I Come to Kill You

4

The girls converged on him when he returned. “What’s going on?” he said.

“Money’s changing hands,” Sarah said. “I must say I’ve been having rotten luck with those chips you gave me. Do you think these wheels are honest?”

“An interesting question. My game’s blackjack.” There was a new dealer at the table, older, with tinted glasses, the usual sallow complexion, and a less slick way of handling the cards. Shayne began losing at once. When he heard Sarah murmur behind him, he rounded on her and snapped, “You’re bothering me. Get lost, both of you.”

“Willingly,” Sarah said. “I don’t like to be snarled at.”

Mercedes shrugged, to show how little it mattered. As Shayne’s stack of chips continued to melt, he hunched forward, and his manner became tighter and colder. The player on his right was also losing, a spindly long-haired youth in horn-rimmed glasses. The dealer turned over an ace and a face card, and the youth swore and slapped his cards down on top of Shayne’s. Shayne turned.

“Keep your cards where they belong.”

The youth, resentful at the way the dealer had been cutting him up, made the mistake of replying obscenely.

With no change of expression, Shayne half-rose, turned, and chopped down so hard that his coat sleeve popped open at the shoulder. The punch was a short one, but it had all Shayne’s power behind it. The youth’s jaw cracked against the table, and he slid out of sight.

Shayne scaled his last remaining chip to the dealer. “Buy yourself a deodorant.”

As he pushed his chair out of the way, the crowd behind him opened to let him pass. Two men in security-staff blazers were heading for him, and he veered to meet them.

“A guy passed out at the blackjack table,” he said, smiling coldly. “Tense game, blackjack.”

The guards glanced at each other and decided they hadn’t seen a blow. Shayne looked for his girls. Mercedes had disappeared. He found Sarah in the bar, sipping a peppermint liqueur.

“What did you do with those chips I gave you to hold for me?”

“To hold? Mike, that was a free gift, made out of euphoria and the goodness of your heart. We both thought it was generous of you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Let me borrow them back. I just gave a kid a shot in the ear, and it’s going to make a difference. Sometimes when you blow off like that, it gets you rolling again. I’ll write you an IOU.”

“Mike, it’s all gone! That was easy money, and it went the same way. I don’t know what Mercedes did with hers. You could ask her.”

Shayne stood indecisively for a moment, and then shrugged. “She’ll probably feel the same way. I hate to say it, baby, but they cleaned me out. So what next?” Leaning down, holding her from moving with one hand on her hip, he bit the lobe of her ear. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She gave him a long look, and then said to the man next to her, who had taken no part in the conversation, “I’m afraid I’ll have to say good night. Thanks for the drink.”

Shayne hummed softly on the way to her bungalow.

“I’m feeling numb,” he said, unlocking the door. “You know that Novocain feeling. Numb, with a tingle.”

“Mike, I’m sorry. But at least you gave them a scare.”

“Damn right. I came close.”

She stepped into the lighted bedroom. Coming in behind her, he took her around the waist, pivoted, and sent her spinning back hard against the wall.

He kicked the door shut and met her with a hard slap as she came at him. The slap knocked her onto the unmade bed.

“You bastard,” she whispered, her hand at her cheek. “I’m not giving you any money.”

He feinted at her, and she slipped out from under, off the bed by the opposite side. He came after her without hurrying, his smile oddly unconcerned. She waited until he was almost upon her and then darted in and raked at the smile with her fingernails.

He jerked his head back too late, and her knee caught him in the stomach. He doubled forward. As he went down she broke the lamp over his head. The room was plunged in darkness.

Faint light from outside came through the closed slats of the front blind. He heard a crunch of broken glass and seized her ankle before she could reach the door.

“Mike, I know what we can do,” she said urgently as he forced her down beside him. “I know how we can raise some money. Not tonight — tomorrow. I shouldn’t have been so damn flip. You’re so great in bed, darling—”

He shifted his grip to her arm and hauled her up after him so he could turn on the overhead light. Her dress had been ripped. She stared at him, her eyes wide.

“Mike—”

He drew back his fist. She pulled away, covering her face.

“When people hit me with lamps, I get annoyed,” he said. “I ought to break your back. Just don’t give me any more of this crap if you want to go on being good-looking.”

He picked up the beaded purse she had been carrying, and found it stuffed with paper money.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Now I feel better. Come on, I’m not going to hurt you.”

She took her hands down. Except for the spot where he had hit her, her face was very pale.

“Take off the dress,” he said.

“What?”

“That little skirmish woke me up, didn’t you notice? I’m going to ball you.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.”

He made a quick grab at her, and she said hastily, “Yes, you are. Of course. Absolutely. It’s a perfectly logical idea, and I’m sure it’ll be very enjoyable, even for me.”

She was fumbling with her zipper. Her nervousness put him back in good humor.

“Stop jittering. Here, I’ll help you.”

He found the zipper tab and pulled it, and watched her come out of the dress. He left the overhead light on. When they were together, he surprised her by being gentle and careful, and even tricked her into taking part. She was wary at first, but then began moving with mounting excitement. They went over together, with Sarah throwing her head blindly from side to side, muttering hoarsely. It was their best moment.

There were tears and blood — from Shayne’s scratches — on her face. He disengaged slowly. Still gently and tenderly, he unfastened her emerald necklace. When he picked up her left hand, she stretched the fingers so the diamond would slide easily into his palm.

“And the crazy thing is,” she said, “that I almost decided to stay in Miami. Because what ever happens in St. Albans?”

“Who gave you the ring?”

“I gave myself the ring. I bought it on time, and it’s still not paid for.”

“I’m just going to hock it. I’ll buy it back for you after I make that dealer surrender.”

Tears glistened on her cheeks. She didn’t reply. “That’s a promise,” he assured her. “I know you feel naked without it, but you’ll get it back.”

He went to the bathroom to wash. Hearing a sound from the bed, he whirled, but she had merely stacked up the pillows so she could lie back and watch him.

“Play it out,” she said. “If you’re really that sure…”

“I have to be sure,” he told her. “So long as there’s any daylight showing, I’ve got to go for it. Sorry it had to be you, baby, but there’s more riding on this than money.”

The cognac flask had slipped out of his pocket while they were rolling on the floor. He retrieved it, and drank.

“What do you mean, more than money?” she said.

“I don’t know how to say it. But unless you finish what you start, you might as well be a check-out clerk in a supermarket.”

He opened his dispatch case and took out his.38 pistol in a clip-on holster. He snapped it on his belt and buttoned his jacket over it.

“I was going to offer to get dressed and go with you,” Sarah said. “That changes my mind.”

“Get some sleep.”

He hesitated, looking down at her, and then wrapped the phone cord around his hand and yanked it out of the wall. She made a murmur of protest.

“That wasn’t necessary, Mike. I’m too worn out to dial. I’m with you now. I want you to win.”

Shayne went out, locking the door.

He looked through the gambling rooms for Larry Zito without finding him. He got Zito’s room number from the desk, went upstairs, and hammered on the door. Even after hearing who was making the noise, Zito was reluctant to let him in.

“We can talk about it in the morning, Mike. It’s late.”

“Can’t wait till morning,” Shayne declared. “I want to pay you. If you don’t open this goddamn door, I’ll just go back down and throw the dough across the blackjack table. You don’t want that.”

After a long moment the bolt was thrown. Shayne went in with Sarah’s money in his hand.

Zito was wearing only a pair of rumpled shorts. When he saw the bills he relaxed and lowered the pistol he was holding. Shayne’s hand shot out, catching Zito’s wrist and giving it a quick wring. The gun hit the carpet.

“I don’t know why you don’t trust people,” Shayne complained.

“Some trust,” Zito said wryly, rubbing his wrist. “I’m glad you’re ready to settle. The big thing I want is to get you out of my hair.”

“I can’t quite do that yet, Larry,” Shayne said, putting the money away. “Later, I hope.”

He saw a familiar black dress carefully arranged over the back of a chair. Stepping across to the bed, he yanked down the sheet.

“Hi,” Mercedes said sullenly, looking up at him. Her hair was loose again, and the flesh was puffy under her eyes. “You said get lost. That’s what you said.”

“You picked a good bed to get lost in. This guy is loaded.”

Zito waited, the muscles around his mouth jumping. One hand went up to scratch the mat of hair on his chest.

“You’re going to stick me up, is that the deal?” Shayne looked at him in astonishment. “You really think I’d do anything that dumb? I just want you to loan me a few grand.”

Zito fumbled on the top of the bureau for one of his little cigars, to have something to do with his hands. “Shayne, you’re in a class by yourself. I already loaned you a few grand.”

Shayne spoke persuasively. “You want to wind this up. So do I, for Christ’s sake. It’s your money, but it’s my skin. I’m not asking for any favors. I’m going to give you security this time.”

He pulled out Sarah’s jewelry. Mercedes sucked in her breath, covering her mouth quickly when Shayne looked at her.

“She’s with me,” Shayne told her. “Unlike some people. She offered it to me, and she had to hit me with a lamp — literally — before I agreed to take it. Larry’s going to advance me something, and I’m going downstairs to invest it in a game of blackjack. And this time, when I get to ten thousand, I’m going to quit. I’ll pay Larry, he’ll return my security, I’ll give it back to Sarah. Fireworks! American flags! Brass bands! Drum majorettes!”

“You’re drunk,” Zito said critically.

“Now, don’t make me nervous,” Shayne warned him. “Whether or not I’m drunk has nothing to do with it, and as it happens, I’m really pretty sober. Three thousand, Larry.”

“No,” Zito said flatly. Shayne’s fingers closed around the jewels, making a fist, and he went on, “I might, in Miami. Here I don’t have the protection.”

“Then give me the name of somebody. Put on your glasses and look at this stuff. The emeralds alone—”

Zito lit his cigar. Waving away smoke, he explained the reasons why it was impossible for him to do that kind of business with Shayne. The casino’s deal with the island officials included a self-policing guarantee. Jewel thieves knew better than to try to score in this hotel. Consequently, there were no fences, as such, on the island. He didn’t question Shayne’s claim that the girl had given up the articles voluntarily, but did she show him a bill of sale? If by some freakish chance they turned out to be hot, the local police would consider it a breach of the basic agreement, and fur would fly.

Even before he finished, Shayne was nodding.

“Larry, I’m sorry I woke you up. I see what you mean — no point in getting out of one kind of trouble and right away into another.”

“Why not make me a partial payment, with what you’ve got there?”

“These are just tens and twenties.”

He found Mercedes’ bag and cleaned out the cash. She wanted Zito to interfere, but he stood by, smoking and scratching.

“This isn’t stealing,” Shayne explained to her. “I gave it to you earlier. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Don’t be surprised if I come knocking on your door again.”

“Can’t it wait till morning?”

“No,” Shayne snapped, with another quick switch in tone. “And don’t cry about it — good shylocks are on twenty-four-hour call.”

Downstairs, he decided he ought to know where he was at, and he smoothed and counted the money he had taken from the girls. It came to eleven hundred dollars. After all his activity, he had less than when he started in Miami.

He smoked a cigarette while he thought about it.

He was in the lobby. Ever since sitting down he had been monitored by a squarely built young man with a badly scarred face and the meaty hams of a football player. He wore the standard blazer, with a badge giving his name as Mr. Valenti. When Shayne put his money away and started for the casino, Valenti followed.

The crowd was smaller, less intense. The dealers and stickmen were swallowing yawns. Shayne approached the blackjack table. The dealer looked up and met his eye with a glitter. The setup made Shayne vaguely uneasy, and he went past.

He studied the play at the dice tables, hoping to see a pattern. Wherever he looked, the house appeared to be winning.

Soon the general weariness and staleness had its effect on Shayne. He yawned widely, then pulled himself together with an effort, and went to the cashier’s window to change his money into chips. A man ahead of him was doing the opposite, emptying his pockets of chips and changing them back into money. He had won heavily.

“Do you mind if I ask what game you’ve been playing?” Shayne said, interested. “Maybe you left some of that luck at the table.”

The winner guffawed happily. He was smaller than Shayne, with considerable facial hair — heavy eyebrows, a full moustache, and unpruned sideburns. He was so myopic that his eyes looked fishlike behind the thick-lensed glasses.

“I spread it around,” he said. “That’s my system. Move fast and stay in front of the law of averages.” He stuffed his pockets with bills. “Not that I really believe that. Scientifically speaking, they’ve got you by the short hairs. I know that. Tonight I happened to be the exception.”

Shayne hesitated, and forced an unconvincing smile. “Have a drink with me, will you? Maybe some of your luck will rub off.”

“I’ll be happy to, friend, but don’t expect any secrets. I rattle the dice and let fly. That’s my secret.”

Shayne introduced himself as Hank Morrison of New York City. The lucky winner proved to be a hotel-supplies salesman from Chicago, named Gregory Nash, and he had been betting expense-account money, which, as everybody knows, isn’t the same as real money. After the drinks were served, he showed Shayne pictures of his wife and three children, and the outside of his house in a Chicago suburb. The two girls were getting good grades in school, but for some reason the boy never seemed to feel like studying.

Shayne nodded mechanically, only half-listening. He had two cognacs while Nash sipped a watery Scotch. He slumped over his glass, more and more gloomy. Nash paid for the drinks with a credit card and stood up.

“You know you saved me some money?” Shayne said. “Talking about those kids of yours. I never had children. I was married once, but it didn’t work out. I’ve been trying to fake it, but I’m fundamentally a loser. The hell with it for tonight. They’ve taken me for all the bread they’re going to get out of me until I get optimistic again. The way I feel now, that may be never.”

Nash, like all winners everywhere, showed little sympathy. Shayne went to the elevator with him. As soon as the door slid shut, Shayne took out his gun and touched him in the small of the back. The man didn’t realize immediately what was happening.

“Goddamn it,” Shayne said, “I’ve got a revolver here. Take a look. You won’t get hurt if you’re sensible.”

The salesman glanced down. When he saw the gun, he recoiled so violently that he twisted all the way around with his hands raised.

“Now, don’t get excited,” Shayne said irritably, prodding him. “I just want you to understand I’ve got to have ten thousand bucks.”

Nash’s glasses shook on his nose. “The first time I ever really won—”

“Listen to me carefully. The thing to get through your head is that I have to have it. Do you hear me? I thought I could win it, but I see it isn’t my night. If I don’t get it, I’m dead.”

Nash had pressed the button for four. The elevator reached that floor and stopped. Shayne stabbed another button and the car went on.

“Put your hands down,” Shayne told him. “If somebody gets in, stand there and don’t make a sound. You said it’s expense-account dough — that’s what gave me the idea. You won’t miss it.”

“You can have it. You can have it.”

“I know that, but there’s something else, and that’s what I’ve got to make plain to you. This is a goddamn island. I don’t want you to report this. I’ve never been busted for anything over a misdemeanor. That’s the way I want it to stay. If they get me on this, it’s a first offense, and I’ll be out in eighteen months. Your name’s Gregory Nash, and you live at three-nine-four-seven Maple Drive in Englewood, Illinois, and you work for the Ideal Hotel Products Company. When you had your credit card out, I memorized it. Don’t turn me in, or I’ll come visit you.”

The man moistened his lips. “Leave me fifty for cabfare.”

“I’m going to leave you a hundred and your credit card. You’ll get home O.K. Give Mrs. Nash a big wet kiss from me.”

The salesman was no longer shaking. He cleaned out his pockets and his wallet, keeping nothing back except five twenties. “Because here or at the dice table, what’s the difference. I had a fun-filled evening, and it didn’t cost me a cent.”

“That’s the way to look at it,” Shayne said approvingly, taking the money. “And you got a fellow citizen out of a bad hole.”

He stopped the elevator at four, and Nash scurried out, glad to find himself still alive. Then Shayne returned to Zito’s floor and forced Zito to open the door again to accept payment. He fell several hundred short, and Zito offered to write it off, but Shayne insisted, “No, I understood the terms. I’ll panhandle for it if I have to.”

“Mike, don’t borrow any more money from me, all right?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Shayne blew an explosive breath and made a wide gesture. “I think we ought to have a celebration. I’ve got a chick downstairs. Do you want to come down, or should we come up?”

“Neither,” Mercedes said firmly from the bed.

“It’s been a long day,” Zito said apologetically. “I’m exhausted.” Clapping Shayne on the shoulder, he urged him toward the door. “You got lucky finally, and that makes me happy. Personally, I’m glad we handled this between the two of us. Get some maintenance on the haircut while you’re here, Mike. There’s a good barber. And tell you what — buy yourself a new shirt, a new pair of slacks, and put it on my bill.”

“Larry, I hope I’ll always deserve your respect.”

“You do, Mike. You will.”

They shook hands. Shayne made an occasion of it, prolonging the handshake long after Zito wanted to let go.

“In my book, Larry, you’re tops.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mike. Now, good night.”

“Pleasant dreams,” Mercedes called from the bed, and added, “You paid him. But you didn’t pay me, did you?”

Downstairs, Sarah was sitting up in bed reading a paperback mystery. This was the first time Shayne had seen her with glasses on, and she removed them hurriedly.

“You didn’t think I could do it, did you?” Shayne said with satisfaction. “I got the goddamn shylock off my back. I’m even.”

“Mike, darling, that’s marvelous!”

“And if you’re friendly,” he said, smiling, “and don’t make any waves, I’m going to give you back your jewelry.”