Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 11, November 1982

McCord scooped up their guns. Shayne took them both, checked them, then pitched one to the industrialist. He put McCord on the right flank. He took the left and led them to the pine grove where Tim lay. Harrow and Phelps picked up the reporter and, holding him in a fireman’s carry, transported him to the Rolls Royce.

The detective then crept back to the bridge with Stokes and McCord. When he and the ex-electronics entrepreneur had positioned themselves, he signalled McCord to step into the first light.

Hesitantly McCord did as he was told. The two soldiers saw him simultaneously and turned. While they were momentarily off-guard, Shayne struck, swinging the Uzi into one’s face. The other guard pivoted toward Shayne. As he did, the formerly scared Jerry Stokes crowned him with a piece of driftwood. Hit for the second time in a short while, the guard dropped as though shot.

Shayne tied them up as he had the earlier two in the building. It had taken only a few minutes and it had been accomplished in silence. Harrow gave him the high sign. The keys had been left in the Silver Ghost, and the group was ready to roll. Harrow, Stokes, and Phelps lifted Tim into the rear seat and then crowded into the jump seat of the limo.

“Still want to wait?” Shayne asked McCord.

For a moment the industrialist looked a bit indecisive. Then he raised the Uzi and pointed it at Shayne.

“This has gone too far to stop,” glared McCord.

“Edward, what are you doing?” questioned the actor.

“Put down the gun, man,” said Phelps. “We’ve got to get out of here. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“He knows exactly what he’s doing,” the detective said. “You don’t think Remaley had the brains to figure this thing out?”

“Raoul, Remaley,” called out McCord. “Get out here quick before it all goes down the tubes.”

“It’s already down,” said Shayne calmly walking toward the gun pointed at his gut. “Go ahead and fire.”

Cornered, McCord pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“I removed the clip when we took those guns from the guards.”

“How did you know?” asked McCord.

Remaley and Raoul came racing down the path. The cigar-smoker was carrying a gun while Remaley was unarmed.

“Drop it, Raoul,” Shayne commanded.

Raoul had only lifted the gun from his waist when Shayne opened up. One blast threw the charging soldier up against a tall pine, the dark, wet liquid staining his green fatigues. Remaley surrendered instantly.

“We’ve still got to hurry,” urged Phelps. “The other soldiers will hear the shots—”

“There aren’t any other soldiers,” said the detective.

“Remaley counted at least twenty,” reminded Harrow.

“Yeah,” countered the redhead, “but we only had his word for it. I was all over this island and never saw more than five.”

“But Alpha Red?” pressed Stokes.

“There’s no such thing as Alpha Red. McCord simply made the group up. Yesterday his daughter told me he gave his help some time off — in the middle of the week! So a bunch of gardeners and house-boys become weekday warriors, complete with guard dogs.”

“But why?” Harrow was as puzzled as the rest.

“McCord here didn’t plan for his retirement as well as the rest of you. His daughter suggested as much when she told me he cut off her allowance. Mangrove Key was going to be his goldmine, but he ran out of funds.”

“I was desperate,” admitted the industrialist. “I knew I couldn’t con all of you.”

“They’d have grown as suspicious as I did,” said the detective. “There’s only one building up, and who can build a resort community with only one bulldozer? That’s why I gave McCord the unloaded gun. I had my suspicions, but I had to be sure.”

“But, Edward,” said Harrow, “we ate at each other’s table, we shared our lives for the last year. If you were in trouble, why didn’t you ask for help?”

“You weren’t my friends,” spat out McCord. “You never really accepted me. I just wasn’t in your league financially. Then, the risky investments I made trying to keep up with you turned sour. I knew with the ransom money I could continue to travel in your circles, maybe get some respect.”

Stokes, who had been silent throughout the entire revelation, stepped toward McCord. “One thing, Edward. You wouldn’t really have... killed us after you got the money... would you?”

McCord’s silence confirmed what Shayne had told them earlier.

Though Tim had been in the Venice Hospital for only one day, the rumpled sheets and soiled gown suggested to Shayne that he had already made it his home.

“I don’t know if I can take a week in this place, Mike. Are you sure you can’t help me escape?” joked the Irishman.

“You need the rest,” said Shayne, “and besides you have three millionaires picking up the tab. You said you wanted a little rest and relaxation — enjoy it.”

“I’ve never seen people so grateful.”

The big detective waved it off. “It’s not what I did for them so much as what they found out they could still do for themselves. I had them underestimated. When the chips were down, those guys had a lot of guts.”

“There’s only one thing that would make this occasion perfect,” said Rourke.