Killers from the Keys by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online

receding hairline that gave him a curiously naked and babyish appearance. He wore an offensively garish sport shirt of virulent yellows and greens, without a jacket, and thick, crepe-soled brogans that had not been designed for tropical wear.
    “You got something right here in this office that beats anything we got in Chi, like I been telling Lucy. Hi-ya, Mike.” He held out a thick, short-fingered hand with dirty fingernails. “You got quite a rep around the country, you know that? I always wondered why you didn’t come up into the big-time… like New York or Chi, you know? But if I could cozy it up down here like you got it, I’m telling you right now you might have some competition.”
    Shayne took his hand briefly and dropped it. He looked over the Chicagoan’s head and asked Lucy, “Is Mr. McTige making a business or social call?”
    “Call me Baron, Mike.” He laughed blusteringly. “As one Eye to another, huh, there’s no call for formality. I just dropped in, see, to size you up and decide whether to let you in on a good thing or not.”
    “Here’s Mr. McTige’s card, Michael,” Lucy said hastily, thrusting a large square of white pasteboard at him. “He’s been explaining to me how it pays to advertise.”
    Shayne took the card and looked at it in awe. In the exact center was a large, wide-open human eye staring malevolently up at Shayne. Across the top in heavy black lettering was the legend: WE-NEVER-SLEEP DETECTIVE AGENCY. On the left in slightly smaller type, it stated: “Divorce Evidence Our Specialty.” And on the other side of the centerpiece was proclaimed: “Erring Spouses Traced Confidentially.” Below, in the same size lettering as the top were the words: “BARON MCTIGE, Prop.” And beneath that was a street address and telephone number.
    “Got a lot of punch, huh?” said McTige complacently as he took a short, black cigar from his breast pocket and clamped his teeth over the end. He struck a match and drew fire into it lustily, looked for an ashtray on Lucy’s desk and saw none, dropped the burning stick on the floor and stepped on it. “I got lotsa competition in the big town. Ten guys hustling after every divorce case comes along. If you don’t get out and hustle for your share, you’ll never make it. See what I mean?” He took the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at the card which Shayne still held in his hand.
    Shayne said, “I see what you mean. The tempo is a little slower in Miami.” He tossed the card into a waste-basket the other side of the railing and said crisply, “Now that you’ve sized me up, what have you decided about letting me in on your good thing?”
    “Ha-ha. That was just a manner of speaking, Mike. Before you ever walked in that door I knew for sure you were right down my alley. You know why?” He winked broadly and nudged Shayne in the ribs. “You got what it takes to keep a secretary like Lucy around, you sure enough got what it takes for Baron McTige to hook up with you.”
    Shayne said mildly, “Believe it or not, she can type, too.” He grinned past the man at Lucy who stuck out her tongue at him, took McTige firmly by the arm and led him toward the door of his inner office. “We’ll be more private in here.”
    “Sure, if you like it private, Mike.” McTige laughed loudly and glanced back over his shoulder. “For my ownself I wouldn’t mind if Lucy wants to come and take dictation. She can sit on my knee, if you got no extra chair for her.”
    Shayne was holding the door open and he gave the detective a little shove into the room and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
    Quite undisconcerted, the proprietor of the WE-NEVER-SLEEP DETECTIVE AGENCY thrust both hands into the patch pockets of his tweed jacket and strolled across the room on the good carpeting, pursing his blubbery lips around the black cigar and nodding approvingly at the decor of the inner office. “You got it fixed up real nice, Mike. The little woman’s