“I’m working,” Shayne said reasonably. “I’ll stop in tomorrow and explain it to you.”
“Like hell. I’m setting this schedule.”
Without shifting his weight, Shayne clipped him on the side of the jaw, hitting him again as he started his slide. When the elevator door opened, Shayne levered him onto one hip and ran him outside. Finding the parked police car, he slid the cop behind the wheel and walked away, coming back after a few steps because the cop’s upper body had fallen against the horn. After rearranging him, Shayne went to his own car, which was parked on the opposite side of the street, a block and a half away.
He turned on the radio receiver and put on the headset.
The reception was fine. He heard the woman in Sanchez’s apartment moving about restlessly. Once, very close to the transmitter, she said aloud, “Damn, damn, damn. Ricardo, my dear, what am I going to do about you?”
She made one phone call, to a friend or a relative. She was sorry, she said, but she couldn’t accept the invitation. There was too much going on here. After much shuffling and vacillation, she had decided to sell the track. She couldn’t trust anybody to run it for her-they all seemed to be thieves. Some shady dealings of Max’s had come to light. It was a tense and difficult time.
The police car’s headlights came on. Shayne slid down so his silhouette wouldn’t show against the windshield.
When the car went past, he checked with Rourke, then with Dave, Bobby Nash’s technician. Dave had everything and was ready to move as soon as Surfside turned off the lights.
A badly bruised green sedan turned into the tenant’s parking area. As it passed under an overhead light, Shayne saw that the driver was Sanchez. He watched for the car of the Cuban detective and blinked his lights when he saw it. The Cuban double-parked and came in beside him.
“Nothing much,” he told Shayne. “I think he’s using chemistry on the dogs. Mrs. Charlotte Geary rented this apartment. He’s a serious, hard-working kid, and he wants to make money.”
“I’ve got a transmitter up there,” Shayne said. “There’s an interesting conversation coming up, but I can’t stay for it. I want to switch cars.”
He explained the equipment. The recorder was tied into the receiver; it was voice-actuated and needed no attention. But he wanted the Cuban to use the earphones, and Shayne would call him at intervals to get a summary.
He heard Ricardo’s voice.
“Oh, Charley, it went so smooth. So easy. I only touched three dogs but they did what I told them.”
Mrs. Geary, muffled but still distinct: “How much did you make?”
“Eighty-five hundred in three hours of racing. Of course we’ll have minus nights, too, but they’ll average out. You’ve got to keep telling me one thing, honey: Don’t get greedy.”
One boot hit the carpet, then the other. He blew like a horse.
“I better grab a shower. That sixth race, I sweated a pint.”
“I’ll do that, you don’t have to. You smell fine. Ricardo, baby-”
A moment later, it began. Shayne passed the headset to the Cuban, and switched off the tape recorder.
“Let’s respect their privacy. Don’t forget to turn it back on when they start talking.”
“What I predict,” the Cuban said, putting on the earphones, “he’s going to do it quick the first time, because he’s twenty-two years of age and he just won a couple of bets, and he’s going to do it again, and take a goddamn hour. And I’m going to sit here listening to all the slurping and groaning. What a job. Watch my car on the fast curves, Mike. She has a tendency to chatter.”
Chapter 14
Ricardo had recently read the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears to his four-year-old niece. At first everything in that story was too hard or too soft, too much or too little, too big or too small, and then finally it was just right. It had made him think of his new lady. Always before, they had been younger than he was, and too something or other-too lazy or too busy, too shy or too selfish. With Charlotte, it was just right. And not only that, it was getting better all the time. He separated from her slowly. She tried to hold him.
“Charley, you’re the world’s best. Just no comparison. When the meeting’s over and I don’t have to do all that chartwork, let’s work up to twice a day. Do you want to go away somewhere? Brazil?”
She put her face against the hollow of his shoulder and followed him as he rolled. Then she sighed and pulled back slightly so fewer surfaces overlapped. But her mouth was still against his shoulder, and he didn’t hear what she said.
“What, honey?”
“You aren’t going to like what I have to tell you.”
He pulled back another fraction of an inch. Her eyes were still closed.
“You met somebody else. You decided to join the nuns.”
“I’m selling Surfside. Now darling, don’t jump. I had to do it. We’ll have quite a nice bit of money. Brazil, of course, anywhere. I know what you think about marriage, but I hope we can get a house-”
The hammering subsided slowly, and he was able to speak. “I don’t believe this.”
“I’m not strong enough, Rick.”
He had moved completely apart from her now. “Max paid out that money. You had nothing to do with it.”
“Nobody else knows that. I’ll be subpoenaed.”
“What’s a subpoena? A piece of paper. Get a good lawyer. You aren’t the first wife who signed the tax returns without reading them first. This thing at the track is just getting started! Eighty-five hundred in three hours. And the beautiful thing about it-absolutely without risk.”
“Absolutely without risk,” she repeated. “You see, I don’t believe that.” She sat up, pushing back her hair. “And if you’re caught, I’m part of it, aren’t I. I protect you and we divide your winnings. People know about us already. Linda, damn her, hired Shayne, the private detective. He’s a clever, ruthless man.”
“He may be all that,” Ricardo said, “but he isn’t allowed in the lockup kennel.”
“I wouldn’t be sure of anything with that man. He’s an outlaw now, and he smells money. I’m afraid of him. You and I are no match for that kind of person.”
“You tell me exactly what you’re afraid of. I’ll tell you exactly how we deal with it.”
She was off the bed now. She went to the refrigerator and took out the ice and the vodka. She said without turning, “It’s a waste of time. I already signed.”
He stood up slowly, again feeling the pounding in his temples. “When?”
“Over coffee and brandy, in Zell’s office, two hours ago. I’m sorry. I’ll try to make it up to you.”
“How?” he shouted. “You don’t realize what we’ve got going. I put three years into that, and there it is, finally. If we take it easy, if we don’t push it, it can go on and on and on. And you threw it away-”
“I had to.”
“Why did you have to? Why didn’t you talk to me first? What about all those things you’ve been saying to me in bed? What was it, bullshit to keep me contented?”
“No! I want to be with you all the time.”
“And slip me a twenty under the tablecloth so I can pay the check. Didn’t you ever hear of machismo? We don’t like to take money that way.”
“I thought you might get a job at another track-”
“I explained it to you! I’d have to spend ten years cleaning up turds, and why would they give me my own kennel even then? It’s working! And because you were scared for an hour or two-scared of a private detective-why aren’t you scared of me? Don’t you know about Cubans? Hot-blooded. We want to have some say about the conditions of life. We don’t like to take twenties from middle-aged women.”
She was breathing quickly. “I beg you-”
He shouted again and came at her. He could hardly see through the pink haze. He was going to smash this woman’s face…
Dropping the glass, she ran past, striking out at him. His fingers slipped on her bare shoulder. Things spilled out of her purse. He stopped short when he saw that she had a gun.