Read Online Murder Takes No Holiday by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online
Authors: Brett Halliday
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think—had he seen something in the desk which shouldn’t have been there? He brought his feet down and started through the drawers again.
He found it almost at once: a simple listing of radio programs, torn from a newspaper. Shayne looked at the opposite side and saw an ad for a St. Albans hotel. The listings were given for a half dozen stations in the area, from Havana to Kingston. On that day’s date, a light pencil line had been drawn around 11 p.m. Shayne checked his watch. It was now 10:25.
He closed the drawer thoughtfully and put his feet back on the desk. Taking the cap off the rum, he took another long drink.
Outside, a girl was singing in French, accompanied only by an intricate beat from a hand-drum. This was probably his new friend, Shayne thought. The crowd was quiet; apparently she was wearing the kind of costume, or lack of costume, expected of French entertainers. Her voice was thin and appealing, quavering on the high notes. She was well applauded. As the clapping began to die, the door opened and Alvarez came in, looking at his wrist watch.
He stopped dead as he saw Shayne. His glance jumped from the soles of the redhead’s shoes to the gun beside them, and back at Shayne’s face.
“Come on in,” Shayne told him. He nudged the bottle of rum with one foot. “Have a drink of your own liquor. It’s not bad.”
“Who are you?” Alvarez demanded in a high voice.
“And not only that. What am I doing in your private office without an invitation? Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.” When Alvarez hesitated, Shayne said politely, “Does the gun bother you?”
Leaning forward suddenly, he picked up the .45 and tossed it to the nightclub owner. Caught by surprise, Alvarez dropped it. He snatched it up from the floor and pointed it. The redhead was pleased to see that it wavered slightly.
“But I’ve got the clip,” Shayne said, “so don’t start giving me any orders. Your bar-man may have told you that I’m carrying a modest bankroll. I don’t know how you people operate, but I hear the town is a little warm. So I hope you won’t get any idea about taking it away from me.”
Alvarez checked the gun to see if it was actually empty. He came forward and dropped it on the desk. Then he whipped out a pair of black-rimmed glasses, put them on and stared at Shayne. The redhead grinned at him.
“I want some transportation,” he said. “I didn’t think anybody knew me on St. Albans, but it seems there’s a sheet going around with my picture on it. I want to get back to the States in a hurry. It’s a little cramped here. I’ll go as high as fifteen hundred. Dollars, not pounds.”
Alvarez thrust his glasses back in his pocket. He folded his lips primly, and poured several fingers of rum into the glass Shayne had decided not to use.
“What makes you think—”
“Come on, amigo,” Shayne said impatiently. “What do you want, references?”
Alvarez sloshed the rum around in the bottom of his glass without drinking it. “It is true, I go here and there about the island, I hear of such things being done. People have boats. I have a boat myself. But for fifteen hundred?”
“It’s not like hustling aliens,” Shayne said. “I’m a citizen. Somebody takes me out deep-sea fishing and we get lost. I don’t know what connections you’ve got. Maybe we run into a deep-sea boat out of Miami or Key West, accidentally on purpose. Do I have to draw you a diagram?”
Alvarez looked at his watch again, and his mouth twitched. “I must give this a little thought. Please excuse me for the moment. Watch my excellent international floorshow. Come back in one half hour, and we will discuss it. Of course I will want to know who wants you, and for what. That will have a bearing.”
Shayne stood up with a muffled exclamation. “You’re as jittery as a virgin on her first date. Why I want to go fishing is my own business. Do you want the fifteen hundred or not? If not, say so and I’ll try
He found it almost at once: a simple listing of radio programs, torn from a newspaper. Shayne looked at the opposite side and saw an ad for a St. Albans hotel. The listings were given for a half dozen stations in the area, from Havana to Kingston. On that day’s date, a light pencil line had been drawn around 11 p.m. Shayne checked his watch. It was now 10:25.
He closed the drawer thoughtfully and put his feet back on the desk. Taking the cap off the rum, he took another long drink.
Outside, a girl was singing in French, accompanied only by an intricate beat from a hand-drum. This was probably his new friend, Shayne thought. The crowd was quiet; apparently she was wearing the kind of costume, or lack of costume, expected of French entertainers. Her voice was thin and appealing, quavering on the high notes. She was well applauded. As the clapping began to die, the door opened and Alvarez came in, looking at his wrist watch.
He stopped dead as he saw Shayne. His glance jumped from the soles of the redhead’s shoes to the gun beside them, and back at Shayne’s face.
“Come on in,” Shayne told him. He nudged the bottle of rum with one foot. “Have a drink of your own liquor. It’s not bad.”
“Who are you?” Alvarez demanded in a high voice.
“And not only that. What am I doing in your private office without an invitation? Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.” When Alvarez hesitated, Shayne said politely, “Does the gun bother you?”
Leaning forward suddenly, he picked up the .45 and tossed it to the nightclub owner. Caught by surprise, Alvarez dropped it. He snatched it up from the floor and pointed it. The redhead was pleased to see that it wavered slightly.
“But I’ve got the clip,” Shayne said, “so don’t start giving me any orders. Your bar-man may have told you that I’m carrying a modest bankroll. I don’t know how you people operate, but I hear the town is a little warm. So I hope you won’t get any idea about taking it away from me.”
Alvarez checked the gun to see if it was actually empty. He came forward and dropped it on the desk. Then he whipped out a pair of black-rimmed glasses, put them on and stared at Shayne. The redhead grinned at him.
“I want some transportation,” he said. “I didn’t think anybody knew me on St. Albans, but it seems there’s a sheet going around with my picture on it. I want to get back to the States in a hurry. It’s a little cramped here. I’ll go as high as fifteen hundred. Dollars, not pounds.”
Alvarez thrust his glasses back in his pocket. He folded his lips primly, and poured several fingers of rum into the glass Shayne had decided not to use.
“What makes you think—”
“Come on, amigo,” Shayne said impatiently. “What do you want, references?”
Alvarez sloshed the rum around in the bottom of his glass without drinking it. “It is true, I go here and there about the island, I hear of such things being done. People have boats. I have a boat myself. But for fifteen hundred?”
“It’s not like hustling aliens,” Shayne said. “I’m a citizen. Somebody takes me out deep-sea fishing and we get lost. I don’t know what connections you’ve got. Maybe we run into a deep-sea boat out of Miami or Key West, accidentally on purpose. Do I have to draw you a diagram?”
Alvarez looked at his watch again, and his mouth twitched. “I must give this a little thought. Please excuse me for the moment. Watch my excellent international floorshow. Come back in one half hour, and we will discuss it. Of course I will want to know who wants you, and for what. That will have a bearing.”
Shayne stood up with a muffled exclamation. “You’re as jittery as a virgin on her first date. Why I want to go fishing is my own business. Do you want the fifteen hundred or not? If not, say so and I’ll try
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