Bodies Are Where You Find Them by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online Page B

office.
    “Such as what?” Rourke asked.
    “A look-in at Arch Bugler’s place.”
    “Not me,” Rourke stated flatly. “You don’t drag me into anything else. Not tonight.”
    “We’ve got to learn all we can about Helen Stallings.”
    “You’ve got to. I’m having another drink.” Rourke wrapped long, thin fingers around the bottle.
    Shayne made no move to interfere, but he talked fast. “Don’t you see we’ve got to pick up a lead somehow? You don’t want it known that you left a dead girl unreported, do you? We’ve got to find out where she went when she left home at noon. Someone doped her to keep her from talking. Whoever killed her knew she was doped and unable to talk to me—else why would she have been killed? There wouldn’t have been any need to throttle her if she had already talked.”
    “Your logic is perfect,” Rourke agreed. “I’ll bet you my grandmother’s wig you catch the guy, Mike. Give me a ring when the lead is ready.”
    Shayne snorted angrily. “This case hasn’t even got hot.” He took the bottle from Rourke’s lax fingers and dropped it into his coat pocket, then wadded up the newspaper sheets and rammed them into the other, got up and grabbed his hat from a hook.
    Rourke smiled sweetly and waved to him as he stalked from the booth.
    Shayne had never visited Arch Bugler’s Miami Beach establishment. He knew the approximate location, and he saw the red neon sign half a block away: Bugle Inn.
    Cars lined the curb in front. Expensive, sporty models that proved Arch Bugler wasn’t playing to a piker clientele.
    Shayne nosed his battered convertible between a Rolls-Royce and a Packard. A high wall of pink coral rock surrounded three sides of the sprawling structure, running down to the beach at the rear. Bronze latticework gates were set in the wall, opening inward to a flagged path under an arched canopy leading to the front entrance. A uniformed doorman stood stiffly in front of the high bronze gates.
    Sauntering toward the doorman, Shayne lit a cigarette.
    A hot glint came into his eyes when the man stared at him suspiciously, then swung the gates shut and stood solidly in front of them.
    Shayne stopped a foot from the doorman. His chin was level with the man’s eyes. He stared at him for a moment and then said, “Well?”
    “I’m sorry, sir. White ties are required, sir.”
    “I’m not wearing one.”
    “I have strict orders, sir, to admit no gentlemen except those in formal attire.”
    “I’m here on business—to see Arch Bugler.”
    “I’m sorry, sir. I have strict orders.”
    Shayne said, “Nuts.” He caught the man’s braided tunic and jerked him aside. The man whistled shrilly as Shayne shouldered the gates open.
    Two men appeared from the other side of the wall and got in front of him. One of them exclaimed, “Jeez, it’s the dick from Miami,” and stepped backward. He had a big nose and a chin that fell away to nothing—the man who had trailed Shayne from his apartment hotel earlier in the evening.
    The other bouncer was taller than Shayne, his shoulders inches broader. He had a flat face and a square head fastened onto his torso with no neck between. He scowled darkly and growled, “Outside.”
    Shayne drove his fist into the middle of the man’s flat face. The force of the blow rocked him back on his heels, smashing a rubbery nose and thick lips that had been smashed before.
    The smaller man sucked in his breath sharply and hit Shayne with a blackjack, saying softly, “Grab him, Donk.” Shayne staggered sideways, and the big man stepped in, caught his elbows, and pinioned them behind him.
    “Outside,” the chinless man panted, “and keep it quiet, Donk. This is the bozo the boss said not to let in.”
    Shayne’s head lolled limply as he was given the bum’s rush through the bronze gates. The blackjack had been swung expertly and should have knocked him out, but the redhead was tough. His legs were not functioning very well and a black