Six Seconds to Kill Page 4

  Shayne snarled, “Get the hell out of the way.”

  “No, no,” she said in great excitement, pointing. She poured out an explanation in Spanish.

  “What’s she saying?”

  “I think—” Adele said. “She says somebody did something to the wheels.”

  “Las ruedas!”

  Shayne snapped off the ignition and stepped out. The woman subsided gradually, but went on pointing and nodding. The truck was now out of sight. Shayne went into his luggage compartment for a tire tool, and pried off a rear hubcap.

  A lug-nut was missing. He tested the other nuts. They had been loosened to the point where the threads barely engaged.

  The woman was still pouring out a flood of Spanish. Adele said: “She was waiting for a doctor and she looked out the window. That same kid in the shorts was fooling around your car. Stealing hubcaps, she thought, not such a terrible crime. Then he put them back on. When he went back to his truck she saw that he was carrying that four-handled wrench you use to change tires. It’s not just that one wheel, it’s all four.”

  While she talked, the woman nodded happily, continuing to point at the sabotaged wheels and at the window from which she had seen it all happen. Shayne checked the other wheels. A number of nuts were missing. The rest were loose. Probably they would have held through the lower gears, but the first time he tried to corner at a high speed he would have thrown a wheel.

  “Tell her we’re glad she was looking out the window,” Shayne said, tightening the remaining nuts. “Otherwise we’d be hearing ambulance sirens about now.”

  Adele shivered. “That thought already crossed my mind.”

  She spoke to the woman, who sobered abruptly and sketched a quick sign of the cross.

  “She says St. Christopher must be looking out for us,” Adele said.

  “Let’s hope it keeps up.”

  The woman clasped him impulsively. Adele translated: “She says her husband, too, was a large man, with the same powerful arms, though not with red hair. He left her last year for a younger woman.”

  “Can you wind this up, Adele?”

  After a further exchange, the woman stood aside and they got back into the car. As they drove off, Adele sighed and fastened her seat belt.

  “That scared me. I’d like to know how they knew. I suppose that bang we heard—”

  “Just a feint to get us moving. The timing was pretty good.”

  “Like—wow,” she said. “We could have been killed!”

  He drove north toward the river, and stopped at a garage on West Flagler. He bought Cokes at an outside dispenser and they stood in the shade while a mechanic checked the wheels. Adele kept looking at her watch.

  “The time element, gee. Well, we’ve got three quarters of an hour. Can I tell you my idea?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “I don’t know if it’ll work. There’s a cruise ship, the Mozambique, leaving from Pier Three. One of the things Vega does for a living, it seems, is sell bulk marijuana, and I feel a little finky talking about it. From what the kids say, he’s a pretty good source when you can’t get it anywhere else—though he’s expensive. Isn’t this something you could use as a handle?”

  “What’s the connection with the Mozambique?”

  “He uses cruise ships to bring it in. Everything’s very tight on the Mexican border, as I probably don’t need to tell you, so it’s been going the other way, down to Central America. Somebody on the Mozambique will pick it up in Panama. How does this sound so far?”

  “Keep going.”

  “Well, there’s a deckhand who thinks my uncle is the greatest man since Simon Bolivar. When he’s in port he comes to every meeting, he rings doorbells, he stuffs envelopes. He’s broken up that he’ll miss the picket line tomorrow. He speaks about two words of English, incidentally, so you’ll need me. If I explain everything to him, and it has to be me, he wouldn’t trust somebody like you even if you could speak Spanish, I just bet we can get enough information so you can scare Vega out of his shoes. He’s supposed to be very skittery about this dope operation. Can we try it, anyway? It’s a start.”

  “Are you sure you want to come with me?”

  “I’m not worried any more. Wheels have come off cars before and no one was hurt. You’re probably a very good driver. Come on, he’s finished, let’s go!”

  She added, “But I’m fastening my seat belt, I can tell you that.”

  He studied her for a moment.

  “Please?” she said.

  “OK.”

  He paid the mechanic and they got in.

  “I’m crazy about you, Mr. Shayne!” she said. “I thought you’d make me argue. My aunt and uncle act as though I’m still about twelve years old.”

  “I’d say you were a bit older than twelve.”

  “You noticed,” she said, pleased.

  He found a parking place on one of the terraces two blocks inland, and they walked to the pier. The Mozambique, decked out with pennants for its departure, seemed to be pulling at its ropes. Its sides sparkled in the bright sunlight. A band played on the promenade deck.

  Adele hesitated before starting up the gangway. “I guess it’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “As long as we’re still not aboard when they sail.”

  Most of the passengers had arrived by plane, and so had a few friends to see them off. But the cruise personnel were working hard, trying to make the departure an event. A gay middle-aged lady in a paper hat threw a streamer at Shayne as he emerged on deck, and asked him to dance. He smiled and evaded her. A steward offered them a tray loaded with glasses of domestic champagne. Adele asked him a question in Spanish.

  “No speak Spanish,” he said, and she shifted to English.

  “We want to say good-bye to Raphael Rivera, have you seen him?”

  “Don’t ask me. I just signed on. Take a glass of champagne—it’s complimentary.”

  They each picked a glass off his tray and drank it before continuing into the main salon, where the bridge tables were set up and waiting. Adele stopped a passing crew-member and repeated her question. This man thought he’d seen Raphael having coffee in the galley, one deck down.

  They found the passenger dining room and went through a set of swinging doors into the galley. It was a busy place. Adele spoke to a small tattooed man slicing cucumbers. There was a rapid exchange of Spanish while Shayne started a cigarette. She was frowning when she turned back.

  “Damn it, they must think you’re a cop or something. I’ll be less conspicuous by myself. Wait in the dining room and I’ll waylay somebody. I can’t say I’m Raphael’s girl friend with you hulking in the background. Stop looking at me like that—nothing’s going to happen. Go on, we don’t have much time.”

  “All right, but be careful.”

  “I honestly will,” she said impatiently.

  Shayne stepped back into the dining room. Once there he moved quickly. He left by another exit, went up a flight of stairs and along a corridor. At the next stairway he went back down and found a door marked NO ADMITTANCE—CREW.

  The corridor on the other side of this door was uncarpeted. The walls needed paint. If he had calculated correctly, the galley was somewhere to his right. He turned left.

  A spindly youth in an undershirt and a chef’s cap came toward him.

  “Did you see a girl in a white blouse a minute ago?” Shayne said.

  “Yeah! What’s happening? I thought those cats were coming on a little heavy. Who is she, one of the new waitresses?”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Right down—”

  He stopped, and his eyebrows drew together. After an instant’s pause he said, “Excuse me. You’re some kind of fuzz, aren’t you? My daddy gave me a piece of advice when I shipped out. He told me to stay out of other people’s messes.”

  “When you see your daddy again,” Shayne said, “tell him he gave you some bad advice.” He picked the boy up under the armpits and held him ag
ainst a wall. “Do you want to reconsider?”

  “Down the hall, down the hall,” the boy said. “They went in a cabin.”

  “Which cabin?”

  The boy gestured. “Further down on this side. Let me go, will you? They were spies, pantry-boys. You may not realize it, but that hurts.”

  Shayne lowered him and he scuttled away. Shayne moved on warily. He passed the crew’s dining room, which was empty. Hearing a low thump behind him, he came back. A woman’s voice said something in Spanish. It was cut off.

  Shayne checked his watch. He still had twenty minutes. He put out his cigarette.

  Returning to a cross corridor, he picked a five-gallon fire extinguisher off the wall. A fire-ax was set in a recessed case with a glass cover, from which a little metal hammer dangled. Ignoring the hammer, Shayne smashed the glass with the extinguisher. A door opened and the youth in the chef’s hat looked out.

  “Now’s the time to do what your daddy told you,” Shayne said. “Shut the door.”

  The face retreated. Shayne took the ax and the extinguisher back to the cabin in which he had heard the girl’s voice. Setting the extinguisher on the deck, he raised the ax and chopped hard at the door above the handle. The wood splintered and the door swung open.

  He picked up the extinguisher and waited.

  He heard a choked sob. The door had jammed. He saw part of a narrow bunk and a washbasin. Time was moving at the same speed on both sides of the door, but Shayne had more experience at this kind of thing. After a long silent moment the door was pulled back violently and a man jumped at him.

  He was short and dark, with tattooed forearms. Shayne had seen him last slicing cucumbers. Shayne tilted the extinguisher, and foam gushed out of the nozzle. The other staggered back, clawing at his eyes. Shayne stepped forward and kicked the door. This time it stayed open. Adele, against the opposite bulkhead, was twisting in the hands of a large Negro. Shayne advanced, holding the foam steady, and then clubbed his adversary with the extinguisher. He dropped away.

  The Negro tried to get something out of his pocket, and Adele was able to pull out of his hands. Turning, she brought her knee up into his groin and dodged past Shayne and out of the cabin as Shayne swung the jet of foam, catching the Negro squarely and knocking him backward.

  There was a sparkle of light from a knife-blade. Shayne lunged, swinging the extinguisher. The knife clattered against metal. Shayne changed the arc of his blow and hit the Negro’s wrist so hard he probably broke it.

  The nozzle was whipping around, out of control. The other man had fallen across the bunk, and he now had a gun in his hand. Shayne threw the extinguisher with both hands.

  There was movement behind him. but before he could whirl to deal with the new threat, his head seemed to explode, and the cabin walls closed in on him.

  CHAPTER 5

  The altercation still wasn’t over. Far in the distance, Shayne heard a gong. Perhaps it was time for visitors to say their final good-byes and go ashore. He considered, and decided to stay where he was. If he moved his head, he was afraid it would divide into two halves, like a cut melon. He had thought at first that he had been hit with the ax, but probably his assailant had simply used the handle.

  The gong sounded again. He had fallen on the hose, and he could feel it struggling beneath him.

  Somebody in the cabin was giving orders in Spanish. Shayne remained inert, and allowed himself to be flopped over. He was breathing heavily. He heard the sound of cloth being torn. Opening his eyes slightly, he saw the cucumber-slicer ripping up a sheet he had pulled from the bunk. That was to tie him up, Shayne supposed, so he couldn’t reach the gangway before the ship sailed.

  He sent a message to one of his feet and felt it respond. The gong banged again. As the man with the torn sheet stooped over his ankles, Shayne flexed one knee slightly and kicked out hard. It made contact, but didn’t do much damage. The man sat down again.

  Shayne looked around for the Negro. In pain, he lay beneath the washbasin, one arm useless. He was hitching himself slowly toward Shayne. They were all three in a bad way. Shayne rolled and came up on one elbow. The extinguisher hose whipped around and shot a last burst of foam at the Negro before expiring.

  Shayne saw the gun on the carpet. It was an equal distance from them all. Shaking his head, the Negro tried to crawl. Shayne reached out. It was a dream movement, slow-motion in its most exaggerated form.

  Then a voice spoke from the doorway. “You cats are going to get this whole ship in trouble. You know that, don’t you?”

  The youth in the chef’s hat, whose daddy had warned him against getting involved, stepped into the cabin and gathered up the gun.

  “I mean when it comes to chopping down doors—”

  Shayne came to one knee and moved his head. It stayed together. A moment later he found that he could stand.

  “You hold the gun,” the boy said. “I’ll go get the captain.”

  Shayne grunted and started for the doorway. The youth backed into the corridor ahead of him, holding out the gun butt-first.

  “Take it. Here. I sure as hell don’t want it.”

  Shayne lurched toward the nearest stairway, keeping from falling by running a hand along the wall. The ship appeared to be heeling violently. On the first step he failed to raise his foot high enough, and fell forward on his hands.

  The boy was dancing beside him, trying to get him to take the gun. “You mean this isn’t a bust? You aren’t going to bust those guys?”

  “Give me a hand.”

  “I certainly will not! I thought you were FBI, at the least. I held a gun on those characters, and now I’ve got to ship with them?”

  Shayne forced himself up the steps. He made it halfway, with the help of the banister. There he stopped again. An endless stretch of steps rose ahead. The ship swung gently.

  The boy grabbed his arm. “I’ll help, if nobody sees me. But I can’t do it all. Come on.”

  He tugged at Shayne. The Mozambique reared. When it came back down Shayne took advantage of the momentum and let it carry him up the stairs. The boy pushed, and when the momentum faded he ran ahead and pulled. They reeled out on deck.

  “For the last time, will you take this or won’t you?” the boy said, holding out the gun.

  “Hold the gangway.”

  “Jesus! I just wish somebody would tell me what this is all about!”

  He ran ahead. The band was playing with real desperation, it seemed to Shayne. Streamers flew. A woman in a clown’s hat tried to embrace him, and she got him moving. He picked up an empty champagne bottle. Waving this, he headed toward the gangway. He heard laughter around him, ironic applause. People cleared out of his way.

  “Really smashed,” somebody said. “Disgusting.”

  “No, why? He’s feeling no pain.”

  That was hardly true. Ahead, the youth gestured with the gun. Two seamen waited at the head of the gangway. Shayne held the bottle over the side and dropped it in the bay. His heel caught, and he went down much too fast, ending on the dock with a jolt. The passengers along the rail waved.

  The gangplank was drawn in and the ship’s horn hooted. There was a flicker of white, and Adele Galvez threw her arms around him.

  “I was calling the Coast Guard. You’re hurt!”

  “Too much free champagne.”

  Leaning on her heavily, he headed for a wooden crate. She continued to hold him until she was sure he could sit by himself.

  “I got you into something, didn’t I? God, I’m sorry. What should I do now, get the car?”

  “Yeah.”

  He fished out the keys.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right, Mike? Maybe I ought to—”

  “Get the car.”

  While she was gone he watched the Mozambique pull slowly out into the Cut. The passengers along the rail went on waving and throwing streamers. The band still seemed slightly frantic.

  Adele returned. She looked down at him anxiously, and helped him s
tand. The pain had receded slightly. He probably could have walked by himself, but she insisted that he lean on her. He let her drive.

  She suggested in a small voice that he could use a doctor. He didn’t reply, and called the turns. Presently they were drawing up in front of his apartment hotel on the north bank of the Miami River.

  The day-clerk rushed out when he saw Shayne. Shayne waved him away.

  “I’ve already got one person looking after me. That’s enough.”

  Upstairs, Adele unlocked the door for him. He was going to let her look at his head in a moment, and then he needed a change of clothes—he was soaked with foam. First he poured himself a stiff cognac. The neck of the bottle knocked against the glass.

  “Adele? Cognac?”

  She wasn’t sure. She splashed a little into a glass, tried it and coughed, then added ice and considerable soda. Shayne downed half his drink.

  “I need a little maintenance. Before we get to work, tell me how you figure that skirmish on the boat. What was the point?”

  “I honestly don’t know! Except I think you were the one they wanted, not me. It’s just as mysterious as that business with the wheels. How did they know? When I asked about Raphael it was as though I’d given some kind of signal—he got all peculiar and gave you that suspicious look. When I went back into the crew quarters they came after me.” She tasted the drink again and said miserably, “I did just what they wanted me to. I shouldn’t have tried to fight, or made any noise.”

  “Had you ever seen either of them before?”

  “Not as far as I know. I did get an impression that there was something—military about them. All those groups like Vega’s used to pretend they were soldiers. I thought they’d outgrown it.”

  Shayne set down his empty glass and went into the bedroom. He stripped off his soggy clothes. Leaving them where they fell, he put on a beach coat. He got out some first-aid equipment and called Adele.

  “I can’t see what I’m doing. Cut off some of the hair and slap on a piece of tape. I’ll get some professional repairs when I have time.”

  “I’m not much of a nurse,” she said doubtfully.