Free Murder Spins the Wheel by Brett Halliday Page B

“thanks.”
    “Oh, that’s not all she said,” Mrs. Naples told him, sparkling.
    In age, she fell almost exactly between Al Naples and Vince Donahue. Shayne could see a network of lines at the corners of her eyes, not quite concealed by careful makeup, but she was still a striking woman. The low-cut dress showed off both a first-class figure and a first-class diamond necklace.
    “Baby,” Al Naples said, leaning forward to speak across Shayne. “Turn around and talk to Stupid. This is one of those things you better not listen to. They think we pulled a fast one on them with the horse, how do you like that?” He laughed with satisfaction. “What do you want me to do, Shayne, send Doc to night school? He’s supposed to be a pro. Where I come from, when somebody outsmarts you, you don’t whine about it. Let him sweat.”
    The waiter slipped Shayne’s drink deftly onto the table. The redhead picked it up.
    “He’s sweating,” he said. “This comes at a bad time for him. He had to call on Harry Bass, and Harry went into the sock for two hundred grand. Then somebody stuck him up and he lost it.”
    Shayne was watching Naples closely. His surprise seemed real. He took the cigar out of his mouth and gave another of his sudden hoots of laughter.
    “You people seem to have a lot of crime down here.”
    “And there’s a theory around that the stickup was your idea.”
    Naples’ manner became more careful. “What crap.”
    “I agree, but you can see how they figure.” Shayne revolved the wineglass between his fingers. “You put a lot of thought into setting up your mare this afternoon. The same kind of planning went into this stickup. Naturally Harry and Doc are wondering if it was part of the same deal.” He was addressing himself to Naples, but from the tension in Mrs. Naples’ bare tanned shoulder, he knew she was listening. “When you were the big man in Chicago, did anybody ever rob you?”
    “You mean personally? Hell, no. There was one nut once, he wanted to get his name in the papers. When they checked up on him, it turned out he was on parole from the booby hatch.”
    “That’s what I mean,” Shayne said. “It’s the same with Harry. You don’t stick up Harry Bass in Miami unless it’s one of two things. Either you don’t give a damn or you want to make the Number One man look bad.”
    The ball player, returning from the dance floor, put his hands on Shayne from behind. “Mike! You look great. The climate agrees with you.”
    Naples spoke the ball player’s name coldly. “We’re talking.”
    “Al, I didn’t realize!”
    He patted Shayne’s shoulder and moved out of earshot.
    Naples sighted at the redhead over his long cigar. “I’ve been hitting the booze ever since the third race, and I’m half-smashed. I want you to come right out with it so I’m sure I get it.”
    “Sure,” Shayne said, still twirling the cognac glass. “What part of it didn’t you understand?”
    “Will you drink that drink, for Christ’s sake, or put it down? Why would I want to make Harry look bad? He’s my type of guy.”
    Shayne drank off half his cognac. “I don’t know how much you’ve seen of him lately. He’s got a new girl and a new car and he’s been investing his money. He bought into a bank, for one thing. Some of his people don’t like it.”
    “Why not buy a bank?” Naples said, puzzled. “There’s good dough in banks. I’ve got thirty percent of a bank in Indiana.”
    “They think he’s losing interest in breaking the law. According to Doc, that’s the feeling all over town. The idea is that this would be a good time for somebody to move in and take over.”
    “Don’t look at me,” Naples said. “I’ve got a suite with a terrace. I sit out on the terrace and watch the sea gulls.”
    Shayne grinned skeptically.
    Naples admitted, “OK, when you’ve seen one sea gull you’ve seen them all. Since I was a kid I’ve been on the jump, and sitting still all of a