Pay-Off in Blood (2 page)

“And he agreed?” asked Shayne in some surprise.

“His reaction was the same as yours in the beginning… that one should never pay a blackmailer. But when I made him understand that I was determined… that there was no other way… he agreed that it would be a good idea for you to stand by and see that it was done properly.”

Shayne scowled and drummed his fingertips on the table. He lifted his glass and drained it, and then leaned forward and said casually:

“Answer me this one question, Doctor Ambrose. How many abortions have you performed since starting your medical practice?

The doctor was disconcerted and shocked by the question. He jerked his head up and stared at Shayne, and protested, “What has that to do with this situation? I assure you…”

Shayne cut him off in a flat, even voice: “I asked you a question, Doctor. Answer it.”

“None,” said Dr. Ambrose with dignity and in what sounded like a truthful voice.

“Never once?”
Shayne persisted. “Not even in the very early days when the going was probably tough?”

“Never.”

“Were you ever tempted to, Doctor?” Shayne asked the question quietly, as though it were prompted only by mild curiosity.

“Certainly not,” he snapped. “No reputable physician…”

“Just answer my questions,” interrupted the detective. “During all the years of your practice how many times have you been approached by a woman who wanted… needed… an abortion?”

“Do you want me to distinguish between wanted and needed?” asked the doctor grimly.

“Just
needed will
do.
How many, Doctor?”

“A dozen, perhaps.
Not having that sort of unsavory reputation, I’m not likely to be approached.”

“But of those dozen… most likely your own patients… you turned them all down?”

“Of course I did. See here, Mr. Shayne. If you’re intimating that the blackmail threat has anything to do.…”

“Why?”

“Why what?”
The doctor hesitated, pursing his lips. “Why did you turn them all down?”

“Because… for heaven’s sake, you know that such operations are not only illegal, but immoral and certainly unethical. I could lose my license. A doctor is bound by a very strict code of ethics. Even the hint of a rumor that he is engaging in such a practice can ruin him utterly.”

“Yet, Doctor,” said Shayne quietly, “just man to man… between the two of us here in this room, won’t you admit there
are
cases in which an abortion would be justified? Where it’s the only answer that will avoid the wreckage of a human life… or two or three lives?”

“If you mean physical reasons of health, there are legal provisions which apply.”

“I don’t mean physical reasons, Doctor. I mean psychological reasons.” Shayne paused and reached out for the cognac bottle and refilled his glass.

Dr. Ambrose said querulously, “I don’t see how this discussion is at all apropos.” He looked at his wristwatch with a worried frown. “I haven’t all evening…”

“You will see how it’s apropos, Doctor,” Shayne told him soothingly. He took a sip of cognac and
marshalled
his thoughts. “Let’s discuss a hypothetical case. Say there’s a married woman.
A really nice, decent sort.
In love with a good husband who is in love with her. Suppose he’s away for six months on business… abroad, perhaps. So she goes to a perfectly innocent cocktail party and has just one drink too many.”

“Whatever happens would be her own fault,” said the doctor snappishly. “A woman who drinks too much…”

“Hold it!” Shayne said harshly. “You’re not a drinking man yourself. You don’t know how easy it is to take one too many drinks inadvertently. I do. But to hell with that,” he went on. “We’re not placing blame. We’re discussing consequences. So this basically nice, decent woman wakes up in the wrong bed the next morning. She’s disgusted with herself, and remorseful. But she’s also pregnant, as she discovers to her horror a few weeks later. So… there it is. Her husband will be coming home in a few months. Their marriage will be wrecked. Her life will be ruined. And her husband will not come out of it without scars on his soul if he really loved her.
And what about the child?
There’s my hypothetical case, Doctor. Faced with one of your patients in that situation, what would you do?”

Dr. Ambrose sighed and moved uncomfortably. “I would advise her,” he said stiffly, “that there are other doctors in a city the size of Miami who have less scruples than I, and suggest that she seek one of them out.”

“You’d wash your hands of the whole affair,” said Shayne angrily. “You’d send the frightened, distraught woman off to some damned abortionist and continue feeling very ethical about the whole thing even if she died getting rid of the baby?”

“That wouldn’t necessarily happen. There are many competent men in the medical profession who…”

“Who care more about human values than their damned code of ethics,” Shayne broke in. He lifted his glass and took a long drink of straight liquor, his bleak gaze pinning the squirming doctor into his chair.

“Yet you have the guts to come here and proposition me. I’m licensed by the State of Florida also, Doctor. Private detectives have their own code of ethics. It’s not only illegal, but in my book it’s also immoral and unethical to pay money to a blackmailer.”

“What am I going to do?” asked the doctor miserably, turning his eyes away from Shayne’s belligerent glare.

Shayne said: “There are other private detectives in a city the size of Miami who have less scruples than I. I suggest you seek one of them out.”

“But they haven’t your reputation for integrity. How do I know they are to be trusted?”

“Ah,” said Shayne remorselessly. “That’s just the point, isn’t it? How do you think I got my reputation? The same way you got that reputation of yours you’re so jealous of, Doctor.
By washing my hands of cases like yours.”

The telephone rang beside him. He picked it up without thinking, and growled, “Shayne.”

“Have you seen Doctor Ambrose, Mike? Is he there?”

“He’s here,” grunted Shayne. “Look, Tim. Why the hell did you send him to me? You know how I feel about blackmail pay-offs.”

“I know, Mike. That’s why I called. Look. I’m not asking you to do it for him. It’s a favor to me.” Timothy
Rourke’s
voice was honestly pleading.
“You
don’t have to make the pay-off. You don’t have to do a damned thing except bodyguard him until he delivers the money and gets the stuff in return. You know how ticklish these things are. For God’s sake, and for mine, Mike, get off your high-horse. A good little guy gets in a spot. How’ll you feel if you send him off alone and they grab his twenty grand without making an even exchange… and maybe gun him down at the same time? He’s not equipped to handle a thing like that. You can see that for yourself.”

Shayne said through set teeth: “I’d feel just about the same way as he’d feel about our hypothetical pregnant lady.”

“What in hell are you talking about?”

Shayne grated, “Nuts,” and slammed the phone down. Dr. Ambrose had gotten up from his chair and stood hesitantly beside it. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Shayne.” He spoke hopelessly, but again with an odd sort of dignity. “I… may as well be going.”

Shayne said gruffly, “Sit down, Doc.”

The doctor looked at him searchingly while Shayne settled back and ran big-knuckled fingers through his rumpled, red hair. Then he sat down again.

Shayne said: “Drink some more of your sherry and tell me what you’ve got set up. That was Tim
Rourke
on the phone,” he added abruptly, “reminding me that I’m not God.”

The doctor studied his gaunt face for a moment, and realized that Shayne’s eyes were no longer bleak. He asked quietly, “Then you’ve decided to help me?”

Shayne said: “Let’s see exactly what the situation is. You wrote to this guy at his post office box last month telling him you had to get off the hook, and offering twenty grand to settle the thing. What happened?”

“I received a telephone call about a week later.
A man’s voice.
Cultivated and… well, educated. He acceded to my offer. I told him I would need two or three weeks in which to raise the money. He agreed without protest, and said he would call me again today.”

Dr. Ambrose paused and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. He was staring across the room, speaking in a low, impersonal sort of tone. “This afternoon, the same man called me at my office. I told him the money was ready and that I would like to complete the transaction tonight. He agreed, and suggested that I meet him on a deserted stretch of the Beach to make the, ah… payoff. I demurred, Mr. Shayne.” The doctor turned to shoot him a troubled look.

“I am not
au fait
with such matters, but I realized I would be terribly vulnerable with twenty thousand dollars in cash in my possession. What was there to prevent him from passing me an envelope with folded newspapers
inside,
or… worse still, simply shooting me and taking the money?

“So, I made a counter proposition: that we should meet in Miami at some public place with other people present. I felt I would be better protected that way. And, having already thought of you, and hoping that I might be able to get your help through Mr.
Rourke
, I warned him that I would be guarded during the meeting by a gunman.

“He acquiesced, seeming very sure of himself. I suggested the
Seacliff
Restaurant. That’s on Northeast Third Street.
A rather large, brightly lighted place.”

Shayne said, “I know it. I’ve eaten there.” He nodded.
“A good choice, Doctor.”

Dr. Ambrose appeared gratified by this small bit of approbation. “We left it that way. I have a telephone number which I am to call at precisely nine o’clock, settling the final details.” He looked down at his watch. “In exactly four minutes. I would like to tell him that you are going to be with me, Mr. Shayne.
So that he will know exactly where he stands.
If he protests your presence, I will feel that he isn’t really… as you would say it, I think, on the level.”

Shayne nodded, grim-faced. “How difficult will it be for you to determine that the documents he gives to you are worth your twenty grand?”

“Not difficult at all, Mr. Shayne. I envision us exchanging envelopes under your supervision. I will expect him to open mine and verify the amount contained inside it. At the same time, it will require only a minute for me to satisfy myself that all is in order. As soon as we are both satisfied, we will so signify, and go our separate ways. That is all I ask of you, Mr. Shayne.” The doctor’s manner was earnest and appealing.

Shayne nodded, rubbing his blunt, whiskered chin. “You’re to phone him at nine?”

“In exactly two minutes,” said Dr. Ambrose with another glance at his watch.

Shayne nodded and yawned widely. “Set it up for as soon as you can.
Nine-thirty, if possible.
I’m sleepy as hell. Tell me one thing, Doc,” he added casually, opening the center drawer of the table beside him. “You’re not packing a rod, are you?”

“I?” The doctor’s eyes widened.
“Of course not.
Why would you suspect that I would be
…
‘
packing
a rod’?” The intonation he gave the three words put quotation marks around them.

Shayne grinned wryly and said, “Some amateurs get strange ideas. I’ll have a gun, but I don’t want you messing things up by pulling one on your own.” He reached inside the open drawer and withdrew a short-
barrelled
.38 which he laid on the table. “Better make your phone call, hadn’t you?”

Dr. Ambrose hesitated, pursing his lips and looking down at the rug. “That goes through the switchboard, doesn’t it?” He nodded toward the telephone at Shayne’s elbow. “To make a call from here I have to give the number?”

“Sure,” said Shayne.
“But what the hell?
Pete, downstairs, isn’t going to keep track of a number you call.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that, Mr. Shayne. I would be happier if you did not know the number either.”

“What the hell?” grated
Shayne.
“Don’t you trust me?”

“Not entirely,” said Dr. Ambrose. “You made it very clear to me that you disapprove of this… as you call it… pay-off. I trust you to go with me and see it through, as you have offered to do. But, also, Mr. Shayne, I have read enough detective novels to know that you have ways of tracing a telephone number… and, after this matter has been concluded satisfactorily, I would not want you to do any further investigating. I trust you understand me?”

Shayne stared at the plump, little doctor for a long moment with lifted eyebrows and with a sardonic look on his rugged face.

Then he chuckled unexpectedly. “I get you. It’s nine o’clock,” he went on. “The telephone in the bedroom is a direct outside line. Go in there and dial your number. But I want to hear what you say over the phone. I don’t trust you a damn bit more than you trust me.”

“Very well,” said Dr. Ambrose. He got up from his chair and went into Michael Shayne’s bedroom. The detective leaned back and sipped from his cognac glass while the doctor
dialled
, making no attempt to identify the numbers
dialled
because he had learned long ago, while practicing his profession, that it was humanly impossible to do so.

He did, however, get up from his chair and stroll forward to the open bedroom door to hear Dr. Ambrose say:

“Hello. It is nine o’clock. I have the envelope ready and will be at the
Seacliff
Restaurant in exactly half an hour to deliver it.”

There was a brief pause. Dr. Ambrose went on. “I will be accompanied by the well-known private detective, Michael Shayne, whose only interest in the matter is to see that a fair exchange takes place. We will be seated together in a booth along the wall if there is one vacant, or at a table together.”

Another pause.
Then: “Well, you know Michael Shayne, don’t you? His picture has been displayed often enough in the Miami newspapers.”

Another pause.
Then: “That is correct.
Nine-thirty at the
Seacliff
.
Mr. Michael Shayne and I will be together.”

Dr. Ambrose broke the connection and came out of the bedroom. Shayne said, “Okay, Doc. I’ll grab a fast shave and we’ll take off.”