The Private Practice of Michael Shayne (Mike Shayne, Book 2)
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For the sake of his friends, Mike Shayne tangles with blackmailers—and a murderer
The day he met Phyllis Brighton, Mike Shayne saved her from jumping out a window— and he has been rescuing her ever since. First he helped her beat a murder wrap; now he’s trying to pry her away from the sleaziest lawyer in Dade County: Harry Grange. A mouthpiece for every crook in Miami, Grange is running a blackmail racket when Shayne sees him with Phyllis on his arm at a local gambling hall. Shayne warns his friend to ditch her crooked beau, but she is too proud to take his advice. Unfortunately for her, the relationship will end with murder.
Shayne gets the call just after he gets back to his office. Harry Grange has been found dead on the sands of Miami Beach. Even worse, Shayne’s gun is missing and his friend Larry Kincaid may have used it to gun down the blackmailing lawyer. To save his friends, Mike Shayne will have to outsmart the cleverest killer in town.
to the bedroom where he put on a tie and slid his wide shoulders into a light sport jacket. Stopping at the table on the way out, he pocketed the handkerchief and strode out to the elevator where he pressed the DOWN button. In a pleasant, sun-filled lobby downstairs, he sauntered to the desk and glanced at his empty mailbox. The clerk on duty greeted him respectfully. “Good morning, Mr. Shayne. That was a pretty close call last night.” “What?” Shayne’s ragged red brows came down in a straight
door. “Don’t be so damned tight with your info, Mike. You know more about this than you’re giving out.” “That’s the hell of it,” said Shayne irritably. “I don’t. You know I’ve never held out on you, Carl. If I turn anything up that’ll help you on this mess, I’ll let you know.” He went out into Miami’s bright mid-morning sunlight and got in his car. He thought suddenly of the money he had collected from Marco last night. He took out his wallet and examined the bills. They were still damp. He
Grange killing, isn’t it?” “It is. And we haven’t any time to waste if we’re going to manufacture those headlines. Get on the phone.” Rourke lifted the receiver on his desk while Shayne sat back and lit a cigarette. Hunching the instrument to his ear, the reporter carried on a lengthy conversation without seeming to notice the haywire din going on about him. Presently he hung up and said, “This is strictly confidential, Mike. If it leaks out, a beautiful friendship will be spoiled.” “It won’t
Rourke who was squatting down to focus a small candid camera on the little pile of clothing and the farewell message. “That’s goddamned near perfect,” he exulted. “You can get the name of the lifeboat in it, too. Make it snappy, before someone comes.” He moved over in front of Rourke to shield him from any vagrant glances, and the reporter quickly shot half a dozen pictures with the powerful little camera. Then they strolled on to glance at the other lifeboats, and were met at the bow by a
lobby of his hotel where he had kept his old bachelor apartment as an office when he moved up into the new apartment with his new wife. At the desk the clerk said, “There was a lady in here looking for you a few minutes ago, Mr. Shayne. She looked like class so I used my own judgment and asked her to wait in your new apartment instead of the old one.” Shayne thanked him and went up three floors in the elevator. Down the hall to his left he stopped in front of a door and turned the knob. He