He walked off toward the cockpit. George stayed where he was, undecided, until Shayne said sharply, “You’ll hear about it later. I like to play one-on-one.”
When he was gone, Naomi said quietly, “Are you a policeman?”
“A private detective. That gives me some leeway.”
“Mike Shayne,” she said. “Yes. I’ve seen your name in the papers. You said something about a percentage. A percentage of what?”
Shayne said sardonically, “Of whatever you’re carrying. I don’t look on smuggling as such a terrible crime. It’s in the same class as padding expense accounts. I do that. So does everybody. I’ve been known to accept an informer’s fee, but I never like the idea. Ten percent isn’t much when you think of the haggling you have to go through to get it. If you do it too often, you lose friends. I really ought to hit you for fifteen but the hell with it-ten percent of the U.S. price in dollars. For that I’ll throw in some service.”
“What do you mean by service?”
“Don’t you realize that this is more or less in the public domain by now? Somebody did some talking. I may not be the only one who’s heard about it, and that means you could have trouble making delivery. I’ll help.”
“Very generous.”
“Not at all,” Shayne said wolfishly. “You’ll be paying for it in dollars.”
She took off her glasses, and immediately looked more feminine. She had a clean-lined dancer’s body. She tapped her clipboard with the rim of her glasses.
“What sort of trouble do you anticipate, Mr. Shayne?”
“Shooting,” he said briefly.
Her eyes came to his face and jumped away. “You know your informant may have been talking nonsense?”
Shayne shrugged. “Then I’ll have a two-week vacation. I can use a little time off. Of course, I’ll have to call in the customs people to shake down the plane.”
The pilot’s voice boomed out of the loudspeakers. They would be over the St. Albans landing field in five minutes. Landing conditions were excellent. The seat-belt and no-smoking signs went on.
Naomi put on her glasses. “It was naive of me to try to draw you out. I don’t seem to have gained anything by it. But I’m in charge of this tour, and I want everything to run smoothly. You’ve already alarmed us all by dropping your gun. Please keep it out of sight. As for these hints about smuggling-”
She looked at him narrowly. “You can go to hell! I’m sorry, but the situation seems to call for a little profanity. I’ve heard about people who smuggle cars and appliances into South America, but I truly doubt if we have a single refrigerator or washing machine aboard. This whole thing has the earmarks of a practical joke.”
Shayne laughed.
“I know we’re probably a little square, in your terms,” she went on. “Twenty countries in fifteen days-I’m well aware that it’s preposterous. How much can we see in fifteen days? But look at it from the other side for a minute. Most of the people on the tour have only a two-week vacation, and they may never have another chance to see any of South America. We give them their money’s worth. They end up with a great deal of exposed film and some insight into the immensity and the variety of the continent. So don’t try to sharpen your claws on us any more, Mr. Shayne. Let us enjoy ourselves in our own way.”
“You do a good job, baby,” Shayne assured her. “Talk it over with George. I’ll keep the offer open till tomorrow morning.”
The plane was being steered into its berthing slot. Shayne unfastened his belt and started up the aisle. From Naomi’s clipboard he had learned that the leathery man sitting alone was listed as J. Moss.
“I think I know you,” he said, stopping. “Your name wouldn’t be Moss, would it?”
“On the nose,” the man said calmly. He held out his hand. “I’ve got a lousy memory for faces, so you’ll have to excuse me.”
“Mike Shayne, from Miami. This is all beginning to close in on me. My girl wants to go sightseeing, but I plan to head for the nearest bar. Somehow you don’t look like somebody who’s interested in churches. If you feel like joining me in sampling some of that local rum-”
“Maybe later,” Moss said. “My company’s put me in charge of South American sales, and I’m supposed to get the feel of the territory. Crazy idea, but I do what they tell me.”
“What do you sell?”
“Vacuum cleaners,” Moss said readily, in a way that showed he didn’t care whether Shayne believed the story or not. “And how many people are there in Latin America who can afford even our stripped-down model? Ask me a year from now and I may be able to tell you.”
He laughed at Shayne’s skeptical look. “All right-who am I kidding? That’s what I’m supposed to say if anybody asks me. The travel agency wants to borrow some money from the bank I work for, and I’m taking a look at their operation. It’s all supposed to be very hush-hush, a lot of crap in my opinion. They probably have an identification on me by now, but don’t tell anybody.”
He laughed again.
As Shayne went on, a woman passenger exploded into the aisle in front of him, stamping her foot.
“Cramp,” she gasped, her face contorted.
She hopped up and down in agony. After a moment she leaned down tentatively and started massaging her calf. Then the cramp returned and she was dancing again.
“Wouldn’t you know?” She looked up at Shayne, towering above her. “If I try to reach it, it starts again. Would you be willing to-”
Beyond, Shayne saw Christa regarding him with amusement. Without the cramp in her leg, the woman would have been impossible to tell from the other unattached ladies in the group. She was pushing forty, with brownish hair pulled back in a knot. She had a plain, earnest face, with a broad mouth and a heavy jaw. She was hung with photographic equipment.
“Push your heel down,” Shayne said. “Put your weight on it.”
She screwed up her mouth. “It-doesn’t seem to help.”
Shayne squatted on his heels and gripped her chunky left calf in both hands. She was wearing black net stockings. To his surprise, he found the leg smooth and unknotted.
She was squeezing his shoulder hard. Leaning down over him, she whispered fiercely, “Something to tell you. Important. Important! Arrange something.”
Her camera, swinging, banged the back of his head. Aloud, she exclaimed, “That’s better! Lovely. Knead it like that. You’ve got it. Now just a brief second more.”
When Shayne straightened, she took a trial step. “Vanquished! You have wonderful hands.”
“Feel free to call on me at any time.”
“Watch out-maybe I will! No, seriously-it comes on when I sit too long in a certain position. Thanks so much. My name’s Mary Ocain.”
Shayne introduced himself and went on. Christa gave him a quizzical look.
“Doctor, my leg is starting to stiffen up. Do you think you could-”
“In public?”
“No, on second thought I think I can wait.”
Shayne lowered his voice. “Do you know her?”
Christa shrugged slightly. “She had me take a picture of her looking up at the nose of the airplane. She’s nobody, as far as I know-a schoolteacher.”
CHAPTER 7
Shayne and Christa conferred briefly in the room they were given in the big new St. Albans Hilton. Alone, Christa was curt and businesslike, with none of the playfulness she had displayed on the plane. He went back to the lobby to put in a call to Tim Rourke in Miami, using a public phone so it wouldn’t go through the switchboard.
“You’re hot, as usual, Mike,” Rourke told him. “People saw you at the airport. You may remember I thought it would be a good idea to wear a beard. Dark glasses aren’t enough.”
“Do they know what plane I took?”
“Not yet. Painter’s been pestering me, as you can imagine. I told him you said something about having to leave for California on short notice, but I’m not sure he believed me.”
“What did the M. E. say about LeFevre?”