Murder Spins the Wheel by Brett Halliday

sudden—you’ll find out when it happens to you, Shayne. I got a bang out of how I handled Ladybug this afternoon. But that’s as far as it goes. Do you know how much you’d have to pay me to take Harry’s job? You couldn’t pay me enough. The headaches, I happen to know. The doctor says with my blood pressure not to get excited. When you’re sitting where Harry is, you’ve got to stay excited nine tenths of the time.”
    He sucked at his cigar. “So somebody held up old Harry. I’ll be f—” He swallowed the rest of the word, looking past Shayne at his wife’s shoulder. “They walked right up to him with their bare faces hanging out? I wouldn’t want to do that myself, unless he’s really changed.”
    “They wore masks,” Shayne said. “They stopped him by setting fire to his Cadillac. They pistol-whipped his driver and chased Harry over a stone wall. They were a lot younger than he is, in pretty good condition. They caught him and knocked him around. I think I’ve known Harry as long as you have. Anybody who thinks he’s turned into a cream puff is making a big mistake.”
    “It could be I agree with you,” Naples said. “Maybe I get tired watching sea gulls, but that don’t mean I want any kind of trouble with Harry Bass.”
    “I’m glad I don’t have to argue with you. He took a bad beating, and he ought to be in bed right now, under sedation. Instead of that he’s out beating the bushes for two-day money. He couldn’t find it in Miami so he went to New York. I might have been able to talk him out of it if I’d been there, but I wasn’t. He’s got a hell of a temper, as you probably know. One thing a concussion does is take off the brakes, and I hope everybody handles him with kid gloves. Naturally he’s going to be wondering who did this to him. He’s sure to be in a half-haze and not thinking too clearly, but somewhere along the line, on the plane going up or the plane coming back, it’s going to hit him—is it possible his old friend Al Naples—?”
    He drank the rest of his cognac.
    Naples said, “Hell, he can take my blood pressure. I’ll let him bring his own doctor.”
    Shayne said seriously, “I’d like to get you to agree not to talk to him tonight at all.”
    “I’ll hide under the bed,” Naples said. “Will that do?”
    “I’m serious,” Shayne said. “Harry doesn’t go in for nonviolence. If he makes up his mind that you did it to him, he may come looking for you with a gun in his pocket.”
    “For Christ’s sake! Give him credit for more sense.”
    “I come back to what I said before,” Shayne said. He took out a cigarette and reached past Mrs. Naples to get a book of St. Albans matches. After lighting the cigarette he leaned forward again to toss the match into the ashtray. She was half-turned toward a paunchy little man with a head like a dried apple, but Shayne saw the small signs that meant he and her husband had her full attention.
    He said deliberately, “It’s either somebody like you, with experience and confidence, plenty of funds and plenty of muscle. Or it’s somebody young and wild, without sense enough to be scared. I’ll tell you a few things I’ve picked up. Two of the stickup men died in a car crash. Both of them come from St. Louis.”
    Mrs. Naples’ shoulder made a slight involuntary movement. The redhead went on, “St. Louis is close enough to Chicago so you’d know people there, but not too close. A third man got away. The money got away with him, but we’re hoping to find his fingerprints in the wrecked car. I have a lead to a fleabag hotel called the Gloria. I have another lead to a football fix. There are indications that that was planned here at the St. A.”
    “What do I know about football?” Naples said.
    “All you need to know is somebody who knows the quarterback. Harry hired me to look for the dough. I took the job before I knew you were involved. If this ends in a killing, if I find out who robbed Harry and the