Blood on Biscayne Bay Read Online Free PDF Page A

gambler’s cigarette stopped a couple of inches from his parted lips. His hand was steady. A slight widening of his strangely pale eyes was his only indication of surprise. He said, “Come again.”
    “Mrs. Hudson’s IOU for ten thousand. I want it.”
    “The hell you do.” His lips smiled in faint amusement as he placed the cigarette between them.
    “Make it easy on yourself,” said Shayne casually. His hand darted out and caught up the .45. It was a double-action Colt. He broke it and pressed the plunger that dropped six cartridges into his palm. He pocketed the cartridges and laid the empty gun back on the desk.
    Barbizon, leaning back comfortably in his chair, did not move, but murderous rage glittered in his eyes. He said, “You’ve got a way of making yourself at home.”
    “I’ll take that marker,” Shayne growled.
    “Is this a pay-off?”
    “It’s a brush-off,” Shayne told him easily. He held out a broad palm. “Give.”
    The gambler’s hand trembled when he tried to put the cigarette to his lips again. He ground it savagely in an ash tray.
    “You can’t get away with this,” he said in a low and furious voice.
    “My friends who are waiting for me,” Shayne told him quietly, “are an ex-cop and a newspaper reporter. We’ll do a job on this place if you want it that way.”
    Barbizon drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. “How do you figure in it?”
    “Christine Hudson is a friend of mine,” Shayne told him. “She’s in a jam and I’m getting her out of it.”
    Barbizon’s eyes narrowed a trifle. “What makes you think I’ve got a thing like that here?”
    “The pay-off was set for tonight. Here.”
    The gambler shrugged his padded shoulders, leaned forward and opened a drawer on the right-hand side of his desk. He took a key ring from his pocket and inserted a flat key in the lock of a long steel box. The top jumped open. He reached inside and drew out a doubled sheet of heavy note paper. His only expression was complete boredom as he pushed the paper toward Shayne.
    Shayne unfolded it. Engraved across the top was “Mrs. Leslie Hudson, 139 Magnolia Lane, Miami Beach, Florida.” Below, written in blue ink, in a firm and clear handwriting, was “IOU $10,000.” It was signed, “Mrs. Leslie Hudson.”
    Shayne studied it for a moment, then ripped it into thin shreds and dropped them into his coat pocket. He stood up and said, “Thanks.” Turning his back on Barbizon he went to the door, unbolted it, and walked out into the empty corridor.
    He returned to the gaming room and stopped just inside the door to look around.
    Business had picked up since be left. Two blackjack games had started, and another crap table was going strong. At the roulette table, he saw Timothy Rourke standing beside the frizzled blonde with the expensive perfume and the dress that did not fit her. He didn’t see the stocky man who had come in with her.
    The blonde was pressed close to Rourke and talking earnestly to him.
    After studying the crowd carefully and not seeing Angus Browne, Shayne stalked across to the door leading into the cocktail lounge. The lounge was filled with people and with cigarette smoke and loud talk. He strolled slowly along the bar, but neither Angus Browne nor the blonde’s earlier companion were present.
    In the checkroom he got his hat, went down the stone steps to the curb where the doorman was assisting a couple from a chauffeured limousine. When the big car pulled away, Shayne asked the doorman, “Any chance of getting a cab?”
    “As soon as one comes in with a load, sir. There’s one turning in now.”
    Shayne stepped back when the taxi pulled up. A young sailor and a very young girl got out. They were both quite drunk. They refused the doorman’s assistance, and staggered away arm in arm. The doorman nodded to Shayne, who started toward the empty cab.
    “Cab! Cab!” A shrill voice called from the top of the stone steps. The blonde was running toward the taxi,