I Come to Kill You

2

The lights stayed on.

Shayne moved his arm to look at his watch. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed but remained there for a time, massaging his forehead.

Mercedes lay face down, her dark hair loose. Sarah was reversed, her head toward the foot of the bed. She still wore her emerald necklace. There was lipstick on her teeth. She watched Shayne through her artificial eyelashes.

“Tell me, is the magic working?”

He seemed to consult an internal adviser. “I think so.”

He came to his feet and located the cognac. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after drinking, and lit a cigarette. He extended the package to Sarah.

“I couldn’t move,” she said. “I may stay right here for twenty-four hours.”

He smiled at her through the smoke. “All right? Just checking.”

“God, you’re a lovely man.”

“You two seemed to have lots in common.”

“She’s sweet. Mercedes, are you listening to me?”

The other girl remained motionless, snoring slightly. Shayne went to the bathroom, leaving the door open, and stepped into the shower. He remembered too late that he was smoking a cigarette, and threw it away. When he came out he toweled himself briskly, did a dozen fingertip-pullups in the doorway while Sarah watched, and borrowed her hairbrush to use on his rough hair. His clothes had ended up in different corners of the room. He retrieved them and dressed.

“Do you want me to make an effort?” Sarah said.

“No, I have to watch the dealers for a while, see if I can spot one who’s just going through the motions.”

“Have luck,” she said softly.

He filled his pocket flask with cognac. Before corking the bottle he sprinkled some on Sarah’s stomach.

“That makes you my girl.”

He saluted her with a confident circle with his thumb and forefinger, unlocked the door, and tossed the key on the bed.

There was even more of a jam in the casino than when he had been there earlier. He moved through the crowd without hurrying, an unlighted cigarette between his lips. A small tense man slid into his path and snapped a lighter.

Shayne accepted the light without thanking him. “What are you doing here, Larry?”

“Like everybody else. Mike, I want to talk to you.”

Shayne had given him only a glance, to identify him. Larry Zito, known as the Doctor in newspaper stories, did most of the Miami Beach loan-sharking. His nickname referred to the early days when he carried his cash in a doctor’s bag. He had been loose in those days, everybody’s friend, but as he rose in the ranks he had become more and more jumpy, and now everything about him seemed to be in constant motion — his hands, his moustache, his eyes. He was small and quick, with a largish paunch, which he usually made a practice of kneading when he was sitting down.

“I don’t feel like talking now, Larry,” Shayne said quietly.

“Believe me, I know the feeling,” Zito assured him. “But you’ve got to stand still and listen to me while I make a few remarks, or I’ll get some help.”

Shayne still didn’t look at him directly. “I know I owe you. I don’t need any reminders. You’ll get your money.”

“I know I’ll get it, Mike,” Zito said reasonably, “it’s a matter of how. Come over here out of some of this uproar.”

Shayne swore. He picked a glass off a tray being carried past by a scantily clad waitress, emptied the ice cubes, and half-filled it with cognac.

“Just don’t put on any pressure. I’m at a point where it wouldn’t take much.”

Zito was smoking a miniaturized cigar. He motioned with it.

They went across the big room to a carpeted staircase, and down to a dimly lit lounge. A muscular blue-jowled man wearing a striped blazer and a badge saying, “Mr. Maxwell, Security,” stepped aside and let them through a door marked “Employees Only.” They entered a two-stall lavatory.

“About the only place you get any privacy around here,” Zito said. “I don’t like to shout business in public. I saw you earlier with a broad. You notice I waited. Don’t bother to thank me.”

In a quick two-handed motion, he clapped Shayne under the arms to make sure he wasn’t carrying a pistol. Completing the motion, he opened his own jacket, to show an automatic in a shoulder holster.

“Not putting muscle on you, Mike. Just want to make sure you get the picture.”

Shayne’s eyebrows had drawn together in a scowl, and Zito stepped back quickly, his hand going to his lapel.

“Now, Mike, I do it this way because I know you’re a man with a good pair of balls. Use your head and stay out of the hospital.”

Shayne drank from his cognac glass, set it on the glass shelf over the wash basins, and turned to use the urinal.

“Don’t show me the gun again unless you’re planning to use it. What’s all the excitement? With the vigorish running at twelve percent a month—”

“On paper, Mike. And let me point out to you, I haven’t seen any twelve percent a month. I made you a loan for a definite two-month period — sixty days, to be picky — and at the end of those sixty days I like to see the green stuff coming back in. And you don’t even give me a buzz and ask for an extension.”

“I’m working on it,” Shayne said evasively.

“I do sincerely hope so. I didn’t want to lay that eight on you in the first place, but I decided I better because I thought you still had some worthwhile connections. Me and my big mouth, I happened to mention to a couple of people you were late getting it back, and that makes it semi-public. If I let you get away with it, everybody else thinks likewise. My action’s way down because of the situation. I want to wind this up, and I’m prepared to be fair.”

Shayne picked up the cognac and drank again, his face unfriendly. “Doc, you’re a pain in the ass. What’s your definition of fair?”

“I can’t take people to court, can I? I got to rely on my own enforcement, but at the same time you know and I know that with Michael Shayne, because of what the name used to mean to the people of Miami, I’m walking on eggs.”

“Don’t shoot me,” Shayne said bleakly. “That’s good business advice.”

“And don’t I know it,” Zito said, rubbing his face unhappily. “But I can’t let it slide, either. How much have you got on you?”

“Not enough.”

“I know that, for God’s sake. What, a couple of grand?”

“Less than that.”

“And you think you’re going to run it to ten, and get off the hook.” Zito shook his head pityingly. “I used to think you had brains. Give me a grand to prove good faith. When you get back to the mainland, I want to see you sell your car. With all those gadgets, you ought to net a couple of grand, minimum. There are creeps who’d pay that so they could work it into the conversation that they’re driving around in Mike Shayne’s car.”

“I need it to work.”

“Your working days are over, let’s face it. You still got a few friends, you can raise another couple. Give me five for now and three more at some later date. What I’m saying to you, I’m ready to wipe the vigorish off the books. The Don tells me I ought to, in the interest of peace and harmony. Tell me if you could ask for a better deal.”

Shayne made a menacing gesture, and Zito went on, speaking fast, “Don’t say something you’ll want to take back later. Look at it from my side of the table. Here you have this crazy private dick, not too bad a guy, not one of those bug-outs who think anybody with some Sicilian in his ancestry ought to be stuck in the can, automatic. He’s short of cash. The banks have cut off his credit so he looks for Larry Zito, who extends him the loan against his better judgment. And he defaults! He drags it out and don’t even come to see me, and I get the word from my friends that he’s snickering at us.”

“I haven’t been laughing much lately,” Shayne said soberly.

“Let me finish. With everybody flapping about this Meister killing, we want to stay out of the spotlight if it’s in any way possible. The shylock business right now, it’s down to zero. Half my people are staying indoors, and the other half are out on some fantastic bail. Pray God it won’t happen” — his eyes jumped — “but if Mike Shayne, who everybody knows is having problems with the Beach shylocks, is picked up some dark night with his head shot off—”

He cut it off there. His hand remained near his gun. The threat was clearly implied, and the Michael Shayne of the Miami legend had always reacted explosively to threats. But that Michael Shayne hadn’t ever borrowed eight thousand dollars from loan sharks. He said mildly, avoiding Zito’s eyes, “Shylocks have to enforce. I don’t argue with that.”

Zito continued, a little shrilly, “What I’m saying is that if there’s a way out that won’t be too hard on anybody, why not? That’s why I’m willing to forget the vig, as much as it goes against the grain.”

“I pay my debts,” Shayne said. “I just want to try this tonight, O.K.? Hell, I’ve been taking chances all my life. I happen to believe in hunches, and when I seem to have a modest little streak going, I’ve got to back it, Larry, or give up, pull out for good. Think back. Didn’t you ever have a time when you could play something one of two ways? Either safe, or screw the percentages and go all out. And I know which way you went. Otherwise you’d be living in a little two-by-four house in Coral Gables, complaining about crime in the streets and the rise in the cost of living.”

“Which might not be too bad a life,” Zito said.

He studied the big man curiously, his hand no longer near his gun. After a moment he said gently, “Well, go ahead, then, knock your head on the wall. I must be getting sentimental or something. Because you know you can’t win, Mike. When you’ve got to win, you lose. In my business, believe me, I see it all the time.”

“Tonight I’m going to break the rules.” Shayne smiled broadly. “Talk about hunches — I had a hunch that if I kept my temper and laid it out for you, you’d break down and act human. You’re not as much of a prick as people tell me.”

“Thanks,” Zito said dryly.

“You won’t regret this, Larry. I mean it, because I’m going to pay you the whole goddamn thing, every penny. Just don’t keep looking over my shoulder. I need a little open space. Room to swing.”

He finished his drink and left the glass on the shelf. “I just want to do one thing, to get me back in the mood.”

He turned the doorknob carefully and drove the door against the back of the guard outside. He was on top of the man before he could recover, and brushed him off, apologizing. Zito, nervous again, watched from the doorway.

“Now, don’t worry, you’ll get your money,” Shayne told him, and walked away.