“Tell her we’re glad she was looking out the window,” Shayne said, tightening the remaining nuts. “Otherwise we’d be hearing ambulance sirens about now.”
Adele shivered. “That thought already crossed my mind.”
She spoke to the woman, who sobered abruptly and sketched a quick sign of the cross.
“She says St. Christopher must be looking out for us,” Adele said.
“Let’s hope it keeps up.”
The woman clasped him impulsively. Adele translated: “She says her husband, too, was a large man, with the same powerful arms, though not with red hair. He left her last year for a younger woman.”
“Can you wind this up, Adele?”
After a further exchange, the woman stood aside and they got back into the car. As they drove off, Adele sighed and fastened her seat belt.
“That scared me. I’d like to know how they knew. I suppose that bang we heard-”
“Just a feint to get us moving. The timing was pretty good.”
“Like-wow,” she said. “We could have been killed!”
He drove north toward the river, and stopped at a garage on West Flagler. He bought Cokes at an outside dispenser and they stood in the shade while a mechanic checked the wheels. Adele kept looking at her watch.
“The time element, gee. Well, we’ve got three quarters of an hour. Can I tell you my idea?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“I don’t know if it’ll work. There’s a cruise ship, the Mozambique, leaving from Pier Three. One of the things Vega does for a living, it seems, is sell bulk marijuana, and I feel a little finky talking about it. From what the kids say, he’s a pretty good source when you can’t get it anywhere else-though he’s expensive. Isn’t this something you could use as a handle?”
“What’s the connection with the Mozambique?”
“He uses cruise ships to bring it in. Everything’s very tight on the Mexican border, as I probably don’t need to tell you, so it’s been going the other way, down to Central America. Somebody on the Mozambique will pick it up in Panama. How does this sound so far?”
“Keep going.”
“Well, there’s a deckhand who thinks my uncle is the greatest man since Simon Bolivar. When he’s in port he comes to every meeting, he rings doorbells, he stuffs envelopes. He’s broken up that he’ll miss the picket line tomorrow. He speaks about two words of English, incidentally, so you’ll need me. If I explain everything to him, and it has to be me, he wouldn’t trust somebody like you even if you could speak Spanish, I just bet we can get enough information so you can scare Vega out of his shoes. He’s supposed to be very skittery about this dope operation. Can we try it, anyway? It’s a start.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me?”
“I’m not worried any more. Wheels have come off cars before and no one was hurt. You’re probably a very good driver. Come on, he’s finished, let’s go!”
She added, “But I’m fastening my seat belt, I can tell you that.”
He studied her for a moment.
“Please?” she said.
“OK.”
He paid the mechanic and they got in.
“I’m crazy about you, Mr. Shayne!” she said. “I thought you’d make me argue. My aunt and uncle act as though I’m still about twelve years old.”
“I’d say you were a bit older than twelve.”
“You noticed,” she said, pleased.
He found a parking place on one of the terraces two blocks inland, and they walked to the pier. The Mozambique, decked out with pennants for its departure, seemed to be pulling at its ropes. Its sides sparkled in the bright sunlight. A band played on the promenade deck.
Adele hesitated before starting up the gangway. “I guess it’s all right, isn’t it?”
“As long as we’re still not aboard when they sail.”
Most of the passengers had arrived by plane, and so had a few friends to see them off. But the cruise personnel were working hard, trying to make the departure an event. A gay middle-aged lady in a paper hat threw a streamer at Shayne as he emerged on deck, and asked him to dance. He smiled and evaded her. A steward offered them a tray loaded with glasses of domestic champagne. Adele asked him a question in Spanish.
“No speak Spanish,” he said, and she shifted to English.
“We want to say good-bye to Raphael Rivera, have you seen him?”
“Don’t ask me. I just signed on. Take a glass of champagne-it’s complimentary.”
They each picked a glass off his tray and drank it before continuing into the main salon, where the bridge tables were set up and waiting. Adele stopped a passing crew-member and repeated her question. This man thought he’d seen Raphael having coffee in the galley, one deck down.
They found the passenger dining room and went through a set of swinging doors into the galley. It was a busy place. Adele spoke to a small tattooed man slicing cucumbers. There was a rapid exchange of Spanish while Shayne started a cigarette. She was frowning when she turned back.
“Damn it, they must think you’re a cop or something. I’ll be less conspicuous by myself. Wait in the dining room and I’ll waylay somebody. I can’t say I’m Raphael’s girl friend with you hulking in the background. Stop looking at me like that-nothing’s going to happen. Go on, we don’t have much time.”
“All right, but be careful.”
“I honestly will,” she said impatiently.
Shayne stepped back into the dining room. Once there he moved quickly. He left by another exit, went up a flight of stairs and along a corridor. At the next stairway he went back down and found a door marked NO ADMITTANCE-CREW.
The corridor on the other side of this door was uncarpeted. The walls needed paint. If he had calculated correctly, the galley was somewhere to his right. He turned left.
A spindly youth in an undershirt and a chef’s cap came toward him.
“Did you see a girl in a white blouse a minute ago?” Shayne said.
“Yeah! What’s happening? I thought those cats were coming on a little heavy. Who is she, one of the new waitresses?”
“Which way did they go?”
“Right down-”
He stopped, and his eyebrows drew together. After an instant’s pause he said, “Excuse me. You’re some kind of fuzz, aren’t you? My daddy gave me a piece of advice when I shipped out. He told me to stay out of other people’s messes.”
“When you see your daddy again,” Shayne said, “tell him he gave you some bad advice.” He picked the boy up under the armpits and held him against a wall. “Do you want to reconsider?”
“Down the hall, down the hall,” the boy said. “They went in a cabin.”
“Which cabin?”
The boy gestured. “Further down on this side. Let me go, will you? They were spies, pantry-boys. You may not realize it, but that hurts.”
Shayne lowered him and he scuttled away. Shayne moved on warily. He passed the crew’s dining room, which was empty. Hearing a low thump behind him, he came back. A woman’s voice said something in Spanish. It was cut off.
Shayne checked his watch. He still had twenty minutes. He put out his cigarette.
Returning to a cross corridor, he picked a five-gallon fire extinguisher off the wall. A fire-ax was set in a recessed case with a glass cover, from which a little metal hammer dangled. Ignoring the hammer, Shayne smashed the glass with the extinguisher. A door opened and the youth in the chef’s hat looked out.
“Now’s the time to do what your daddy told you,” Shayne said. “Shut the door.”
The face retreated. Shayne took the ax and the extinguisher back to the cabin in which he had heard the girl’s voice. Setting the extinguisher on the deck, he raised the ax and chopped hard at the door above the handle. The wood splintered and the door swung open.
He picked up the extinguisher and waited.
He heard a choked sob. The door had jammed. He saw part of a narrow bunk and a washbasin. Time was moving at the same speed on both sides of the door, but Shayne had more experience at this kind of thing. After a long silent moment the door was pulled back violently and a man jumped at him.