Count Backwards to Zero

Chapter 10

All the pockets had been rifled. A few British coins were scattered about on the floor. Little’s glasses had been partially dislodged. Shayne fitted them back, and straightened.

After a moment he went to the front window, where only a few jagged slivers of glass still adhered to the dried putty. Flattening himself against the wall, he saw the black Dodge still waiting. Somewhere overhead, he heard the beat of a helicopter.

He lit a cigarette, careful to keep the flare of the match from showing.

Clearly the tall man who had taken the Bentley had been Dessau, Little’s fellow conspirator. The keystone of the plan, as Little had described it, had called for a denunciation from Dessau, which would have permitted the Customs to seize the Bentley and Dessau to file for the $500,000 reward. Nothing of the kind had happened, and that had already caused Shayne to conclude that Dessau was hoping to raise more than $500,000. The Bentley, of course, was now very hot. He would want to pull out the gas tank as quickly as possible, so he could jettison the car. And as soon as he found that he had the right car but the wrong gas tank, he would believe that the naive scientist who had seemed so easy to fool had actually been a step ahead of him all the time.

So he would be back.

A boy and a girl, their arms around each other, came along the sidewalk and stopped in front of the building, their linked figures partially concealed by the chinaberry tree. The boy was trying to persuade the girl to come inside. When she consented finally, Shayne moved to the top of the stairs.

They came in laughing. Shayne chunked a hard piece of plaster down the stairs and growled, “Get out of here, fast.”

The couple jumped outside and hurried away.

Shayne finished his cigarette, beginning to feel the pressures. An alternative to waiting would be to look for Max Wilson, the black detective who was somewhere nearby, and arrest the men in the parked Dodge. He snapped his fingers silently. There was still too much he didn’t know; he couldn’t be sure of his reasoning.

Another car, a Mustang, pulled up ahead of the Dodge. Two men came out. One was ordinary height, and he seemed familiar to Shayne. The other was very tall, with a mincing, pigeon-toed walk. The shorter man spoke to the driver of the Dodge, and he and his tall companion came toward Shayne’s building.

As soon as they committed themselves to enter, Shayne moved back to the top of the stairs.

A lighter flared in the downstairs hall and was carried toward the missing rear door.

“That’s what the bugger did,” a voice said. “Walked right out the back.”

Shayne leaned forward, peering into the darkness. It was Jerry Diamond’s voice.

The other man swore viciously and kicked at a broken board. “I’ll kill him when I catch him, and I promise I’ll catch him. He had it all planned, the street lamp, empty building. We should have twigged.”

The unsteady flame returned to where Shayne could see it.

“Never mind that,” Diamond said. “It’s the next step we’ve got to talk about.”

“I wanted to crowd him over right away, you remember, as soon as I saw there was somebody with him. That wasn’t in the program. As soon as he went straight through the light instead of taking the left — But I was outvoted, remember. I want it on record.”

“It’s on record.”

“Now think, Jerry. You had one glimpse of the other guy. This Mike Shayne from the ship. Was there anything about the silhouette so we could rule him in or out.”

“I told you, it was as dark as the inside of a pocket. Little was in the way.”

“That’s it, then.”

“It’s still somewhere in Miami. What we have to do is make a connection, and work backward, work sideward. They have to be ad-libbing with some of this.”

“I don’t see it,” Dessau objected. “They switched tanks on the ship, right? That was the hard part. From then on it was downhill.”

“Do you think Little was acting when the Customs inspector passed him? That wasn’t acting. But wait just a minute now, maybe you’ve got something. Shayne could have worked it.”

“I thought you said the girl, Anne whatever her name is—”

“Not by herself. Shayne’s known in this town. We can find him.”

They were leaving. Shayne groaned heavily. The sound stopped them.

Groping in the darkness, he located Little’s body and loosened the knife, feeling a warm gush of blood over his hand. He worked the knife free, slid it in through the nearest door, and drew his own knife, the one he had used to cut up Diamond’s passport. He found the stomach wound with the point of the blade and rammed it home. He smeared his bloody hand over his forehead.

The men below were conferring cautiously.

“We’d better find out.”

Diamond disagreed. “Leave it alone. It can’t be Little. He’s gone.”

“Unless — you know, they wanted to get off without paying him. This would be a good place to do it, the best.”

“No, they wouldn’t leave him half conscious,” Diamond said.

“I’m going up and find out.”

A stair creaked.

“Pierre,” Diamond said softly but firmly. “I said leave it alone. Let’s not get ourselves sandbagged. This has to be something else.”

“I still say—”

Shayne tipped Little’s body to the top of the stairs and nudged it over. It somersaulted down, end over end, like a loose-jointed stunt man.

Dessau was on the second step from the bottom, peering past the flame of his cigarette lighter. The tumbling body struck him across the thighs and bowled him backward. The lighter flew out of his hand and went out. He landed on his back with a crash that shook a chunk of plaster off the ceiling above Shayne, narrowly missing him as it came down.

“Jesus Christ,” Diamond said fervently.

“Get him off me!” Dessau cried.

There were confused sounds. Another flame sprang up in the darkness. Shayne heard a sharply indrawn breath. “It’s Little!” Dessau said. “Knifed.”

“Dead?”

“You aren’t just whistling he’s dead. He sold us out and got a knife in the gut instead of pay. And you know I actually liked the bastard? Crazy as a bedbug.”

There was a long moment of uneasy silence.

“You didn’t organize this, did you, Pierre?” Diamond said in his softest voice. “By any chance?”

“What’s that?” Dessau exclaimed. “What did you say?”

“Just thinking out loud. I don’t know what you told him on the phone, do I? I can’t read lips. Maybe you didn’t say go over to the post office and bump into a car. Maybe you said somebody’d get in the car with him and tell him what to do next.”

“Now why would I do that, for the love of God? You mean sell to the highest bidder, that kind of idea? I’m running risks enough as it is. And speaking of risks, let’s get the hell out of this, do you mind?”

“Wait a minute,” Diamond said sharply. “I’ll be goddamned if I haven’t seen that knife. I think it’s Shayne’s.”

Shayne groaned again, and dislodged a beer can. Lowering himself into a sitting position, he breathed out heavily and heard cautious movements beneath him.

Diamond’s voice said evenly, “I’m holding a gun. It’s cocked. I’m coming up.”

Shayne made a half sound and took his head in his hands. He was now very bloody.

Diamond’s attention was divided, and a broken step gave way beneath him. Recovering, he came on, extending a heavy automatic at arm’s length to be sure it would be seen. Shayne grinned behind his hands and let another low sound pass his lips.

Diamond, approaching, warned him not to move. He summoned Pierre curtly.

“See what he’s carrying.”

Pierre edged past and stooped over Shayne to pat his pockets. Shayne slapped feebly at his hand, then sat back and let the tall man take his gun and flashlight. When the flashlight came on, Diamond put away his lighter.

“Diamond?” Shayne said blurrily, peering up. He looked at the other man. “Who are you?”

Diamond snapped, “Come on, Shayne. Stand up. We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?”

He moved to get up, winced with pain and touched the hair above his temple. It was sticky with blood. He looked at Diamond craftily.

“We’ve had a little mix-up here, but I can explain it. Nothing serious. I’m a private detective.”

“I know that,” Diamond told him. “And I know from personal experience that you’re a hard man to subdue. This time I don’t intend to try. I’ll shoot you out of hand if you give us any trouble. We can talk about it somewhere else.”

Pierre prodded him in the ribs with his toe. “Something the matter with your hearing? Get the hell up.”

Shayne snarled and came to his feet in one swift, fluid motion. As Pierre reached for him clumsily, Shayne went beneath his arm. Catching the taller man by the belt, he spun him around to face his colleague, putting Pierre’s bulk between Shayne and the drawn gun. Diamond pulled back a step.

“I could push him at you,” Shayne said, “and we’d all end up at the bottom in a nice tangle. I don’t like to have guns pointed at me. I don’t like to be kicked. I’ve got a headache and I’m in a lousy mood. Put the goddamn thing away and let’s see what kind of deal we can make.”

After a moment Diamond dropped the automatic into an inside holster. “You’re a tough man,” he observed.

“Usually I’m easy to get along with.” He released Pierre, who loosened his collar and sucked in air. “Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’ve taken a shafting here? I’m open to any reasonable offer. Give me that light for a minute. I want to show you something.”

He took the flashlight out of Pierre’s hand and stabbed it at the floor behind him, where he had found Little.

“What happened to him?” he said in surprise.

“If you’re looking for Dr. Quentin Little,” Diamond said, “you’ll find him downstairs.”

Shayne shot him a suspicious look from under lowered brows, and started past Pierre. He checked himself at once, touching his temple, and continued more slowly, keeping his balance by running his fingertips along the inner wall. The others followed. When Shayne reached the bottom he bent over the dead man and touched his eyelid. He grunted, straightening.

“I always hate to lose a client, even when I do it myself. The son of a bitch was trying to shortchange me.” He looked down at the body, brushing his fingertips. “All right, if we’re leaving, let’s leave before they start talking about us on the police band. But do me a favor first, Diamond. I get dizzy when I lean over. Wipe off the prints.”

They exchanged a look. Diamond took out a handkerchief, spat into it, and carefully smeared the handle of the knife.

There was a sound in one of the rooms. Pierre, grabbing the flashlight, took a quick stride forward, and pushed open the crazily hanging door. The flashlight caught Minnie Fish as she started back.

“Look here, will you?” he said. “An audience.”

She stared past him at Shayne, her eyes widening as she saw the blood on his face. Then she looked down at the dead man on the floor.

“You didn’t—” she began, but Pierre caught her by the arm and spun her around.

“I’m the one who’s got to take care of this,” Shayne told him. “Let’s see the gun.”

Pierre looked at Diamond, who nodded slightly, and gave Shayne his .38.

“I didn’t hear anything!” Minnie Fish cried as Shayne stepped through the doorway. “I’m not interested!”

Shayne struck her viciously across the face with his open hand. She whirled and ran. He overtook her in the bedroom. She stumbled and went down on one knee.

Catching her from behind, he clapped his hand over her mouth and whispered, “When I take my hand away, I want you to yell. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

His tone calmed her down and she stopped struggling. He felt her nod.

“All right. Now.”

He uncovered her mouth and she screamed. “I won’t say anything! It’s white business!”

Reversing the .38, he brought its butt down hard on the mattress. She understood, and stopped screaming.

He gave the mattress another hard blow, put the gun away and returned to the hall. Pierre and Diamond carefully avoided looking at him.

“Let’s go,” Shayne snapped.