Free A Taste for Violence by Brett Halliday Page B

don’t know, I tell you!” She covered her face with her hands and began to sob hysterically.
    Jimmy Roche had gone back to the cabinet radio and was leaning upon it. He rushed to Elsa and dropped on his knees beside her chair. “Take it easy,” he muttered. “I’ll throw that brute out. He has no right to come here and say such things to upset you.” He put his arm around her.
    Shayne grinned slowly, went back to his chair and poured a slug of cognac in his glass.
    “I think you’ve caused quite enough trouble, Shayne,” Gerald said, crossing to stand a few feet in front of the detective. “If Jimmy needs any help to throw you out, he won’t have to look far. Eh, Persona?”
    “I’ll say not,” the heavy man bristled indignantly. “We have ways of dealing with troublemakers like you.”
    Elsa’s uncontrollable sobs were loud in the room. Shayne took a sip of cognac from the glass and remained solidly in the chair. “That sounds like a warning,” he mused.
    “Take it any way you want.” Persona was standing over him, his big hands clenching and unclenching angrily. “If you want to stay healthy I advise you to get out of Centerville. Fast.”
    “And I second that advice,” said Seth Gerald coldly.
    Jimmy Roche had pulled Elsa to her feet. She was clinging to him, her face snuggled against his neck, still weeping loudly. He picked her up and carried her from the room.
    Shayne got up, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. A muscle twitched in his deeply trenched right cheek. “I’m not very good at taking advice,” he told the two men slowly. “I’ve found out what I wanted to know when I came here tonight. Remember?” He addressed Seth Gerald directly.
    “I told you,” he went on casually, “I was trying to decide whether to keep the five grand retainer from Roche, or return it. I explained that my decision would depend upon a number of things.”
    “And I told you to keep it,” said Gerald bitterly. “Call it a windfall and let it go at that.” His black eyes were turned toward the door through which Jimmy Roche had carried Elsa.
    “I’ll keep it,” said Shayne decisively. “And I’ll earn it.”
    Persona’s eyes appeared light in his swarthy face. He stood by, shifting them from Shayne to Gerald. He broke in smoothly, “As a special investigator to help build up the case against Brand, why not employ Shayne? AMOK is vitally interested in seeing that Brand doesn’t escape the law. In fact, I hurried here tonight to offer all our resources to see that justice is done.” He rubbed his sweaty palms together, and white teeth showed beneath his black mustache.
    Turning to Shayne, he said, “I’ll be happy to retain you on behalf of AMOK. Would a further five thousand dollar fee interest you? Contingent, of course, on the conviction of Brand.”
    “Suppose George Brand isn’t guilty.” Shayne crushed out a cigarette in the ashtray and didn’t look at. Persona.
    The swarthy man shrugged. “In that case, AMOK would scarcely be interested in retaining you, Mr. Shayne. You can see that our primary interest is in the conviction of Brand.” He dug a long black cigar from his inside coat pocket, lit it, and moved solidly to and fro on his small feet, puffing, turning every three steps, then stopping once more before Shayne.
    “Let’s be realistic about this thing. I believe I recognize in you a man who knows a business proposition when he sees one.”
    Shayne didn’t look up. His cigarette was out, but he kept squashing the burnt end against the bottom of the ashtray. After a time he muttered, “Are you willing to put that offer in writing?” His right hand clasped the cognac glass, but he didn’t lift it. He saw Persona’s short thick body stiffen.
    “Isn’t my word good enough for you?” the swarthy man said indignantly.
    “No. Let us be realistic, Mr. Persona. I do know a business proposition when I hear one.”
    Persona’s white teeth showed again. “Very well. I’m perfectly