“When was this, Betty, about seven or eight?”
“What’s the point of all the questions? We both know what happened. They sold him a bad bag. They cut it all the way down so it didn’t give him much of a charge. He woke up sick and he had to get dressed and go out looking for somebody with five or ten bucks so he could hunt up a connection and get himself right again. You want some advice about how long to wait? You know better than that. He could walk in this minute, or he might be gone a couple of weeks. That’s what it is with a junkie.”
“There’s a watchman on duty,” Shayne said. “He says nobody’s passed him.”
“A watchman? Don’t be dense, honey. He dozed off. Get me another drink. One more, and then I’m going to eat those baked beans if they strangle me.”
“And Vince didn’t get dressed,” Shayne went on.
He went back to the closet. One section was labeled “Hers,” the other “His.” He pulled a lightweight blue blazer off a hanger. It was longer, more narrow and more rakish than Al Naples’ clothes.
Betty said, “He was sick, he didn’t wear a jacket. Now you’re going to stop being polite? I’ll pour my own drink.”
She misjudged the corner of the bed and went headlong on the crumpled blue sheets. Shayne sorted through the slacks until he found a pair that was too long for Al Naples, with tapered legs into which the older man could never have forced his heavy thighs.
“And he forgot his pants,” Shayne said. “His shoes must be here somewhere.”
Betty groaned. “Why does he do those things? He’s always been so wild-”
“No, this was fairly intelligent,” Shayne said, “and maybe somebody else thought it up for him. He cooked his shot and put it in his arm, and he probably let out a groan to make you think he was getting a jolt of the real thing. It was probably only sugar. He knew you’d knock yourself out with the Johnny Walker as soon as he closed his eyes. And that’s what happened. He hung his clothes in the closet so they wouldn’t get wrinkled. Then he went out the window.”
Shayne pulled the sliding window open as far as it would go. A narrow rope ladder was fixed to two cleats beneath the sill.
“Yeah,” Shayne continued. “He wouldn’t want to dive because somebody might hear the splash. The south shore of Normandy Isle is about an eighth of a mile away. He didn’t have to hurry. The door was locked and no one would bother you. He could swim back half an hour later, unfasten the ladder and let it go. Then he’d dry himself off, get back in bed and give himself a real shot of heroin. He’d be in the clear all the way.”
Betty stared at him, the uncapped whiskey bottle in one hand. “Where is he, then?”
“Probably still in the bay, don’t you think?” Shayne said.
“Vince?” She gave a high giggle. “You’re so wrong. He’s a marvellous swimmer. He could swim to Palm Beach and back.” Her face changed. “Unless somebody-”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Shayne said.
He took the bottle out of her hand and drank from it. He gave it back and left her on the bed, looking after him with a dazed expression.
11
In the other room Steve was on his hands and knees, loops of loose film around his neck and across his back.
“I can’t find either end!” he cried. “It’s a nightmare.”
“It has to be there somewhere,” Shayne said.
“You promised you’d help me!” the boy called after him as he let himself out.
The other girl was waiting on deck for him. She was still barefoot, but she had put on a blouse, a skirt and lipstick. Her hair was up in a knot in back, and with her elbows out and her small breasts poking against the front of her blouse, she was shaping the knot and driving pins into it.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?”
“I want to get you a drink and start over.” She jabbed in the last pin. “There. Now I look a little more civilized. Did I tell you my name? It’s Lee Ewing, and I know it was silly to jump on your back that way. What’s your name?”
“Mike Shayne,” he said abstractedly, listening.
He tried to get around her, but she sidestepped, putting herself between him and the gangway. “You don’t have to go. I want to tell you how that happened. I couldn’t see why for once two people couldn’t do something simple. Why waste a lot of time talking about the weather and the movies and who do you know and so on? What I forgot was that I was way ahead of you as far as whiskey consumption went.”
Shayne frowned. Something was bumping at regular intervals against the side of the boat.
“At least you’re thinking about it,” Lee said approvingly. “That’s a step. I won’t say another word until you’ve had a few drinks and we’ve taken care of the weather. Isn’t it a pleasant evening? Warm, and all that crap? What’s your favorite TV program?” She leaned her forehead against him. “Mike, you’re so big.”
“Yeah.” Shayne went around to the other side of the boat and looked over the rail. By leaning out he could see a few rungs of the rope ladder beneath the window of the main cabin, and below that, nothing but black shadow. The thumping sound came again.
Lee had followed him. “Honey?” She drew his arm against her breast. “Did I say anything wrong?”
“The big trouble is, Lee,” Shayne said, moving away from the rail, “we’re in different time zones. You’re relaxing. I’m working.”
“What kind of work?”
“I’m a detective.”
Gently but firmly he moved her out of his way. She let him go, but called after him, “And does that mean you’re not human?”
Steve was sitting helplessly on the floor, surrounded by film. “I’m licked,” he told Shayne. “My old man tells me never to start something and not finish it, but this-”
Shayne stepped over a loop of film and entered the cabin. Betty was back in front of the mirror, twisting from one side to the other, to get different slants on her stomach and hips.
“Fat as a pig,” she said with disgust. “And I hardly eat anything. I just nibble at a piece of dry toast for breakfast.”
Shayne looked for the light switches and turned them on. There was a tiny expandable tensor light on one of the bedside tables. Extended to its full stretch, it just reached the window.
“You decided to come back,” Betty said, recognizing him. “Tell me. You don’t have any axe to grind, one way or another. Am I too big back here?”
She slapped herself resoundingly. From the resonance, there was nothing but flesh under the half-slip.
Shayne directed the concentrated beam of the little lamp downward toward the water, without replying.
“All I want is an opinion,” she complained. “I didn’t say you had to flatter me or anything.”
A passing boat had sent out a long wake, which was now beginning to subside. The bottom of the ladder was taut where it went into the water, as though something was weighing it down. Shayne shifted the lamp’s beam. A long black shadow swam up from below, knocked lightly against the boat’s planking and sank out of sight.
Lee’s voice called from the rail, “What was that?”
Shayne waited, playing the light back and forth along the slick black surface. The shadowy object came up again. It was unrelieved black along its entire length. This time it barely nudged the boat, not quite breaking water before it was gone. It looked shiny and hard, and was about as long as a man’s body.
Shayne wedged one of the joints of the lamp over the sill and slipped off his jacket.
“Why not?” Betty said approvingly. “I’m not going to bed with you, and don’t try to persuade me. One man at a time is my motto, irregardless. But go ahead, take off some clothes. It’s stuffy in here.”
Shayne kicked out of his shoes and swung one leg over the sill. Betty watched open-mouthed.