Shayne moved on to the recording clerk. Denton stepped closer, a sneer on his thick lips. Shayne looked at Denton and said, “Mike Shayne, Hyers Hotel.”
Denton smiled and moved to Shayne’s side. “It was smart not to make a fuss, shamus. Judge Roberts throws the book at a guy when he pleads not guilty.”
Shayne muttered, “I’ve never seen a slicker frame.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Denton smiled broadly at the compliment. “We do have our own way of fixing things here. Maybe you’ve forgotten.”
Shayne thrust his hands deep in his pockets and asked, “What’s the picture worth?”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” Denton chuckled, “but Kearny says it’s a honey.” His loud guffaw was obscene. “The two of you sitting up in bed like a pair of scared rabbits and naked as jaybirds in sheddin’ time. You were smart not to make me introduce it as evidence.”
“What’s it worth to you?” Shayne repeated grimly.
“Just for you to get out of town and quit horsing around. Two-thirty this afternoon is the deadline. It’s got to be run while it’s hot. It’ll be spread over tonight’s paper if you don’t play wise. With a story of how and when.”
Shayne kept his bunched fists in his pockets. “I’ve still got a case to break. Are you giving me Henri?”
“Hell, no. That was all a mistake. Forget that crazy story you dreamed up and get out of town. You haven’t got a thing on Henri.”