The Violent World of Michael Shayne Read Online Free PDF Page B

“was a process server. I have a vast number of creditors, and some of them have begun sending me registered letters, I’m sorry to say. Thank you, Agnes,” she said to the girl. “Better get back to the window. There might still be a few latecomers.”
    “I hope so, Mrs. Smith.”
    Maggie Smith lowered her glasses to read the address on the front of Shayne’s envelope. “Michael Shayne, Miami, Florida.”
    “Are you busy?” Shayne said. “Can the theatre get along without you for half an hour?”
    “I’m not exactly busy, but I’m working in a new actress in the lead, and I have to stay within shouting distance. I think I can squeeze you in backstage.” As they started around the building, Shayne remarked, “How’s business, not so hot?”
    “Business is lousy. We got rave reviews and the few people who’ve seen the play are crazy about it. I hope we can keep it open so it can find its audience.” She glanced at him. “I really doubt if you’d like it.”
    “Thanks,” Shayne said with a grin.
    Her arm grazed his as they turned the corner, and he grounded some of the electricity she was carrying around. He didn’t like what he had heard about her, and for her part, she must have known that he was bringing bad news. Nevertheless, the flow of current continued. It was something she obviously couldn’t help, and she might not even know it was happening. It was simple, uncomplicated sensuality, and Shayne told himself that he had better drop his bomb fast and get the hell back to Miami.
    They went up two steps and through a fire door that had been propped open. A thin actress with green eyelids, puffing almost desperately on a cigarette, flattened herself against the wall to let them pass.
    “Where did you find him, Maggie?” she said.
    “Never you mind. You concentrate on your lines. Don’t hurry them tonight. Those pauses are vital.”
    She took Shayne into a small office, which had barely room enough in it for a littered desk and two chairs. The walls were covered with theatrical posters and autographed photographs. None of the faces in the photographs was familiar to Shayne. If they were famous, it was in a world he knew nothing about.
    She closed the door carefully. “The good thing about this building is that it’s solid. I can yell at you in here and nobody’ll hear me.”
    Shayne cleared a corner of the desk and planted his hip on it. “Yelling won’t help, Mrs. Smith.” He took his unlighted cigarette out of his mouth. “I don’t suppose smoking’s allowed.”
    “Go ahead. It’s against fire regulations, but maybe the best thing I can do for this theatre is burn it down.”
    His lighter flared. She picked a cigarette out of a pack by the phone, and let him light it for her.
    She sat down behind the desk, first moving a small pile of bound typescripts. “If this is blackmail, I don’t see how I can make it worth your while. I’m not just broke. I owe money all over town. Or isn’t it money you want?”
    “I want some cooperation, Mrs. Smith.” He took the envelope from her and tore it into quarters, then dropped them in a heavy glass ashtray and set them on fire. “Is the name of the boat and the name of the guy enough, or do you want the rest of it?”
    “I think I’d better hear a little more,” she said evenly. “Because there’s always a chance you’re bluffing isn’t there?”
    “The man who arranged it was a fixer named Sam Toby. A corporation he was working for wanted a favorable ruling from the Wage-Hour Division in the Labor Department. The cruise lasted nine days. After you got back—”
    “That’s enough,” she said. “I won’t ask you where you got this because I know you wouldn’t tell me. I just hope it’s not in the public domain.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose hard between her thumb and forefinger. “What do you want from me?”
    “I want you to stop seeing Senator Hitchcock.”
    Her eyes opened. “So Trina sent