A Taste for Violence

18

It was seven o’clock in the morning when Shayne closed the door of the mayor’s living room, leaving a quorum of the city council, the mayor and the city attorney still in conference after having been aroused from their beds and summoned into extraordinary session. The legality of the procedure had been gravely doubted by the attorney, but they had reached an agreement to take positive action at once and follow it up later with a regular session to confirm Shayne’s authority.

Shayne went on to the porch and stood dragging in deep breaths of the cool morning air, clearing his lungs of the thick cigar and cigarette smoke he had been inhaling for hours. The thing had been absurdly simple, as he had anticipated. One telephone call from the general manager of the Roche mines had set the necessary forces in motion. Seth Gerald had not appeared in the matter after that first telephone call. It had been evident from the beginning of the meeting that Henry Elwood had stepped on many important toes during his tenure, and they were not at all unhappy to have this chance to be rid of him.

Shayne went down the steps and got in his car, glanced at a slip of paper in his hand and drove directly to a two-family dwelling on the east side of Centerville.

A young woman came to the door when he rang the bell. Her hair wasn’t combed and her eyes were dull with sleep. She wore a cotton robe and carried a tiny baby in her arms. She said she was Mrs. Andrews, and looked worried when Shayne demanded to see her husband at once.

She said, “He’s asleep. He was on duty until three o’clock this morning.”

“Wake him up,” Shayne said with such authority that she nodded listlessly, invited him into a small living room, and went back to the bedroom.

Patrolman Andrews came in after a few minutes wearing his pants and an undershirt and yawning widely. He gave a start of surprise when he saw Shayne. “So it’s you,” he said stupidly. “Minna didn’t tell me…”

“It’s me,” Shayne agreed curtly and ungrammatically. “Things have been happening since last night, Andrews. Do you like your job?”

“My job?” Andrews frowned heavily. “Sure. It’s all right.”

“I’m Centerville’s new chief of police. Right now I haven’t anything to prove it except this.” He drew out his automatic and balanced it on his knee. “You can call the mayor to verify it if you wish. I just left his house.”

“I don’t get it. What about Chief Elwood?”

“I’ll be needing a desk sergeant to take Gantry’s place. I’m not promising anything, but a man who plays ball with me from the first won’t be in a bad spot for a promotion.”

“What about the chief?” he asked again. His voice was jerky and high-pitched.

“We’re coming to him right now. Can you find Gantry’s body and bring it in?”

“Gantry’s body? Christ… I don’t know…”

“Don’t give me any of that,” Shayne said harshly. “I saw Elwood shoot Gantry last night, and so did you. You disposed of the body. Now I want you to bring it in.”

“I can’t do that without them findin’ out what happened las’ night.”

“I’ve thought of an out for you so the story’ll look good in court… and you’ll be a hero. You couldn’t be prosecuted for carrying out the chief’s orders. Here’s the idea: We tell about the murder just as it happened. We both saw it and we tell a straight story. You took Gantry’s body out to the car as ordered, but you rebelled at ditching the corpse to cover up Elwood’s crime. So you kept Gantry in the car all night. Your conscience bothered you so much you decided to risk the consequences by bringing it in and telling the truth. Got that?”

“But what about Chief Elwood?” Andrews reiterated. He was shaking with a palsy of fear. “You saw what he did to Gantry las’ night. He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch and a devil on wheels when he gets goin’, and…”

“In the first place, Elwood isn’t chief any more. I’m going out to bring him in. He’ll be locked up, charged with Gantry’s murder, by the time you make your grandstand play. Is it a deal?”

“I dunno,” muttered Andrews. “Don’t seem like it’s possible.” He ran rough fingers through his hair and stared at Shayne. “Reckon I’d better check with the mayor first.”

“Call him right now.” Shayne stood up. “And don’t call anybody else, Andrews,” he added warningly. “If I walk into Elwood’s gun at his house I’ll kill him and then be back to settle with you.” He slid the automatic into his pocket and hurried out to his car, drove swiftly to Chief Elwood’s house and parked.

A tall, gaunt-faced woman came to the door. She wore a long white apron over her house dress, and when he asked to see Chief Elwood she shook her head decidedly and said, “Chief’s jest a-settin’ to ’is breakfast. I wouldn’ no-way bother ’im till he’s done eatin’.”

“Neither would I,” agreed Shayne pleasantly. “I’ll wait in his office down the hall, and you can tell him not to short his breakfast on my account.”

“He wouldn’ do that nohow,” she assured him, stepping back reluctantly to let him enter.

He followed her down the hall and went into the study where he and Elwood had talked the preceding night. The woman kept on to the kitchen.

Shayne went over to the desk and found the silenced revolver lying where Elwood had placed it. He carefully folded a newspaper into a cornucopia around the death weapon, tightening the small end over the silencer, and laid it on a chair near the door where he could pick it up upon leaving.

The smell of fresh coffee and fried bacon was strong in the house, making Shayne’s stomach muscles gnaw with hunger. He found the whiskey bottle on the desk, took a long drink from it to kill the butterflies in his stomach and prepare him for what was coming.

He felt extraordinarily good after the second drink. A bit lightheaded from loss of sleep and too much mental exertion, but alert and strong, sure of himself, now that he had things pretty well under control, and eager to get on with the job.

He heard Elwood coming down the hall toward the study. He knew there was a good chance that there had been a leak and the chief might be prepared for what was coming. He set the whiskey bottle down and turned casually, his hand going to his hip and resting on the corrugated butt of the heavy gun in his pocket. He thumbed the safety off and waited.

Henry Elwood was in his shirt sleeves. A small badge that read “Chief” was pinned to his blue suspenders. His face wore a stubble of gray beard and an uncertain smile when he saw Shayne. Both his hands were in sight and empty.

He said, “Early, ain’t you?”

“A little, maybe,” Shayne admitted. He relaxed and took his hand off his gun.

“I been thinkin’ over your proposition,” Elwood said forthrightly, “and I don’t like it. I’m satisfied with things just like they are, and I reckon I’ll make out like always ’thout any help.”

Shayne said, “It’s too bad you feel that way.” He stepped close and fingered the badge.

“Solid gold,” Elwood assured him. “I ordered it from a place in New York m’self. City paid the bill, of course.”

“Of course,” Shayne echoed. He deftly loosened the clasp and pulled it off before the chief could protest, stepped back and held it against his chest admiringly. “It’s mighty pretty. Must make a man feel like something special when he wears it.”

“It does at that,” chuckled the ex-chief of the Centerville police force.

Shayne pinned it on his own shirt and took his gun from his hip pocket. With his left hand he drew out a pair of handcuffs. With one swift movement he snapped one of the rings on Elwood’s right wrist.

Elwood’s protruding eyes looked at Shayne’s gaunt face and glinting eyes. “What in hell you think you’re doin’?” he bellowed.

Shayne slugged him between the eyes with the barrel of his. 45. Elwood staggered back against the wall, stunned and half-blinded by the blood streaming into his eyes.

Shayne jerked him forward and secured the other cuff, shoved him out into the hall, picking up the paper-wrapped revolver on the way. He got Elwood in the car before he recovered enough to realize what was happening. Before he started the motor, the ex-chief began to mutter oaths. Shayne hit him hard with his left fist, hurling him against the car door, then drove directly to police headquarters.

Two patrolmen were going up to the side entrance to report for duty. Shayne hadn’t seen either of them before. They stared at him in uncomprehending astonishment when he stepped from the car and ordered briskly, “Bring this prisoner inside.”

The chief’s gold badge was glittering on Shayne’s chest and he held his automatic in his hand. The patrolmen stopped in their tracks, their astonished eyes staring from Shayne to the portly, hand-cuffed man in the car, his body slumped against the door, his face scarcely recognizable with blood and tears streaming over eyes and jowls.

“But… isn’t that… the chief?” One of the men stammered.

Shayne raised his gun and ordered, “Bring this prisoner in,” again.

The men reacted to the badge and the gun and the tone of authority in Shayne’s command. They went to the car and laboriously supported the heavy, stunned man from the front seat. Shayne went up the steps ahead of them and on into the room where he found the officer named Gar still sitting at the desk from which he had relieved Gantry the night before.

Shayne said, “Book this man for murder. He’s out and I’m in. The faster you birds get that through your heads the better we’ll all get along.”

Gar’s bleary eyes were popping. “Looka here… you can’t do nothin’ like this. The chief…”

A car had stopped outside and a tall, distinguished appearing man got out. He came up the steps spryly and entered the room.

“Looka here, Mayor,” Gar said, “can you tell me what’s goin’ on around here?”

The mayor looked over at Elwood. He was slumped in a straight chair, his head lolling on his shoulder. Turning to the gaping members of the police force who had gathered for day duty, he quietly explained the new order of things in Centerville, appealed to them for co-operation.

When he finished his brief speech he held out his hand to Shayne and said, “Good luck to you. If there is any insubordination, just call on me.”

When the mayor went out Shayne waved his hand negligently and said, “Lock him up,” to the two men guarding Elwood. “Then get some hot water and plenty of lye and a scrub brush and put him to work scrubbing that stinking hole up there. Kick him in the rump every time he slows up, and keep him at it until the job’s finished.”

Shayne said to Gar, “Bring the records on every prisoner to my office at once. No one is to go out on assignment until I talk to them,” he added, looking at the day officers who immediately snapped to attention.

He turned and strode into the large office previously occupied by Elwood, picked up the telephone and called Lucy Hamilton at the Moderne Hotel to tell her it was time his secretary got on the job.