Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

The redhead straightened with a snap and jammed with the elbows. The move freed him. When he whirled, he saw Connie peeling back, her face screwed up in a combination of pain and surprise. She sat down hard on the bed, bounced.

Ralph was coming in again from the side, low and off-balance, face contorted. Shayne caught his long hair and flipped him on across the room. Ralph banged into a wall. When he came around, a leg buckled. He went down on one knee. Shayne stood over him, the muzzle of the .45 against the boy’s forehead. The boy became frozen and behind the detective Connie gasped in a broken voice: “God, don’t kill him!”

Shayne snarled, “Tell me about Miami Beach, Ralph!”

Ralph crumbled. “All we wanted was her jewels, her money. Ren figured she’d be heavy. But we didn’t get a dime! She was there on the floor, out cold, and the place stunk. Then...”

“Then?” Shayne pressed.

Ralph took a couple of seconds, and Shayne knew that whatever came next was to be a lie. Ralph was struggling with his thoughts, seeking an out. He reverted, as most liars do: “Look man, Ren had this dame staked out in Vegas. He found out she was leaving town on a little vacation. He found out she was going to Philly, I don’t know how. He called me in to trail her because she’d know him if she spotted him. She took a Philly plane, but she changed in Kansas City, headed down to Miami. Ren was already in Philly, waiting for me to call when I hit town. He had a helluva time getting down to Miami so fast, but he made it. And all we wanted was her green, her jewels. Ren had it figured no dame would travel without money, jewels.

“Anyway, I got her room number at that hotel, we waited a little while to let her get to sleep. That was our plan. We were going to hit her while she was asleep. Not hurt her, just knock her out, then clean out the joint. The only trouble was somebody’d already been there. We couldn’t believe it when we hit her room, but she’d already been cleaned! All we got was a diamond thing off her wrist, then we cut, but Ren didn’t want to go straight back to Vegas for some reason. So we came here. I figured Connie would put us up for a few days.”

“Ralph,” Shayne said coldly, pressing the .45 tighter against the boy’s forehead, “where’s the half million? You aren’t stupid enough to let your brother keep it down there alone in the other motel, are you? He’ll be gone quicker than—”

“What the hell you talking about, man?”

“The half million bucks you two lifted from Melody Deans.”

“You’re putting me on!”

“Am I?”

The boy looked confused. He breathed harshly. “Man, if we’d lifted half a million you think I’d be here?”

“I figure you’re not too heavy on the smarts, Ralph.” Shayne grunted, eased up with the .45 slightly, but he kept the muzzle about an inch from the boy’s left eye. “You said you found Melody Deans out cold on the carpeting.”

“Yeah! And the plaice stunk!”

“Chloroform?”

The boy looked confused again. “I don’t know. What’s chloroform smell like?”

Shayne ignored the question. “How’d you two get inside, Ralph?”

“Well, Ren has these tools. I don’t know what you call them, but they work in door locks. Only we didn’t need them. The door wasn’t locked!”

“Un-huh. Okay, you’re inside and you find a passport, an airline ticket, and—”

“We didn’t find nothing like that, man!”

“But Melody Deans came awake while you were there.” It was a question.

Ralph’s eyes jumped, lighted up for a moment, then died.

“Y-yeah,” he said.

He suddenly sounded very frightened again, and the redhead plunged, “You two threw her from the balcony because she recognized your brother.”

Ralph clamped his lips, remained silent, but he wouldn’t look at the detective now. He began to quiver.

“Ralphie?” Connie said from somewhere behind Shayne. Her voice was soft, held a pleading note. “Tell him you didn’t do it.”

“Shut up!” the boy screamed.

Shayne holstered the .45 and caught a handful of — Ralph’s long hair, yanked him up on his feet.

“Melody Deans recognized your brother,” he repeated in a voice that grated, “and he panicked. He knew she had tough friends in Vegas. He knew he could end up in a desert grave if she said the right Word to the right people. What he didn’t know was that she was on the run and was going underground.”

Ralph looked totally confused.

Connie moved around Shayne, put herself between the boy and the detective. She took Ralph’s face in her hands, tilted up his head. “You’re in trouble, lover,” she said. “Big, bad trouble. But I’ll pick up the pieces, put you back together again — if you’ll let me.”

He broke. He sagged. “Connie-baby,” he said, grasping her biceps, “help me.”

“You turn in your brother to this cop,” she said.

“I’m not a cop,” said Shayne.

Connie Norton turned slowly, stared hard at him. Her eyes danced to the coat bulge.

“Then you’re going to have to kill the both of us,” she said.

“But I’m going to call the cops,” the detective said.