“I’m not worried about an investigation. I’ve paid out plenty for protection and I mean to be protected.” Soule’s voice was thin and silken. The men seemed to be very close, not more than 15 feet away.
Shayne lay quiescent, listening intently, and the pain subsided to a dull throb at the base of his ear.
“We’re in this together, Soule. You don’t know Shayne when he gets started. He’s hell on wheels.”
“There’re ways to stop him.”
“I tell you another murder won’t do right now — not one hooked up with the Margo Macon killing. Shayne’s got friends in this town. He wouldn’t be fool enough to come here without turning over what he’s got to some of them.”
“You don’t mean Chief McCracken?” This was a new voice, one with a twangy whine.
“Shut up,” Soule commanded. “What do you think he’s got, Dolph?”
“That’s what I want to know!”
“Who steered him here?”
“That fellow named Drake, maybe. The one Henri brought here before he got picked up by Quinlan.”