Stranger in Town

10

Michael Shayne was seated in the front booth at Harry’s Hideout nursing a slug of domestic brandy in a tall glass, diluted with ice cubes and soda, when George Grimes came in the front door. The patrolman was in uniform, but his blue coat was unbuttoned, shirt open at the throat, and he was unarmed.

He paused inside the door and grinned quizzically at the redhead, pushed his peaked cap back on a broad, perspiring forehead and sat down opposite him. He said, “So it’s sure-enough true, huh?” wrinkling his wide nose at Shayne’s glass. “Just like you see it on TV. You private eyes do slobber up that stuff all hours of the day.”

Shayne grinned and said. “Not a damned thing you see on TV is true. You’re not working either, so how about you slobbering up some?”

Grimes shook his head as the small, dapper proprietor approached their booth. “Nothing stronger’n beer for me. Got to go on the four o’clock shift. Suds, Harry.”

“And keep his glass from getting too empty,” Shayne told Harry amiably.

“This is real nice of you,” Grimes told him. “Glad there ain’t no hard feelings about last night, though I guess I wouldn’t have blamed you much the way that Burke pushed you around.”

Shayne grinned and said, “Young cops. They’re all alike. Give him ten years on the Force and he’ll be taking it in his stride.”

“Yeh, but… You wasn’t sure-enough drunk last night, huh? Burke didn’t have no right…”

Shayne took a cigarette and slid the pack across to Grimes. He said, “Forget it. I will say I was quite impressed by the way you boys handle traffic problems. Shouldn’t have many accidents around here if you pick every guy up soon as he takes a few drinks.”

“We can’t get ’em all,” Grimes said genially. His beer arrived and he lifted the glass in a salute, drank half of it off and smacked his lips loudly. “Sure-enough, I’m surprised you’re still around. Take it easy, huh? I heard Ollie sweetening up Burke this morning for the way he handled you. He’s just plain got a down on privates, Ollie has.”

“Ollie?” said Shayne with interest. “That would be Chief Hanger?”

“Yeh. And a mean son-of-a-bitch if you ever saw one. You here on a case? Don’t see no blonde secretaries hanging around.” Grimes laughed heartily at his own wit and drained his glass.

“Matter-of-fact, I was just driving through last night. I’m not kidding, though, when I said I was interested in your auto accident rate hereabouts. Thought I might check a little and see if strict enforcement like you and Burke handed out last night does cut them down.”

“You kidding?” Grimes was ready to grin at the joke, but Shayne remained perfectly serious. “Hell, no,” Grimes said after a moment. “We have our fair share, I reckon. Just last night we had a hit-run outside town.”

“That so?” Shayne displayed a slight interest. “Just last night when you wouldn’t let me drive? Fatal?”

“Neck and back was busted.” Harry brought a full glass of beer and Grimes nodded his thanks to Shayne. “Not that it was any great loss,” he went on thoughtfully. “We can get along without Mule easy.”

“You mean it was a mule that was killed?”

Grimes guffawed at that. “Naw. Fellow they call Mule Larsen. Hangs around town doing odd jobs for drinks. And I mean odd more’n one way if you get what I mean.”

“Tough?”

“Plenty tough. Been hauled in three times I know of for beating guys up. One of ’em died, but they couldn’t prove Mule did it.”

“A quiet little place like this,” said Shayne thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t think there’d be any real crime problem. Like anybody to require the services of this Mule you speak of and his ‘odd’ jobs. I suppose you meant rough stuff by that.”

“Yeh.” Grimes turned his glass slowly on the table in front of him. “You get stuff like that anywhere, I guess. No matter how big or little the town. Hell, I started out as constable in Lemon Acres, population four hundred and seventy-two. Had a bootlegging syndicate there, by golly, that had more hoods on the payroll than people in church on Sunday. You just can’t never tell.”

“But bootlegging’s out now. Nothing like that in Brockton.”

“There’s always something undercover for the fast-money boys to shoot at. And where there’s big money involved, you always get your ‘protection’.”

There was a note in George Grimes’ voice that led Shayne to drop that particular subject before the patrolman clammed up on him. Grimes was eager for casual shoptalk with the city detective, but if he got the idea there was a reason behind Shayne’s questions he was unlikely to be so free with his generalities.

Shayne took time to empty his glass and catch Harry’s attention to signal for two more, though Grimes protested weakly that two beers were enough for him.

“This isn’t important and I don’t expect it to be anything official,” Shayne said casually, “but while I’m in Brockton I wonder if you know anything about a hood who’s supposed to headquarter around here. First name of Gene, I think.” He proceeded to describe the leader of the three men who had attacked him the preceding night, watching for Grimes’ reactions carefully as he did so. “I just remember I ran into some dope on him in Miami recently,” he ended. “Not my case, but something the cops were bothered about.”

Grimes recognized Gene’s description. There was no doubt about that in Shayne’s mind as he watched the patrolman’s face. But he wasn’t giving much away either. When Shayne finished, he said, “I think maybe I’ve seen him around, all right, but I don’t believe we’ve got any record on him. Some guys like that keep clean in their hideaways and pull all their jobs outside.”

“Sure, I know. What brought it to my mind was I saw a man in that bar last night. You know, the one where you and your friend Burke tagged me. Reminded me of the fellow I asked about. Just what kind of joint was that anyhow?” he added ingenuously. “I just stopped in for a drink by accident. Got the impression a lot of tough boys hung out there.”

Grimes shrugged broad shoulders, hunched over his third beer. “One of half a dozen places in town we keep an eye on. Jasper Black runs it pretty quiet and we don’t bother him. He’s the bartender. I wouldn’t want to flash a big roll there late at night and take too many drinks. Man could probably lay a bet there or get propositioned by a pimp if he was so-minded.”

Shayne nodded absently and sipped from his second glass of brandy and soda. “We’ve slid ’way off from my original question about your rate of traffic accidents. You mentioned a hit-run last night. Wasn’t there an other bad accident last week?”

“You mean the Harris boy from Orlando that got burned up in his car?”

“That’s right. District Attorney or something.”

“Yeh. That was a bad one, but nothing we could do anything about. Damn fool tried to take a curve too fast was all. Didn’t find him or his car till next afternoon.”

“Visiting his sister in the hospital, wasn’t he?”

“Naw. That turned out a phony lead. Nobody ever has found out why he was in Brockton that night. Guy in a filling station thought he’d stopped outside town to ask directions for the Sanitarium, but where he got killed was ’way off that route.”

“Maybe he drove to the Sanitarium first and then drove there.”

“No. It was ’way south of town. Not back toward Orlando. And he didn’t go near the Sanitarium. We checked.”

“What kind of Sanitarium is it?” Shayne asked idly.

“Private.” A fleeting expression of distaste screwed up Grimes’ ruddy face. “Dipsos mostly, I guess. Different kinds of nuts, from what you hear. Expensive as hell for city folks that can afford to take the cure. Mostly society dames, I guess, from cities all over like Miami and Jax. Even from as far as Atlanta and Memphis, they say. Stands out to itself and Brockton folks don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Strictly okay? They wouldn’t have any reason for denying a man came to visit his sister if he had?” There was faint hesitation on Grimes’ part, and again Shayne felt he was treading close to a dead-end beyond which he could not go in a seemingly casual conversation.

“Don’t see why they would.” It was almost as though he were arguing with himself. “It is private and exclusive as hell, I guess, and they don’t give out a list of patients to the papers. That’s why people pay their prices. For privacy. But I don’t reckon they’d lie to us. Ollie went out himself and talked to Doc Winestock.”

“That makes two accidents in a week,” said Shayne thoughtfully, deciding not to arouse any suspicion by bringing up the girl amnesia victim. “When was your last one before that?”

“Last what?”

“Traffic accident.”

“Oh. Well I got to admit we have been having more than our share hereabouts lately. That’s the way it goes. Nothing happens in a couple of years, and then you get a batch. Seems like sure-enough maybe there is something in that old saying that things go by threes. Hadn’t thought of it before, but Mule last night did make the third in a month. Funny, ain’t it? There was a young girl about a month ago. First bad accident, I do believe, for three-four years.”

“Happen here in town?”

“No. That was out on the highway, too. Forget her name, but she was a pretty little thing they said. Driving an old Ford coupe that went off the road on a curve, too. Rolled over half a dozen times before it landed.”

“But she didn’t burn up, too?” Shayne asked, masking his alert interest.

“No. Some driver saw it happen and pulled her out. She was banged up bad and died on the emergency operating table at the Sanitarium before recovering consciousness.”

“The Sanitarium?” Shayne couldn’t conceal his interest in this revelation. “The same one outside of town?”

“Yeh. It was the closest place to take her.”

“The man who saw it happen,” Shayne persisted. “What did he say caused the accident?”

“He never did say. Nobody ever did know who he was. He just dropped her at the Sanitarium and drove away in the excitement without ever giving his name. Never did show up to make a report.”

“Like the man who brought the Buttrell girl to your hospital just the other night,” said Shayne slowly. “You seem to have a lot of anonymous Good Samaritans operating in Brockton.”

“We do, don’t we for a fact? Well, you know how it is sometimes. A guy is maybe out some place where he ain’t supposed to be that time of night. Maybe he’s playing around with somebody else’s wife. So he does what he can to help out and then beats it without giving his name. Can’t blame him much. Not if he’s married to a battle-axe like I am.” Grimes laughed heartily and applied himself to his beer.

“That’s probably the explanation,” Shayne agreed. He changed the subject abruptly. “One thing I wondered about last night.” He laughed wryly and went on: “Gave me a completely wrong idea about the efficiency of your police department, I guess. Maybe I wouldn’t have stuck my neck out like I did if I hadn’t seen this other thing.”

“What was that?”

“While I was in that bar where you picked me up. There was a ruckus and one man got beat up. I saw the bartender call the police, but nobody ever did come to investigate it. Gave me the idea you boys were pretty slip-shod… and that turned out to be my mistake.”

“Is that so?” Grimes looked mystified. “They called the cops and nobody came?”

“That’s right. At least half an hour before I left and you and Burke pinched me. It got my goat to have you so on-the-ball for a parking ticket when you didn’t even bother to check the other.”

“I can see how that’d be, sure-enough,” agreed Grimes. “Funny, though. We got three radio cars on the streets all night. Any report of trouble should be covered in five minutes after it hits the despatcher.”

“That’s why,” said Shayne, “I asked you about the reputation of the joint. If maybe it was a place you cops stayed away from.”

“Nothing like that in Brockton. Must be some mistake.” Grimes was obviously nettled by Shayne’s implication against the probity and efficiency of the Brockton police. He glanced at his watch. “Take a walk up to the station with me and we’ll check what happened to the call. We may be a small town, but we got a system set up just as good as they got in Miami, I betcha.”

Shayne said, “I’d like to.” He left three dollars on the table and they went out together.

The Brockton police headquarters was like hundreds of others in similar towns which Shayne had seen throughout the country. It was housed in a modern, three-story brick building with court-rooms and city office above, and Grimes led Shayne around to a side door where they entered a small room divided in half with a shoulder-high counter. A uniformed man sat on a high stool behind the counter and yawned somnolently as they entered.

Grimes nodded as he led Shayne toward a rear door, and the man stopped yawning long enough to say, “Hi Georgie,” and to look at Shayne with a curious frown.

Grimes opened the rear door onto a wide corridor and turned to the right, telling Shayne, “The file room’s up here at the end. Only take us a minute to check and see…”

He broke off abruptly as a side door opened in front of them and a big man stepped into the corridor.

He was fat as well as being big in every direction. Well over six feet, with spreading shoulders and a thick torso, he had a huge paunch that hung out over his belt, his eyes were almost hidden by puffy rolls of fat on each cheek, and triple chins overlapping each other beneath an absurdly small and pouting mouth.

He stopped in the center of the wide passageway, filling it to the extent there was scarcely room for a man to pass on either side, and glowered at Grimes and Shayne as they approached.

Grimes slowed uncertainly and said in a placating voice, “Hi, Ollie. This here’s Mr. Shayne from Miami. Chief Hanger, Mr. Shayne. Being in the business himself, Mr. Shayne wants…”

Chief Ollie Hanger snorted loudly, like a sweated horse that has plunged his nose too deeply into a water trough.

“The big city shamus, huh? What’s he suckin’ up to you for, Grimes?”

“Like I was going to say, Chief. He just wants…”

“Well, we don’t want his kind in Brockton. You hear that, Shayne?”

Shayne said, “I hear you all right.” His fists were balled lightly by his sides and a muscle jumped at the left side of his tightened jaw, but his voice was placid.

“Get him out of here, Grimes. We do all right in Brockton without any help from private cops. Better get on out of town, Mister, before John Burke or some of the others like him catch up with you and run you in again.”

Shayne shrugged his own wide shoulders. He said mildly, “Tell Burke and your other tough boys that I’ll be expecting them next time.” He turned abruptly and walked back down the corridor, opened the door into the small side room and went out without looking back.

Fifteen minutes later he was in his car speeding out of town northward toward Orlando.