Read Online Pay-Off in Blood by Brett Halliday - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brett Halliday
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woman leaning over a desk with a metal strongbox in her hands.
She screamed and they went to the floor together, and the metal box clattered against the wall. Shayne was on top of her for a moment, and was conscious of soft, warm, womanly flesh beneath him, and he got a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams and as he rolled off he heard Timothy Rourke exclaim in astonishment, “Belle! Miss Jackson. What in the living hell are you doing here?”
Shayne sat up and blinked at her. Belle Jackson was quite a hunk of woman. She lay on her side with her skirt riding high up on thick but beautifully formed thighs, and her big breasts were heaving, and the panicked look slowly went away from her face as it was replaced by an expression of recognition.
She said, “Mr. Rourke ! Whatever in the world?” She pushed herself up to a sitting position, glanced down at her exposed thighs and modestly tugged the hem of her skirt down, and looked at Shayne accusingly. “If you’re a friend of Mr. Rourke’s …?” There was acid in her tone.
Shayne sat there on the floor in front of her and clasped his arms about his knees and began laughing helplessly. She was about forty, with a well-fleshed, un-lined face, and soft, blue eyes that were so righteously indignant that it seemed to him the most ludicrous moment he had ever known in his life. As he continued to laugh, he heard her voice going on severely, “Really, Mr. Rourke ! You and your friend might have knocked. This is a private office and it’s closed, you know.”
And he heard Rourke moving over to her, and his voice was soothing. “We thought it was a murderer in here, Belle.” He choked back his laughter and opened his eyes to see Rourke gallantly offering his hand to assist her to get up. The reporter looked down at him and explained, “This is Dr. Ambrose’s nurse. Miss Jackson.”
She got to her feet with a sort of flounce, and settled her skirt down over her hips. She looked down at Shayne doubtfully and repeated, “A murderer?” and then her placid face fell apart and she wailed, “Doctor’s dead, Mr. Rourke . He’s de-ad! Oh, Mr. Rourke !” And her big body wilted and she collapsed against him, sobbing convulsively.
Shayne figured she must weigh at least thirty or forty pounds more than the emaciated reporter, and he got to his feet hastily before she overwhelmed him with her blubbering weight.
He slid one arm around her quivering shoulders and pulled her away from Rourke , turned her about to face him and deliberately slapped her face—hard. She choked over her sobs and looked at him blankly. He put both hands on her well-fleshed shoulders and shook her roughly.
“Come out of it, Belle. I’m Mike Shayne. A detective. How do you know Doctor Ambrose is dead?”
“I heard it on the TV. I couldn’t believe it… and then…”
“And then what?” Shayne shook her again.
Her head lolled back loosely. She had corn-colored hair that was woven into two heavy braids on each side of her head and twisted together in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her soft blue eyes were glazed over for a moment, and she wasn’t seeing him.
“I knew what I had to do,” she said slowly speaking with great precision. “Doctor had told me what I must do if that ever happened. So I called a taxi and came straight down here to get the box from the bottom drawer of his desk like he always said to do if anything happened to him.
“But it was lying on the floor, open and empty when I got here. I was too late to even do that last thing for him. Oh, God! I got here too late.”
Shayne shook her again. “What was in the box, Belle?”
“I don’t know. He never said. Just that I was to take it away locked and get rid of it. ‘Throw it in the ocean,’ he said. I don’t know.” She wailed, awareness creeping back into her eyes. “I just knew I should do it.”
Shayne stood with his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes for a long moment. He had a feeling
She screamed and they went to the floor together, and the metal box clattered against the wall. Shayne was on top of her for a moment, and was conscious of soft, warm, womanly flesh beneath him, and he got a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams and as he rolled off he heard Timothy Rourke exclaim in astonishment, “Belle! Miss Jackson. What in the living hell are you doing here?”
Shayne sat up and blinked at her. Belle Jackson was quite a hunk of woman. She lay on her side with her skirt riding high up on thick but beautifully formed thighs, and her big breasts were heaving, and the panicked look slowly went away from her face as it was replaced by an expression of recognition.
She said, “Mr. Rourke ! Whatever in the world?” She pushed herself up to a sitting position, glanced down at her exposed thighs and modestly tugged the hem of her skirt down, and looked at Shayne accusingly. “If you’re a friend of Mr. Rourke’s …?” There was acid in her tone.
Shayne sat there on the floor in front of her and clasped his arms about his knees and began laughing helplessly. She was about forty, with a well-fleshed, un-lined face, and soft, blue eyes that were so righteously indignant that it seemed to him the most ludicrous moment he had ever known in his life. As he continued to laugh, he heard her voice going on severely, “Really, Mr. Rourke ! You and your friend might have knocked. This is a private office and it’s closed, you know.”
And he heard Rourke moving over to her, and his voice was soothing. “We thought it was a murderer in here, Belle.” He choked back his laughter and opened his eyes to see Rourke gallantly offering his hand to assist her to get up. The reporter looked down at him and explained, “This is Dr. Ambrose’s nurse. Miss Jackson.”
She got to her feet with a sort of flounce, and settled her skirt down over her hips. She looked down at Shayne doubtfully and repeated, “A murderer?” and then her placid face fell apart and she wailed, “Doctor’s dead, Mr. Rourke . He’s de-ad! Oh, Mr. Rourke !” And her big body wilted and she collapsed against him, sobbing convulsively.
Shayne figured she must weigh at least thirty or forty pounds more than the emaciated reporter, and he got to his feet hastily before she overwhelmed him with her blubbering weight.
He slid one arm around her quivering shoulders and pulled her away from Rourke , turned her about to face him and deliberately slapped her face—hard. She choked over her sobs and looked at him blankly. He put both hands on her well-fleshed shoulders and shook her roughly.
“Come out of it, Belle. I’m Mike Shayne. A detective. How do you know Doctor Ambrose is dead?”
“I heard it on the TV. I couldn’t believe it… and then…”
“And then what?” Shayne shook her again.
Her head lolled back loosely. She had corn-colored hair that was woven into two heavy braids on each side of her head and twisted together in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her soft blue eyes were glazed over for a moment, and she wasn’t seeing him.
“I knew what I had to do,” she said slowly speaking with great precision. “Doctor had told me what I must do if that ever happened. So I called a taxi and came straight down here to get the box from the bottom drawer of his desk like he always said to do if anything happened to him.
“But it was lying on the floor, open and empty when I got here. I was too late to even do that last thing for him. Oh, God! I got here too late.”
Shayne shook her again. “What was in the box, Belle?”
“I don’t know. He never said. Just that I was to take it away locked and get rid of it. ‘Throw it in the ocean,’ he said. I don’t know.” She wailed, awareness creeping back into her eyes. “I just knew I should do it.”
Shayne stood with his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes for a long moment. He had a feeling
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