Blood on the Stars by Brett Halliday

heavy stench of cheap whisky inside the car.
    The side of his jaw felt as though it had been kicked by a mule, and his belly was sore. He straightened up groggily and turned to look into the broad face of a uniformed policeman leaning in through the open window.
    “ H’lo , officer,” he muttered. “Where am I? What—?”
    “Mike Shayne!” the cop said with incredulity. “Passed out, by God, like a high-school kid. You feel all right?”
    “I feel like hell.” Shayne lifted his hand to tentatively waggle his jaw. “Did a house fall on me?”
    “You must of got that lick on the jaw when you ran off the road and hit this culvert.” The policeman turned on a flashlight and sent the beam forward to show Shayne the front end of his sedan crashed against the concrete abutment of a culvert. “Probably would of broke your neck if you hadn’t been drunk as a coot when it happened.”
    Shayne shook his aching head and groaned and moved cautiously from behind the wheel to step out. The uniformed man supported him with a hand under his elbow as he swayed dizzily. The night air was cool and it drove the fumes of the whisky away. The front of his clothing was still damp where the liquor had been poured over him. He turned slowly, staring round him, and again asked, “Where am I? You’re Jim Rawson, aren’t you?”
    “ Yeh . I’m Rawson. You’re on Delaware Road close to the Bay. Do you remember crashing into the culvert?”
    Shayne shook his red head slowly from side to side.
    He reached in his shirt pocket for a cigarette, but his pack was soggy with whisky. Rawson offered his pack, and struck a light when Shayne put a cigarette between his lips. “Lucky I happened to drive by this way,” Rawson said. “I didn’t know there was enough liquor in the world to pass you out cold like that.”
    Shayne laughed shortly and blew his breath in the officer’s face. Rawson put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Hell, you haven’t been drinking. What the devil—?”
    “I got myself slugged—but good.” Shayne made a savage gesture with his big right hand. “Somebody planted me there in my car while I was out, and poured whisky all over me.”
    “Where’d it happen? Who did it?”
    Shayne’s brain was clearing. Slowly he began remembering everything. He decided the boys had taken turns kicking him in the stomach while he was knocked out on the concrete floor of the garage. He said, “I’ve always buried my own dead, Rawson. Do you have to make a report on this?”
    “Well, I guess I don’t have to,” the policeman answered uncertainly. “If you don’t want to sign a complaint—”
    “We’ll skip the whole thing.” Shayne stood erect and drew in a deep breath, wincing with pain as his bruised body muscles protested. “Let’s see how bad the damage to the car is.”
    Officer Rawson switched on his flashlight again and they went to inspect the condition of the car. It looked about the same as it had back in Mickey’s garage. “Axle may be knocked out of line, but I don’t believe the steering rods are bent,” Rawson said after a cursory examination. “Looks like it’d drive okay.”
    “What time is it?”
    “Little past midnight.”
    “Know any all-night garage where I might get it fixed?”
    “There’s one down on South Beach stays open at night. Mickey’s Garage. Only one I know of on the Beach. It’s at—”
    “I know where it is,” Shayne growled. “In fact I’ve got a cash deposit up there I might as well use.” He turned and stalked back to the open door of his car.
    The patrolman followed him, shaking his head dubiously. “You sure you can drive?”
    Shayne said, “No.” He set his teeth together hard against the pain as he folded his long legs behind the wheel. His key was in the ignition. He turned it on and started the motor. The officer closed the door and stepped back. “Back it out easy and take it slow,” he advised. “I’ll follow along to see it goes all