Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine Annual, No. 3, 1973

She put on the belt and skirt, slid hose onto her legs, found spiked-heel shoes. And Doctor Samuel Herchenfelder surprised her again when she reentered the main room. She thought she saw more approval in his eyes for the skirt than she had seen for the yellow Capris.

He had cleansed her saucer and refilled her cup. She sipped the coffee. There was the knock on the door.

“Yes?” she called out.

“Breakfast, ma’am.”

As she hesitated, the lock clicked and the door opened.

A middle-aged man, neat in a business suit and hat, stood on the threshold. The man held a large gun in his left hand. The muzzle of the gun was pointed straight at her middle. The man smiled briefly, touched the brim of his hat.

“Well, hello!” He entered the suite, moving Desiree back. His eyes swung to the scientist. The muzzle of the gun swung to the scientist. The man grinned. “Hi, Doc.”

Desiree waited for the boom of the large gun. She wanted to scream. But the boom did not come. The man said, “Easy, folks. Nobody gets hurt. We’re going to take a little ride, that’s all. My name is Gerald.”

He gave Desiree a crooked grin. “You, sister. Face the wall. Hands against the plaster. Lean. There’s a couple of things I want to check.”

She obeyed. Gerald examined her thoroughly with his free hand. She suffered through the indignities.

“Okay, Miss Fleming,” he finally said with a chuckle. “Stand free. I wish we had some like you on our side.” The chuckle took on brief stature.

And that’s when Sam made his move. Desiree saw him telegraph it. He took time to swell before stepping toward Gerald. Gerald’s move was quick as lightning. He lashed out with his free hand and the back of that hand slammed against Sam’s ear, sending the scientist reeling. Sam fell to his knees at the couch. Desiree drew a breath, but Gerald hissed at her, “Don’t!”

She stood her ground.

Gerald snapped, “The two of you listen good. We’re walking out of here. We’re going downstairs nice and easy like. We’re leaving the hotel. There’s a waiting car. It can be done with or without bloodshed. Take your choice. Let’s move.”

Desiree fell in beside Sam in the corridor. He had a hand cupped against his ear and every few seconds he shook his head. “Bells?” asked Desiree.

Sam said nothing. Gerald walked slightly behind them. Desiree glanced at him. He was smiling confidently. The gun was out of sight. “Just keep walking nice and easy, Miss Fleming.”

Desiree was puzzled. Why hadn’t Gerald killed both of them?

They rode the elevator down and started across the lobby. People cluttered the huge open area. No one seemed to pay any particular attention to them. Desiree wondered if Gerald would kill her in public. She veered off to her left. Gerald again showed deftness.

He flicked a foot between her ankles, sent her sprawling. She doubted if anyone in the entire lobby saw that foot upend her, but she was sprawled and Gerald was squatted on one side of her while Sam hovered on the other side.

“Desiree, are you hurt?” Sam seemed genuinely concerned and she took some consolation in that.

Then Gerald was hissing in her ear, “That was a foolish move, Miss Fleming.” She felt fingers at the back of her neck. The fingers belonged to an expert. The fingers were against nerves. The fingers squeezed.

She didn’t pass out, but she was numbed. She couldn’t move. The two men helped her to her feet and she was conscious of the curious faces crowding around them. Then she heard Gerald placating the faces.

“It’s all right, folks. The little lady had a dizzy spell. Some fresh air will fix her up just fine. Now if you folks right here will just let us through, please. That’s it. Thank you, thank you—”

They left the hotel lobby, crossed a crowded sidewalk that was bathed in brilliant sunshine and Desiree was put into the back seat of a new sedan. Gerald told Sam to get in up front beside the driver, an olive-colored man with sharp features and the wire of a hearing aid dangling from his left ear. Then Gerald joined Desiree. He no longer was smiling. “Sister, you should be dead. Roll, Frank.”

Desiree Fleming wondered why she wasn’t. Both she and Sam. Why they were not deeply puzzled her.

They were taken to a plush motel near an edge of the city. Gerald escorted them into a large unit. Desiree heard the sedan move away. She inventoried the expensive furnishings. She listened hard. She would have accepted almost any sound.

She had expected to be greeted by people. Gerald’s friends. But there seemed to be no one. Two open doors ahead of her showed off bedrooms. There was a third door. To her left. It was closed.

Behind Desiree, Gerald called out, “Marnie?”

The closed door opened. A woman stood framed. She looked any age between forty and fifty-five, a preserved woman with a good figure. Her hair was blue rinse and piled high on top of her head. Her skin was smooth, contained a pinkish tint. Her face had been made up by an expert. A tiny smile played at the corners of her painted lips. She looked like a woman who never frowned.