Free Blood on the Stars by Brett Halliday Page B

older. He had a thick black mustache and looked like newspaper photographs of Molotov.
    He said, “What the hell you doing in there?” and put his right hand inside his coat pocket.
    Shayne straightened up and withdrew his hand from the glove compartment. “Sorry,” he said nervously. “Wasn’t anybody around and I didn’t think it’d hurt any to sit here a minute and pretend I was a big shot like the guy that owns this heap.”
    The bulky man stopped beside the car and opened the right door with his left hand. He said, “Get out.” He reached inside and slammed the glove compartment shut. “So you didn’t think it’d hurt any if you snooped, huh?”
    Shayne slid out from behind the wheel and closed the door on his side. The younger man came around the front of the car and looked at him intently. He said excitedly to his companion, “Listen, Blackie. Ain’t this the dick that had his pitcher in the paper last week?”
    Shayne started to turn away, but Blackie caught him by the arm and peered suspiciously at his face. “By God,” he snarled, “you’re right, kid. It’s Mike Shayne. That tough shamus from across the bay. I heard he was back in town lookin ’ for trouble.” His right hand was in his coat pocket. He let go of Shayne’s arm and took a backward step. “Shake ’ im down, kid.”
    Shayne lifted his arms to let the kid shake him down. He said mildly, “I don’t care what you do just so you don’t tell the cops I’m in here getting a busted fender fixed.”
    The kid felt over him carefully and said, “ It’s okay, Blackie. Do you think—?”
    “I think he’s too damned curious,” Blackie said angrily.
    “You can see for yourself.” Shayne nodded toward his sedan. “I can’t go out on the street till that’s fixed.”
    “Had an accident?”
    “Little bust-up on Collins Avenue. You know I don’t stand in with the Beach police, and I’d just as leave not have Painter ask me any questions about that fender and headlight.”
    Blackie’s eyes were narrowed and suspicious. “I’ll just check on that, shamus. Watch him, kid.” He turned aside to a pay telephone against the wall, put in a nickel, and called police headquarters.
    He got the traffic bureau and said, “I’m checking on an accident this evening. Anything reported in the last couple of hours?”
    He listened a moment, hung up, came back with an ugly scowl on his heavy features and both hands planted deep in his pockets.
    “You’re lying, Shayne. What’s the big idea?”
    Shayne shrugged and said, “It could have something to do with a ruby bracelet.”
    The kid’s eyes widened with anxiety. Blackie’s scowl grew deeper yet. He muttered, “Wise guy, huh?”
    “I’m just trying to tell you that I’m back in business and I’ve got the same in with the insurance people that I always had. If you know anybody that’s got a ruby bracelet for sale, I’m ready to make an offer. Just pass the word around. That Mike Shayne is in the market and can be reached at the same old place.”
    “Jeez, Blackie,” said the kid uneasily. “I don’t think—”
    Blackie said, “Keep your trap shut and watch him.” He went back to the telephone and dialed another number. This time he put his mouth close to the mouthpiece and talked in a low mumble which Shayne could not hear.
    He hung up after a time and came back to the detective with a pleased smile on his dark features, pushing his Panama hat up on his forehead.
    Shayne said, “No hard feeling. I don’t blame you—”
    Blackie’s left hand came out of his pocket in a swinging arc. Light was momentarily reflected from a pair of brass knucks before they connected solidly with the side of Shayne’s chin. He went down and out under the smashing impact.

 
Chapter Eight
    WHAT IN HELL GOES ON?
     
    A HEAVY HAND ON SHAYNE’S SHOULDER shook him back to consciousness. He was slumped over the steering-wheel of his own car and moonlight was shining in the window. There was a