Mr. Shayne. I’ve been telling her how they work things in Centerville, seeing you all are strangers and mighty nice people. A man’s got to walk a pretty straight line to stay out of trouble hereabouts.”
“The police just run the town the way they want to,” Lucy put in indignantly. “It doesn’t matter whether you get drunk or not, if you’re a stranger and in a place like this and take a few drinks and they think you’ve got any money, they arrest you when you go out and put you in jail for drunkenness. Then you have to pay a fine and the judge splits it with the proprietor for tipping them off about you.”
Rexard looked worried. “It’s not so good to say it right out loud like that, Miss Lucy.” He glanced nervously around them. “You can’t get any proof that they pay for the tipoff. It just happens that a policeman’s always waiting outside to grab a man after he’s had a few drinks and shows a roll. The Eustis isn’t any worse than other places.”
Shayne listened soberly and thoughtfully, then beckoned a waitress, ordered another bottle of brandy and said, “What happens if a man is arrested when he isn’t actually drunk?”
Both Tatum and Rexard laughed jeeringly. “If a cop says a man’s drunk, he’s drunk,” said Rexard.
“And if you don’t plead guilty,” Tatum contributed, “you get thirty days in jail.”
“But they have to have some proof,” Shayne argued. “You could demand an examination by a doctor.”
“In Centerville?” Titus Tatum’s gold teeth showed to the gum line in a hoarse laugh. “Argue with them and you get beat up,” he explained simply. “It don’t pay. Safest thing is to keep your mouth shut and pay.”
“It’s just like the Gestapo in Hitler’s Germany,” Lucy said. “Some men stay in jail here three months without being allowed to see a lawyer and not knowing what they’re charged with. Isn’t that what you said, Titus?”
“A man hasn’t got much chance once he’s locked up,” he admitted cautiously. “The City Hall gang has things pretty much their own way… have for thirty years. Run the slot machines and liquor business and all. It’s a losing game to try and buck ’em. Smart folks just keep their mouths shut and stay out of trouble.”
“So… you be smart, Michael.” Lucy squeezed his arm, then continued excitedly, “Have you heard the big news? About the end of the strike? The miners are going back to work tomorrow.”
The waiter brought a bottle of brandy. Shayne said to Lucy, “I heard about it,” opened the bottle and poured some in four glasses. He asked Rexard, “Do you live here?”
“Dry cleaning business,” Rexard told him. “I say it’s a shame for the miners to give up that way, but I reckon the poor devils didn’t have a chance. George Brand certainly let ’em down when he killed young Roche.”
“Do you think he did?”
“It makes no difference whether he did or didn’t,” Rexard said gloomily. “Strike’s broken, and there won’t be another one for years.”
“Do you know, Michael, there’ve been five men killed in Centerville in the past month? Counting Mr. Roche last night and that man on the highway this afternoon. But that was an accident, I guess.” Something in her voice warned Shayne that it was important for him not to comment upon it.
Shayne took a sip of brandy and said casually, “An accident on the highway?”
“Just about sundown,” Titus Tatum said. “Not more’n a mile west of town.”
“This side of the Moderne Hotel,” Lucy said. “Titus was telling me about it.”
“That’s right,” said Tatum. “Car went out of control over the side, I reckon. They found him with his head bashed in.”
“A couple of special deputies found him,” Lucy interposed, her voice vibrating with anger and warning.
“Fellow by the name of Margule,” said Rexard.
Shayne said, “Margule? Wasn’t that one of the men who played poker with Brand last night?”
“That
“The police just run the town the way they want to,” Lucy put in indignantly. “It doesn’t matter whether you get drunk or not, if you’re a stranger and in a place like this and take a few drinks and they think you’ve got any money, they arrest you when you go out and put you in jail for drunkenness. Then you have to pay a fine and the judge splits it with the proprietor for tipping them off about you.”
Rexard looked worried. “It’s not so good to say it right out loud like that, Miss Lucy.” He glanced nervously around them. “You can’t get any proof that they pay for the tipoff. It just happens that a policeman’s always waiting outside to grab a man after he’s had a few drinks and shows a roll. The Eustis isn’t any worse than other places.”
Shayne listened soberly and thoughtfully, then beckoned a waitress, ordered another bottle of brandy and said, “What happens if a man is arrested when he isn’t actually drunk?”
Both Tatum and Rexard laughed jeeringly. “If a cop says a man’s drunk, he’s drunk,” said Rexard.
“And if you don’t plead guilty,” Tatum contributed, “you get thirty days in jail.”
“But they have to have some proof,” Shayne argued. “You could demand an examination by a doctor.”
“In Centerville?” Titus Tatum’s gold teeth showed to the gum line in a hoarse laugh. “Argue with them and you get beat up,” he explained simply. “It don’t pay. Safest thing is to keep your mouth shut and pay.”
“It’s just like the Gestapo in Hitler’s Germany,” Lucy said. “Some men stay in jail here three months without being allowed to see a lawyer and not knowing what they’re charged with. Isn’t that what you said, Titus?”
“A man hasn’t got much chance once he’s locked up,” he admitted cautiously. “The City Hall gang has things pretty much their own way… have for thirty years. Run the slot machines and liquor business and all. It’s a losing game to try and buck ’em. Smart folks just keep their mouths shut and stay out of trouble.”
“So… you be smart, Michael.” Lucy squeezed his arm, then continued excitedly, “Have you heard the big news? About the end of the strike? The miners are going back to work tomorrow.”
The waiter brought a bottle of brandy. Shayne said to Lucy, “I heard about it,” opened the bottle and poured some in four glasses. He asked Rexard, “Do you live here?”
“Dry cleaning business,” Rexard told him. “I say it’s a shame for the miners to give up that way, but I reckon the poor devils didn’t have a chance. George Brand certainly let ’em down when he killed young Roche.”
“Do you think he did?”
“It makes no difference whether he did or didn’t,” Rexard said gloomily. “Strike’s broken, and there won’t be another one for years.”
“Do you know, Michael, there’ve been five men killed in Centerville in the past month? Counting Mr. Roche last night and that man on the highway this afternoon. But that was an accident, I guess.” Something in her voice warned Shayne that it was important for him not to comment upon it.
Shayne took a sip of brandy and said casually, “An accident on the highway?”
“Just about sundown,” Titus Tatum said. “Not more’n a mile west of town.”
“This side of the Moderne Hotel,” Lucy said. “Titus was telling me about it.”
“That’s right,” said Tatum. “Car went out of control over the side, I reckon. They found him with his head bashed in.”
“A couple of special deputies found him,” Lucy interposed, her voice vibrating with anger and warning.
“Fellow by the name of Margule,” said Rexard.
Shayne said, “Margule? Wasn’t that one of the men who played poker with Brand last night?”
“That
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