A young girl from Orlando named Jeanette Henderson a month ago. A young attorney from Orlando last Thursday night. A girl who looked enough like Jeanette’s sister to be her double also last Thursday night. And last night a pair of cold-blooded killers named Gene and Mule assaulting Michael Shayne in a bar where no one could possibly have known he would be, dragging him out to their car and driving out onto a deserted country road to stage another “accident.” But for the grace of God and by virtue of an exceedingly hard head, he would have been the fourth “accident” victim within a month in Brockton.
Entirely too damned many accidents!
On an impulse, Shayne downed his drink and turned to the telephone book again. Luckily, he found only one Grimes listed, and he asked the switchboard for his number.
While he waited, he thought back to the scene of his arrest last night, and to the mock trial before Judge Grayson that morning. Grimes was the older cop who had stayed in the patrol car until his younger partner had succeeded in badgering Shayne into protesting his arrest. Not until Burke had called for help, had Grimes inserted himself into the situation.
And in court the older policeman had grinned at him with a twinkle in his eye when Shayne apologized for the trouble he had made. There were several things Shayne needed from the official police records, and if Grimes could be a pipeline…
A woman’s cheerful voice came over the line, “Hello?”
“Is Mr. Grimes there?”
“He is that. Hold on while I call him.” He heard her voice raised loudly. “George! Somebody wants you on the telephone.”
There was a brief wait and then a thick voice, “Yeh? Whosit calling?”
“A guy who promised to buy you a drink this morning.”
“Yeh?” Grimes’ voice was incredulous. “I don’t get it. Who’d you say?”
“In police court this morning. Mike Shayne from Miami.”
“Oh, hey! Sure.” Grimes chuckled deeply. “You still around? I made sure you’d had plenty of Brockton law.”
“I’m still around. And I did get away with the price of a drink. Wondered if you could join me for a couple?”
“Well, say, sure.” Grimes sounded pleased and he lowered his voice. “I don’t go on duty till four. Whereabouts?”
“You name it. I’m a stranger here myself.”
“Where you now?”
“The Manor Hotel.”
“There’s a little place down the street toward the station. Harry’s Hangout. Meet you there in twenty minutes?”
Shayne said, “It’s a date,” and hung up. He rubbed his jaw and decided he had lime to shave before meeting Grimes, and went swiftly into the bathroom.
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.”