Free Heads You Lose by Brett Halliday Page B

standing up from a low forehead enhanced the squareness. His upper lip was too short, almost cherubic, but his chin was forceful. His blue eyes twinkled, and as he stood up to greet Shayne effusively, he smoothed his coat down over a hint of a paunch.
    “Well, well, Mr. Shayne, you are very prompt. I like a man to be prompt. I do, indeed.”
    Shayne grinned and pulled up a leather-cushioned chair. He said, “You’re Brannigan, of course?”
    “That’s correct, Mr. Shayne.” He sat down and folded his hands on the glass-topped desk. “You are doubtless familiar with the work of our organization.”
    “Never heard of it,” Shayne said. “It’s a new racket to me.”
    A look of pain flitted over the president’s face. “I’m afraid you have the wrong impression, Mr. Shayne.”
    “It’s new, isn’t it?” Shayne’s gray eyes roved around the immaculate room, taking in the shining newness of everything in the office.
    “We’ve been operating only a short time… yes. But our work certainly cannot be considered a racket. It is, in fact, the exact opposite.”
    Shayne tipped his chair back and crossed his legs. “Just what is your line?”
    “Line? Oh, we don’t carry a line, Mr. Shayne. You see, we are organized to fill a very real need during this period of wartime restrictions. We offer sympathetic counsel and guidance to every motorist who is patriotically co-operating with the Government to conserve gasoline and rubber so vitally needed by our armed forces.” The words rolled sonorously off Brannigan’s tongue.
    Shayne lit a cigarette and tossed the match on the deep, wine-colored rug. “What kind of counsel and guidance?”
    “We show them how to stretch their gasoline allowance in innumerable ways by maintaining a corps of specialists who advise in methods of gasoline conservation. With a legal department which studies the individual problems of our members and makes recommendations toward applications for supplemental allowances. By skilled field workers who assist in the preparation of budgets for essential driving needs. The organization of the share-the-rides clubs among our membership. These are only a few of the services we offer.”
    “Sounds fair enough. But why did you want to see me?”
    Brannigan leaned forward eagerly. “Another service we plan is a drive against all forms of ration racketeering. Every gallon of gasoline and every tire diverted to illicit channels leaves that much less to go around among our membership. We feel it is our duty to ruthlessly stamp out all such practices.”
    “Isn’t that a police job?” Shayne asked. “Or a matter for the FBI?”
    Brannigan laughed indulgently. “I can see you are a very practical man, Shayne. But… you should know how far the local police and the FBI have gone in meeting the problem. Thus far there has not been a single arrest in the city of Miami… yet it is well known that an extensive Black Market exists here. You and I know there is an organized ring of gasoline thieves who bootleg their stolen stuff at an enormous profit. The police seem powerless to stamp it out. And lately…” he paused to give his words emphasis, “… I’ve heard rumors of a counterfeiting ring offering forged ration books for sale.” Brannigan’s eyes were no longer twinkling. They were cold and demanding. “Have you heard any such rumors?”
    Shayne took his cigarette from his mouth and studied the burning tip. He said, “Whether I have or haven’t, how do you propose to use such information?”
    Mr. Brannigan fitted the fingertips of his hands together. “We plan to make that one of the outstanding services of the Motorist Protective Association. With our vastly expanding membership, soon to include every motorist on the Eastern Seaboard, we have an unparalleled opportunity for public service. Each member will be urged to report every person who approaches him with a scheme for rationing violation.”
    “But I still don’t see where I come