The Corpse Came Calling by Brett Halliday Read Free Book Online

easier handled that way than when he’s still on his feet.”
    “He don’t look so tough now.” The toe went away from Shayne’s ribs, then came forward with careless force. He sucked in his breath sharply under the impact but made no movement to indicate he felt the kick.
    “We got to get him out of his dope and make him talk,” the thin voice complained. “The paper said Lacy was still alive when he got to Shayne’s office.”
    “Yeh.” Joe chuckled with malicious good humor. “An’ the cops can’t figure anything but that Shayne or his wife musta been in on the kill. That’s a hot one, hey, Leroy?”
    “Let them keep on thinking that. If Lacy got to him alive, he spilled the whole lay. There wasn’t anything in the paper about the cops finding a funny-looking piece of cardboard on Lacy. That means Shayne stashed it before he called the cops—and he wouldn’t have done that ’less he knew why Lacy was carrying it. Let’s go to work on him and make him sing a song.”
    That settled the question that had been bothering Shayne. His mind was alert now, hitting on all cylinders. He listened carefully for a further clue to the enigma of Jim Lacy’s death.
    But Joe sidetracked the conversation. “What about the dame, Leroy?” His voice held a hopeful leer. “It’d be lots more fun workin’ on her than on him. She ain’t wearing nothing under that fancy robe.”
    Leroy snarled. “Lay off the dame. She’s just right like she is with her mouth taped shut. Dames ain’t got any sense. She’d start screeching her tonsils out if we took that tape off.”
    “Yeah. Reckon you’re right, Leroy.” Joe sounded disappointed. He insisted, “But it would be fun.”
    “We’re not here to have fun. Help me turn this mug over so we can go to work on him. He’s been around. He’ll know better than to start anything—as long as we’ve got his frail tied up where we can make passes at her.”
    “That’s an angle,” Joe exulted. “We wake him up and make him watch us go after her while she’s tied up. Sure, that’ll snap him out of it.”
    Four hands got hold of Shayne and rolled him over on his back. He kept himself limp, eyes closed. A beer and garlic breath flowed into his nostrils. Close to his face, Joe muttered doubtfully, “I dunno, Leroy. Sometimes I don’t know my own stren’th when I swing a sap.”
    “He’s still breathing,” Leroy said crisply.
    They drew aside and held a whispered conversation. Shayne braced himself for whatever was coming. They were afraid to question Phyllis, and as long as they thought he was unconscious they’d probably leave her alone. But there’d be hell to pay if they once got his eyes open.
    He heard stealthy movement beside him, then a glass of cold water was unexpectedly dashed in his face.
    “That did it,” Leroy chuckled. “I swear I saw him jump. He’s playing dead. I know how to fix that.”
    Shayne heard the scratch of a match. Heat came close to his left eyelid, unbearably close, singeing his shaggy brows. His head jerked involuntarily. He sat up and opened his eyes.
    Leroy stepped backward and produced his .45. The barrel was sawed off close to the cylinder, making it a handy and deadly pocket gun. Leroy’s eyes were ruthless, the eyes of a killer who delights in his work. He surveyed Shayne coldly and said, “I don’t want to use this. I won’t unless you make me.”
    Shayne turned his head to look at Phyllis. She had stopped struggling to free herself. Her black eyes were dilated, luminous with encouragement. The top part of her robe had spread apart, revealing her smooth throat and the beginning swell of young breasts.
    Shayne wrenched his eyes away from hers. Joe stood close beside him with a grin on his brutal face. He swung a short, leather-covered blackjack suggestively.
    Shayne said, “All right. It looks like your party, boys. What the hell do you want?”
    Leroy smiled thinly. “That’s using your head for something besides a