Free The Violent World of Michael Shayne by Brett Halliday Page B

to the driver’s side, he misjudged the curb and fell down. He was up again at once, grinning. “They build some tricky sidewalks up here, don’t they?” He slid behind the wheel and toppled over on her. “You and me are going to have a wonderful time.” Seizing her, he kissed her hard. He hadn’t liked the businesslike kiss she had doled out to him, and he made this a real one, keeping his eyes open for any signs of life from the back seat. After a moment he felt her respond. She gasped when he let her go.
    “Mike—Jesus—”
    “What did I tell you?” Shayne said. “I knew you were a swinger.”
    He swayed back to his own side of the seat, snapped on the ignition and started the motor, his head still turned toward her. Her eyes wavered.
    The man behind them didn’t think he had to be careful. Cheryl seized Shayne’s arm and cried, pointing out through the windshield, “Mike, what’s that?”
    He delayed a fraction of a second until his assailant had committed himself to his swing, then thrust the girl away and came up fast, catching the man’s forearm. He jerked it forward and brought it down hard on the steering wheel. He had the wrist in one hand, the elbow in the other, and gave it an extra twist at the moment of impact. He heard the bone break.
    The blackjack fell limply between Shayne and the girl. She screamed, sounding more surprised than frightened. Shayne rammed the automatic transmission into drive and stamped on the gas.
    The second man across the street had left the doorway of the apartment house where he had been waiting. Shayne swung the wheel and headed straight at him, his headlights on full. As Shayne had expected, it was the plump man with the long hair, who had come into the Bijou with Cheryl. The headlights blinded him. He halted, crouching, then darted to one side. Grinning wolfishly, his foot all the way down, Shayne went up on the sidewalk after him. The man whirled. His face had gone dead white. He shouted something, both hands up to ward off the Ford, and leaped into the doorway.
    Shayne hit the brakes. The Ford skidded to a stop with its front bumper sealing the doorway. The man scrabbled frantically at the locked door of the apartment lobby. Shayne threw the transmission into neutral, snatched the blackjack off the floor and was out of the car in one swift fluid motion. He vaulted onto the hood, the blackjack ready. The man’s body contracted as he looked over his shoulder at the powerfully-built redhead above him.
    Cheryl was trying to move the injured thug so she could reach the wheel. Shayne said with quiet authority, “Better not, Cheryl. You only had one chance. Nothing you can do about it now.”
    The man with the broken arm had begun to feel sorry for himself as the pain reached him. Cheryl went on pulling at him. “Damn you, Morrie, get out of the way.”
    Shayne said more sharply, “Don’t you know when something’s gone sour? Cut it out or we’ll have a few broken skulls.” He motioned to the frightened man in the doorway. “Climb over. Don’t hurry. We have lots of time.”
    The man made an effort to recover his composure. Ordinarily his plump cheeks probably gave him a self-satisfied look. He smoothed his hair, gave it a final pat on each side, and stepped up on the bumper.
    “You seem to be under the impression—”
    Shayne slapped the blackjack smartly against his palm. “I’m not the one who made the mistake.”
    “Curt,” the girl called urgently.
    But the plump man hadn’t recovered from the effects of being pinned against the door by Shayne’s Ford. His head was trembling up and down, as though he consented in advance to anything Shayne wanted of him. He slithered across the hood. Shayne patted him under the arms and on the pockets. This was the executive; he wasn’t carrying a weapon.
    There was movement in the front seat. The man the girl had called Morrie was trying to get his gun out with his left hand. The shoulder holster was one of those