Michael Shayne's Long Chance by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online

woman’s laughter sounded shrilly from the shadows ahead, and then two bulky figures in uniform came loitering toward the trio. They stopped and one of them said gruffly, “That you, Henri? You’re out early tonight.”
    Henri said, “Sort of. Got a couple of friends.” He kept moving past the two policemen.
    The other cop said, “Hold it, Henri.” He was staring at Shayne intently. Under the brim of his hat, the detective recognized him as the patrolman who had come into Captain Denton’s office with Sergeant Parks that afternoon. He averted his face and strolled on.
    “What’s eating you?” Henri asked in a surly tone, half turning back. “Can’t you see I’ve got business?”
    “That’s what I wondered? Where you taking those two fellows?”
    Henri grated, “What the hell’s it to you?”
    Shayne was half a dozen paces ahead of Henri and Drake.
    He paused and looked back. One of the bulky policemen was striding toward him. Shayne ducked his chin and hunched his shoulders so the brim of his hat half concealed his gaunt face.
    The cop stopped in front of him and jerked the brim of his hat up. He whirled about with an angry snarl, and told Henri, “You better watch your step. This mug is a stoolie. For the Feds maybe.”
    Henri whistled and came forward slowly.
    Shayne said loudly, “You’re nuts. I’m just out looking for a good time.”
    The cop said, “Nuts, huh? Not me. I was in the precinct office this afternoon when Captain Denton threw you out. C’mon, Darcy,” he told his companion. “This guy’s due for a workin’ over.”
    Henri stepped close to Shayne and his black eyes glittered in the dusk. “Playing me for a sucker, huh?”
    “He’s mistaken,” Shayne protested. “I never saw him before.”
    “Denton told us he’s a slick un,” the first policeman grunted. His companion was circling around behind. “I’d know that ugly face of his any time.”
    “Making a fall guy out of me,” snarled Henri. His pouting lips flattened against his teeth. The blade of a clasp-knife made a vicious lunge at Shayne’s belly. The detective side-stepped and caught his wrist. He gave him a jerk forward and shoved him against the policeman who had recognized him, saying angrily, “You’re all crazy. I’m not any—”
    The other cop’s nightstick caught him from behind. He swayed forward to his knees. Henri rushed forward and kicked him in the face. Shayne toppled sideways and lay still.
    The first policeman laughed and pulled Henri back. “Let Darcy rap him with his stick again. The Cap’n said there wouldn’t be no comeback if we messed him up a little.” He gave Henri a shove while Darcy leaned over and swung his nightstick against Shayne’s head again with calculated force.
    “Get along with you,” he advised Henri. “You’re lucky you didn’t get no farther showing him around.”
    Drake was standing back, watching the scene with disapproval. He nodded and circled the recumbent detective when Henri said, “We might as well go on, Mister.”
    “He’s out like a birthday candle,” Darcy informed his partner after shaking Shayne. He bent lower and sniffed his breath. “Got liquor in him,” he reported. “What say we run him in for d.-and-d. and resisting arrest?”
    “Good enough. Drag him off the sidewalk first.” They got hold of Shayne’s arms and dragged his limp body into the gutter. Darcy went to put in the call for a wagon while the other officer lit a cigarette and sat down on the curb. Shayne lay face down in the gutter, unconscious and breathing heavily.
    When the patrol wagon came, they loaded him in. The jolting ride to jail brought him back to foggy consciousness, but he gave no indication of this. By the time the wagon arrived at headquarters he was fully conscious, and his head throbbed with pain. He stumbled out of the vehicle when it stopped. His gaunt cheeks were streaked with dried blood, his suit was dirty and wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He