A Taste for Violence

15

The cabin at the end of the row was still lighted when Shayne stopped in front of his own. He shut off the motor and snapped off the headlights, went in and turned on the cabin light and took his suitcase from the bed.

Angus was still unconscious, but he breathed regularly and his color was normal when Shayne carried him inside. He stretched him out on his back on the bed, and gagged and bound him, pulled down the shades, got a flat. 45 automatic from his suitcase. He threw a cartridge in the firing chamber and pushed on the safety, and slid it in his hip pocket.

Angus was lying limp, with his eyes closed, when Shayne turned out the light. He locked the door when he went out, then strode down past the row of dark cabins to a point where he could again look through a window into the lighted one.

Persona was sitting on the side of the bed now. His profile was toward the window, and he was leaning over Lucy Hamilton who lay on her back laughing up at him. Persona’s right hand rested on Lucy’s left shoulder, pinioning her to the bed with his weight, but Lucy didn’t seem to mind. Persona had an eager, hopeful look on his flushed face.

It seemed to Shayne that Lucy was shamelessly enjoying herself, and he had a funny feeling in his belly as he crept closer to the window. It was one thing to get a man drunk and try to dig information out of him, but quite another to give every indication of bitchy pleasure in the process. He hadn’t expected her to carry out his suggestion so literally.

As he neared the open window he was able to distinguish Persona’s voice clearly. It was thick with drink and with passion, and he was proclaiming over and over again that Lucy was the most beautiful and the most desirable woman in the world.

Shayne moved swiftly to the door, closing his mind to Persona’s voice, and knocked loudly.

Dead silence inside the cabin followed his knock. Then the creak of bedsprings, and the light went out suddenly. Shayne tried the knob. The door was locked. He pounded on it, and Persona called out, “Who is it?”

“Chief Elwood sent me.” Shayne’s voice was harsh and queer in his own ears.

A key turned in the lock and the door opened a cautious crack. He shouldered it wide and pushed in, reaching for the light switch on the wall and flipping it.

Lucy had swung her legs over the edge of the bed and was sitting primly erect, pushing strands of brown hair back with both hands. Her eyes were lowered and there was a demure smile on her lips.

Persona, shoved back against the wall by Shayne’s entrance, blinked a couple of times before his bleared eyes and blurred mind recognized the intruder. He exclaimed, “Shayne! What the devil does this mean?”

Shayne slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock, withdrew it and dropped it in his pocket. He didn’t look at Persona. He asked Lucy, “Everything all right?”

“The Marines,” she said matter-of-factly, “landed just in time to save me from a fate worse than being your secretary.”

“What’s this?” Persona demanded thickly. “You know each other? What the devil…?”

Both of them continued to disregard him. Shayne went toward Lucy and asked, “Did you get anything?”

“Nothing much. Mr. Persona,” she continued, her lids lowered, “had other things on his mind.”

“See here!” Persona moved forward and grabbed Shayne’s arm. “Is this some sort of a badger game?”

“She’s my sister,” said Shayne savagely. “What have you been trying to do with her? An innocent, virtuous girl…”

“You must be crazy,” Persona burst out. “It was all her idea. She suggested we ditch Tatum. I can prove it.”

Shayne laughed shortly and shrugged Persona’s hand from his arm. He pointed a long forefinger at Persona and said, “Sit down in that chair and try to sober up enough to understand me. Miss Hamilton is my assistant and she’s been enduring your loathsome pawing in the interest of justice.”

“That’s not strictly true, Michael,” Lucy told him calmly as he seated himself on the bed beside her. “It was nice to be flattered for a change.”

Persona hesitated, staring from Shayne to Lucy, before sitting down in the only chair. He seemed remarkably sobered by Shayne’s entrance. He said, “I thought you were looking for evidence to convict Brand. What have I to do with it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Why did you have a couple of your deputies try to rub me out after I visited Ann Cornell? What were you afraid I’d learn from her?”

Persona looked astonished and hurt. “There’s some mistake,” he declared. “I certainly didn’t try to have you rubbed out.”

“That’s a lie,” said Shayne flatly. “A couple of your men went for me the same way they took that witness for Brand on the highway near here this afternoon.”

“I know nothing about these matters.”

“You hand out the orders to those deputies,” Shayne charged. “AMOK pays their salaries. You’re as guilty of the death of Joe Margule as the two deputies who ran him off the road and beat him to death. And just as guilty in Charles Roche’s murder, if my guess is right,” he added grimly.

Persona had worked himself up to a high pitch of shocked indignation. “That’s the most preposterous accusation I ever heard. I can’t imagine what you base it on, or why…”

“Right at the moment,” Shayne said wearily, “I’m wondering what you were afraid I’d learn from Ann Cornell. Or from Angus. My guess is that one of them actually saw your deputies kill Roche… acting on your orders, of course.”

“That’s fantastic,” sputtered Persona. “Roche was my friend. A member of the organization I represent.”

“He was a hot-headed liberal who saw justice in the miners’ demands and had made arrangements to give them a union shop and everything else they asked as soon as he took charge of the Roche mines. You couldn’t afford to have that happen, Persona. You admitted this evening that such a settlement would practically wreck the mining business in Kentucky.”

“It certainly would have been a blow to our economy,” Persona admitted. “But I never believed Charles would give in. Not John Roche’s son. This talk of an arrangement to settle the strike is utter nonsense.”

“I don’t think it is,” Shayne told him quietly. “In fact, I think I know where to put my hands on a copy of such an agreement, signed and post-dated by Charles Roche.”

Persona ran a plump hand over his eyes and forehead and over his black hair. “That’s extremely important if you’re correct,” he faltered. “If there is such a document it must be destroyed. If it should be offered as evidence at Brand’s trial…”

“It would smash the case against him,” Shayne finished for him. “On top of that, it would add up to the goddamnedest evidence against you.”

“Against me? I was in Lexington last night. I can prove it.”

“I’m not saying you pulled the trigger. One of your gun-handy deputies would have done the job. But how long do you think it’ll take to break him down and point you out as the one who gave the order if he goes on trial?”

Persona shakily drew together the remnants of his dignity and said, “I swear I issued no such order. I’m not a murderer.”

“You’re a hell of a reasonable facsimile,” snarled Shayne. “Do you know how many men your deputies have killed here in the past month?”

“Those were regrettable incidents. Entirely out of my control. Good God, if I had wanted to use violence to settle this strike, don’t you realize how simple it would have been to dispose of the ringleader?”

“That,” said Shayne, “is one of the big question marks in my mind right now. How Brand managed to stay healthy so long.”

“Because AMOK adheres to the principle of peaceful arbitration of all labor disputes,” said Persona stiffly.

Shayne turned to look at Lucy who sat beside him on the bed. Her eyes were bright and there was an eager, excited expression on her face. He moved his right hand to cover hers, then said to Persona:

“I haven’t time to sit here all night listening to you mouth platitudes we both know you don’t mean. For God’s sake, man, wake up! I’m about ready to hang a murder charge on you and you start making a speech. You had the strongest motive in the world for killing Roche as soon as you learned of that signed agreement.”

“But I tell you I didn’t know of any such agreement.”

“You’ll have a hard time proving that to a jury.”

“I don’t think so,” said Persona confidently. “And even if such a document is produced, I can easily prove it would not have worried me one bit.”

“How?”

“Because I know George Brand had no intention of allowing the strike to be settled in that manner.”

“How can you know a thing like that?”

“Because a man like George Brand doesn’t pass up twenty thousand dollars in cash just to get some benefits for a few miners,” Persona told him.

Shayne stared at him for a moment, picked up the whiskey bottle and tilted it. He let liquor gurgle down his throat, set the bottle aside and said slowly, “Say that over again, Persona.”

“I’ll be glad to. Then you’ll understand the absurdity of the accusations you’ve been making. I told you that AMOK believes in peaceful settlement of all labor disputes. We have large investments and when we see them imperiled by labor unrest we are quite willing to pay a certain price for peace.”

“By bribing some of the head men?”

“I’m a businessman,” Persona said. “I represent a large association of businessmen. I have at my disposal a large fund which I am authorized to use as I see fit to keep labor peace in the coal mines of Kentucky.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Brand was the sort of skunk who’d sell out the miners for personal profit?”

“I’m stating facts,” said Persona, “which will make it quite evident to you that it wasn’t necessary for me to resort to such crude methods as murder to end this strike. Brand and I reached an agreement in my office in Lexington over a month ago. This strike was getting out of hand and it worried me. I felt that Seth Gerald had made a mistake by letting it go as far as he had, and I offered Brand twenty thousand dollars to call it off.”

“And he accepted?” Shayne asked incredulously.

“Of course he accepted. There’s nothing unusual about such an arrangement.” Persona laughed cynically. “Plenty of professional labor agitators feather their nests that way.”

“I know there are crooks in every field,” Shayne tugged at his earlobe and studied Persona’s flat, swarthy face. Then he shook his head angrily. “I don’t believe it of Brand. What proof have you got?”

“There are twenty thousand dollars lying in escrow in a Lexington bank,” Persona assured him. “Waiting to be claimed by Brand, now that the strike is ended.”

“If you did have such an arrangement, why has the strike dragged on so long?”

“That was part of the arrangement.” Mr. Persona was enjoying his triumph. “The longer it ran on and the more money the men lost in wages, the stronger salutary effect on other miners when it is finally broken.”

“But not so good for the Roche mines,” Shayne muttered.

“What profits the industry as a whole,” Persona remarked sententiously, “profits every member of that industry.”

“But Seth Gerald must have been mightily worried,” said Shayne. “You hadn’t told him about this arrangement, I presume.”

“Naturally not. I suppose he was worried, but then I’ve felt all along it was his fault for allowing Brand to get such a hold over the men.”

Shayne fell across the bed on his back, clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “At last,” he said, “something begins to add up.”

“You certainly must admit,” Persona said smugly, “that I had no reason for having a murder committed.”

“No,” said Shayne slowly. “You’re not a murderer, Persona. You’re simply a businessman. In the business of starving old women and small children and squeezing the heart’s blood out of men. It’s so much easier… and more profitable. A good clean murder is so far above your methods that I was a fool to think you had planned one.” He was watching Persona through lids that were almost closed.

“Now, see here Shayne!” Persona got to his feet. His dark face was a mottled red and his chubby short fingers were clenched.

“You can’t talk to me that way. I won’t…”

Shayne came up from the bed in a swift, flowing movement. He slapped Persona with his left hand first, then with his right, then drove his left fist full into his face.

The chairman of the board of AMOK staggered back against the wall and slid down against it to the floor. He sat there with a hand on each side of him to support his weight. Shayne stepped over and drew back a number twelve shoe and kicked him in the face.

Lucy was beside him, clinging to his arm and pleading with him. “Michael… don’t… hit him again!”

“All right,” Shayne said gruffly. “It’s okay, Lucy.” He was unnaturally pale, and his gray eyes were darker than she had ever seen them.

“Are we all through in Centerville now?” she asked, frightened. “Shall I go pack my things and…”

“We’ve just started in Centerville,” he growled. They went out and closed the door. “First we have to visit a naked widow and then I’m going to see about getting myself appointed chief of police. After that, you might go house-hunting. I may be here for a long time.”