tomorrow about noon? I’ll introduce you.”
“I’ll do that.” Shayne glanced at his watch. “Sorry Ann. I have an appointment. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
There was a fretful tone in her voice. “With a girl?”
“Nope. Business.”
“I thought maybe we could make an evening of it.”
“Tomorrow, Ann.” He called Marge, handed her a twenty, said, “Give Ann whatever she wants.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of her.”
Shayne went to the bar and handed John a ten. “Thanks. It worked.”
The bartender smiled. “It always does. She’s not choosy, and someday she’s going to pick up the wrong guy and he’ll kill her.”
Shayne went to the telephone in the lobby, called Will Gentry, Miami Chief of Police. “Will, get me a rundown on a guy named Pete Allegretti. He may have a yellow sheet.”
“He does, Mike. He’s one of our prime suspects.”
“For what?”
“The Roselli killing, for one. Has been picked up a dozen times all over the country. Dangerous as a rattlesnake. You working on something?”
“Yeah. The diamond heist in the Americana. Monarch Insurance.”
“Be careful with Allegretti. He kills quick.”
“I’ll be careful. You know Tommy Elfmont?”
“Sure. A good cop. I heard about it. They got his wife Becky. Those guys are nuts. He’ll kill a dozen men to free her. You on that too?”
“Well, if it shows, good. That’s the story.”
“Okay, keep in touch. How are you and Painter getting along?”
“As usual. The little man was spitting fire and brimstone when he learned I was hired by Monarch.”
Chief Gentry laughed and hung up.
Shayne next got in touch with Tom Elfmont and told him of his meeting with Ann Waterman, added, “This may be the lead we’re looking for, Tommy.”
“Sounds possible. But you can’t take any chances with this character Allegretti. What time are you supposed to meet the Waterman broad in the Sly Fox?”
“About noon. She said she’d have lunch with Allegretti and introduce me.”
“I’ll talk with Sergeant Patterson and Wilson. I’ll plant them there, at the bar. I’ll come in a little later. In the meantime, I’ll have a patrol car look over the area around Stan’s for a sight of the boat. You going to be in the rest of the day?”
“At my office, then my apartment.”
“I’ll call you if anything breaks.”
III
Shayne awoke the next morning after a fretful night. He had a premonition that he was headed for trouble. He took a shower, made a pot of coffee, poured a cup for himself, laced it with a slug of Martell. He called his office. Lucy Hamilton, his attractive secretary answered.
“Yes, Oh, Mighty One, before you start I’ll fill you in. Only Tim Rourke called. Wanted to know if you were holding out on him. I assured him you weren’t, that the only thing you ever held out was your hand, for a check.”
“Very funny. You must have been up all night watching Johnny Carson. What else?”
“That’s it. Are you coming in?”
“Nope. If anything important should occur I’ll be at the Sly Fox in Fort Lauderdale around noon. It’s on Galt Ocean Mile.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You know? Since when?”
“Oh, come off it, Mr. Shayne. I’m a big girl. Every big girl knows about the Sly Fox. It’s a pick-up joint. Lots of guys on the make, married, separated, divorced, and liars. And gals too. Why are you going there?”
“Business.” He spoke spoke curtly.
“Business? Monkey, plain and fancy, or what?”
“Probably ‘or what’.”
“Well, I hope you’ll fill me in with all the provocative details. My subscriptions to Playboy and Cosmopolitan expired last week.”
“I’ll do that. In the meantime, keep yourself under control.”
“And not think of you in the Sly Fox with all those slucious gals?”
“ ‘Slucious?’ Is that a new word?”
“Don’t be a square, Mike. It’s been out for months. It’s a combination of slut and delicious. That’s what you’ll find in the Sly Fox. Good hunting.”
“Thanks.” He smiled as he hung up.
The red head drove toward Fort Launderdale, taking the I-95 freeway to AIA, along the ocean. The air was clean and crisp. It was a perfect October day. An ocean breeze rustled the palm fronds, and the sound of the breaking surf provided a muted accompaniment. The bright sunlight struck the ocean, flashing back brilliant dapples on waves that rode to the sandy beaches.
It was a serene day. Yet, Shayne could not shake himself loose from a feeling that impending disaster lay ahead.
He drove into the parking lot alongside the Sly Fox, glanced at his watch. A little after twelve. Right on time.
The Sly Fox is an intimate restaurant and lounge. It is a long and narrow room, with tables in the middle of the room and booths at the right as you come in. The bar runs about three quarters of the length. The food is good, the drinks excellent, the waitresses young and pretty.
Shayne looked around and saw Ann Waterman in one of the booths. The man with her was swarthy, typically Sicilian, with dark good looks, smooth, expensively dressed in the Florida style, white slacks, sports shirt, and a blue sports jacket. Ann Waterman waved to him, timidly.
Shayne strode over, and as he did he glanced toward the bar. Patterson and Wilson were there nursing their beers. Patterson game him a faint nod. Shayne turned toward Ann.
“Hi,” he greeted her. He nodded toward Allegretti. “I’m Mike. May I join you?”
“Sit down, Mike.”
Shayne pulled out a chair and sat down, studying Allegretti as he did so. The expression on the hood’s face was dour, his eyes dark with suspicion and hatred.
“Mike? What’s the rest of it?” He drummed the table lightly in a nervous gesture.
“Shayne.”
“With a Y?”
Shayne nodded.
The look Allegretti shot Ann Waterman was murderous. He said to her, in a tone that was almost a snarl, a sound from an angry and aroused jungle animal. “You met Mr. Shayne last night in the lounge of the Royal Admiral, for the first time?”
She nodded. “Yes.” Her voice shook and freighted with fear she continued. “We just had a drink and talked.”
“About what?”
“We talked about boats,” Shayne said. “I like to fish, and Ann said you owned a boat and often sailed up and down the Intracoastal. I thought that maybe you’d allow me to go along some day and fish.”
“Mr. Shayne,” Allegretti said, his tone cold, “I don’t play games. You know who I am, and I know who you are.” He stuck a forefinger about an inch from Ann Waterman’s nose. “You don’t know, you stupid bitch.” He held his voice low. “Mr. Shayne, is a notorious private investigator, you understand, Miss Waterman?”