He went down into low as he came abreast of the panel truck. Inside the lobby, Shayne saw a man stabbing at the elevator button while a second man, in a business suit without a necktie, hatless, faced the street with a Luger in his hand. Shayne had seen a photograph of this man in bathing trunks. He had been armed then, too, probably with the same weapon.
He saw Shayne and came out yelling, “Taxi! Taxi!” Shayne threw his meter-flag. Both men leaped into the back seat and Vega shouted, “Get away fast!”
“Is somebody after you?” Shayne asked mildly, going into gear.
“Driver!”
Shayne was maneuvering for a look at the driver of the panel truck, and he didn’t let up on the clutch until the man looked around. It was the tattooed salad chef from the Mozambique. They recognized each other at the same instant.
Shayne moved off, not fast, with the truck behind him. Vega was sitting far forward, throwing quick glances out the rear window.
“Twenty-five bucks over the fare if you can lose him. It’s a piece of junk. You can do it.”
“I’m driving a piece of junk myself. I take it slow and easy so everybody’s still alive at the end of the shift.”
“Fifty!”
“Fifty’s too high,” Shayne observed. “That makes me think you’re doing something to break the law.”
He swiveled the rear-view mirror so he could see Vega’s companion, who met his eyes with a scowl. He was a familiar type to Shayne. He had the sprung nasal capillaries of a middle-aged drinker. He had been in too many brawls.
He seemed anxious about Vega’s gun, which was still showing. He put out a restraining hand as Vega raised it and placed the muzzle at the back of Shayne’s skull.
“A little more speed, damn it.”
Shayne rotated the mirror to pick up Vega. “What are you worrying about, Lorenzo? Take a deep breath and think about something soothing, like running water. How many times in your experience does a taxi show up exactly when you want it? That doesn’t happen in real life.”
Vega wet his lips and sat back. “I understand. Excuse me for becoming excited. I had the impression they wanted to kill me.”
“You had the wrong impression. You’re more valuable alive. Who are they?”
“In the truck? Alianza people. They think of themselves as being absolutely ruthless. Of course much of it is gas, but when anyone talks as much as they do about achieving success through violence, it is sometimes prudent to worry a little.”
His companion murmured something in Spanish. Vega said, “You are right in your count, Carlos, only two are visible. These we could handle. I never shrink from a fight when the sides are approximately equal. But I can guarantee you that there are others lying in wait inside the truck. You know their strategy as well as I do-never attack without overwhelming local superiority. That is why I say to this driver, for the love of the blessed Virgin, put on a little speed! At any moment they may pull up alongside and open on us with submachine guns. It happens daily in Buenos Aires, in Bogota.”
“Are they part of the Ruiz organization?”
“Ah,” Vega said. “That I am in no position to say of my own knowledge. Perhaps it is time we exchange credentials.”
Shayne grinned. “All you’re going to get out of me is my hackie’s license.”
Vega’s eyes flickered up to the license hanging from the back of the front seat, and returned to the mirror. “There is little resemblance,” he remarked.
“That’s deliberate,” Shayne said. “If you really want me to speed up, hang on.”
He accelerated sharply, and turned off 3rd Avenue, tires screaming. After two more quick turns, he ended at the ramp leading down into the taxi garage. The truck had good pickup and kept fairly close. In the garage, Shayne pulled in beside his Buick.
“Here we change cars.”
Both men got out readily.
“Not you, Carlos,” Shayne said. “Just Vega, if you don’t mind.”
Carlos minded, but there were several cabbies standing around watching, and he decided not to protest. Shayne slid behind the wheel. He slowed as he passed the dispatcher.
“Thanks, Eddie. Send me a bill.”
“What are you talking about, a bill? Any time.”
“Get down,” Shayne told Vega. “All the way down.” Vega crouched out of sight as the Buick came up the ramp. The panel truck had stopped with its motor running.
It didn’t follow. After turning a corner, Shayne told Vega to get back on the seat.
CHAPTER 7
After another quick turn he parked. Using the car phone, he called his old friend Will Gentry, Miami chief of police, described the panel truck and the two men who had followed him, and gave its location and license number.
“Pick them up and hold them overnight,” he said brusquely. “I’ll let you know what charges to bring against them.”
He held the phone tightly against his ear to contain Gentry’s reaction.
“What the hell, Mike?” the police chief demanded. “Since when did you start giving me orders?”
“That’s right.”
Gentry broke off and began again, this time in a more equable tone. “I was a touch slow there. You’ve got somebody in the car and you want him to think you can call up the local cops and order them around. Yes, sir, Mr. Shayne, sir. I’ll be glad to pick up the two gentlemen, but unless they’re doing something illegal when we get there, such as booking bets, you know how long I can hold them. About an hour.”
“That’s the general idea.”
He gave Gentry the address of the four-apartment block in Coral Gables, and described the tired young man he had flushed from the building on 15th Court. “But most of that facial description probably doesn’t mean anything, including the prominent front teeth. This could be a major pinch, Will. I have reason to think that he’s in the country illegally. The situation calls for a good four-man tail.”
“You concede that I have four good men? You’re mellowing, Mike. How important is this?”
“If I’m right, damned important. That’s all I can tell you about it now.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir. Can I go out to dinner now, or do you want me to have a sandwich at my desk?”
“Keep yourself available,” Shayne said curtly, and broke the connection.
Vega was fascinated. “This is a radio, am I correct? Can you call anywhere on it, or only within the city?”
Ignoring the question, Shayne said roughly, “What the hell are you trying to pull down here, Vega?” He took out the anti-Galvez leaflet and slapped it against his palm angrily. “Do you have access to some secret intelligence we don’t know about? This dentist is harmless. He has about forty followers, and they don’t even come to meetings. The thing to do is pretend he doesn’t exist. Attack him and you build up his importance.”
Vega tried to make his eyes meet Shayne’s, but they skittered away. “Ordinarily, of course. But the man has announced a demonstration against a high official of the United States government. His press statements have been vicious and one-sided. I thought-”
“Vega,” Shayne said scornfully, “never think. Make that a rule. Haven’t you realized yet that you’ve been taken?”
“I’ve been taken?”
“Suckered. You think you’re going out there tomorrow and raise hell. It doesn’t take brains to do that. But who’s going to benefit?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Galvez, to begin with. You’ll make him a big man again. Then the students will move in on you and drive you into Indian Creek. You’ll be finished for good. You walked right into it.”
Vega murmured, “I don’t care for your tone. I have certain connections myself. I asked to see your credentials, and you made a very unfunny joke about a taxi-driver’s license. Who are you, precisely? The question in my mind is, do I have to sit here and be talked to like an illiterate fieldhand?”