Shayne suspected his would be the role of peacemaker. Tim’s column that morning was certain to have raised Will’s blood pressure. Gentry was a sometimes irascible man. The suggested citizens’ patrols in high crime areas of Miami Beach, Gentry’s jurisdiction, was certain to have sent Will Gentry through the ceiling of his office.
Will was a good cop who’d reached his present job by coming up through the ranks, but he had a tendency to go by the book. It had taken him quite awhile to get used to some of Shayne’s more unorthodox methods.
“No problem,” Will Gentry said when Shayne asked him to intervene with airline security. “We’ll do it the way we did it last time. You’re on special assignment for the department.”
“I am?” Shayne said. “What am I supposed to be doing this time?”
“Before you get out of San Francisco I want you to check in with a Lieutenant Francis of the SFPD. He has a prisoner out there we may want back here when the State of California is finished with him?”
“Who would that be?” Shayne asked.
“A two-bit grifter named Tully Franco. We think he offed a character named Fritz the Fixer over a slight disagreement. I’ll give you the file. You question him. Francis has him for some scam or other. When you’ve read the file on the plane tomorrow, question the punk. If you think he may be guilty and we have a chance of putting him away for murder one, I’ll try to get him extradited.”
“Have a heart, Will. I only have a few hours in San Francisco between planes,” Shayne said.
“Then you’ll have to work fast,” Gentry said with a smug grin.
Shayne pointed to the morning paper on Gentry’s desk. “Have you read Tim Rourke this morning?”
The police chief reddened and bit hard on the stub of a cigar in his mouth. “I’ve read it and it stinks. I need more uniforms. Tim knows it, you know it, everyone but the city council knows it. As the crime rate rises, inflation paints me into a corner, and any chief of a city this size will tell you the same thing. Uniforms, Shayne! Not a bunch of half-baked ghetto kids playing vigilante.”
“It’s working in the New York subways,” Shayne said in a mild voice. “The Red Berets are making a real difference.”
Gentry regarded Shayne with a steady stare. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.” he said finally.
“The cops felt exactly as you do before these subway patrols started.”
“If you’re trying to make a point, come to it,” Gentry said. “We’ve known each other long enough to speak frankly, haven’t we?”
“All right, it’s none of my damned business, you’re the head cop, but if I were in your shoes I’d handle these do-good ghetto kids with kid gloves. That way you can keep them under police scrutiny, if not supervision.”
“You’re saying I should go along with this citizens’ patrol idea?”
“Would it hurt?”
Gentry scowled. “I’ll think about it.”
Shayne glanced at his watch and got up to leave.
“How about a Dutch Treat lunch in the police canteen?” Gentry asked. “I want to hear about all those big fish that got away from you and Pete.”
“I’m meeting Tim in half an hour at the Scotch and Sirloin. Come along, Tim’s buying.”
“I haven’t that much time today,” Gentry told Shayne in a gruff voice. “By the way, I forgot to ask. What sends you to Taiwan?”
Shayne quickly filled Gentry in on the details of what he’d come to think about as the Golden Buddha Caper.
“You have yourself a piece of cake with chocolate frosting,” Will Gentry grumbled. “Why don’t we swap jobs one of these days, Shayne? I get all the trouble while you’re having fun.”
“Will, good friend, without you shuffling paper behind that desk nobody would sleep soundly at night in Miami Beach. You are their White Knight in the battle against crime and corruption. I’m just a peasant gumshoe in your fief.”
Gentry cocked an eyebrow as he lit a fresh cigar. “Get the hell out of here, peasant, and take your blarney stone with you,” he said before he choked on cigar smoke. “Tell Rourke to come see me,” Gentry went on when he’d recovered his breath. “I have a message for his ghetto kids on the side of law and order.”
Shayne found the lanky reporter for Miami News slouched on a barstool in the Scotch and Sirloin, owlishly regarding his first boilermaker of the day.
“In these pensive moods, Tim,” Shayne said, sliding onto the adjoining barstool, “has anyone ever told you there is a marked resemblance between you and a basset hound who has just had his tail caught in a crack?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Shayne,” Rourke said without looking around. “I’m contemplating with my inner eye the injustice of Big Government and the IRS.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been audited again,” Shayne said.
“No. I got a raise.”
“Hurrah.”
Tim finally looked around. “It’s moved me into a higher tax bracket.”
“Not good?” Shayne asked.
“Very ungood,” Rourke said. “If my figures don’t lie, and I’m afraid they don’t that raise amounts to exactly $1.69.”
“Why complain?” Shayne asked. “That should buy you a cup of coffee, a pack of cigarettes and maybe a morning newspaper.”
The bartender, with a cheerful, “Good to see you again, Mr. Shayne,” served the big detective a Martell’s on the rocks.
Shayne nodded his thanks. “I read your column this morning,” he told Tim.
“The question is, has Will Gentry read it yet?”
“Affirmative,” Shayne said. “I stopped by to chat with him on my way here.”
“And?”
“Go see him. Those ghetto kids have a good idea and I believe Will Gentry can be a lot of help getting them organized,” Shayne said.
“That’s welcome news. What about you? I had in, mind you helping them out, they’ve all heard about you one way or another. This is why I’m breaking a precedent and popping for lunch.”
Shayne finished his drink; Rourke ordered another boilermaker.
“I’ve talked with some of the victimized elderly people trying to make it on fixed incomes,” Tim went on to say. “It’s one hell of a problem! Half the muggings never get reported for fear there will be retaliation. These people can’t afford the rents in better sections of this town and Miami.”
“I know,” Shayne said, scowling. “I wish I had the time right now to help out, but I’m off to Taiwan tomorrow morning. When I get back let’s talk about it again. Okay?”
“Taiwan?” Tim Rourke was wide awake now. “What takes you out there?”
“A security job,” Shayne said. “I’m to babysit the Golden Buddha and some other valuable bric-a-brac being shipped by the Nationalists for a tour of this country.”
“Can I print this?”
“Talk to a Dr. Feldman out at the university,” Shayne told him. “He’s the honcho who retained me for the job. A certain Dr. Scott expects a little dirty work at the crossroads before the Golden Buddha arrives here in Miami.”
“Who’s Dr. Scott?”
“Some fusty old antiquarian I suspect,” Shayne said. “The nervous type, from what I hear. I’ll be meeting him on Taiwan.”
Tim finished his boilermaker. “Let’s eat.”
“Suits me,” Shayne said.
Rourke ordered corn beef and cabbage, which he stated was his idea of health food. “We’re having one of our periodic health fads at the newspaper,” he told Shayne. “Just about everybody is jogging and eating wheat germ on organic lettuce.”
“Sounds great for rabbits,” Shayne said. “I think I’ll stick to meat and potatoes.”