Framed in Blood

Начало книги

For some minutes Michael Shayne had been aware of the nervous regard of the young man sitting beside him at the bar. The tall redhead remained placidly impervious to the squirmings which seemed designed to attract his attention. It was not until Shayne lifted his glass to drain it that the young man said, “I guess that’s cognac you’re drinking.”

Shayne set the glass down and turned his head slowly, lifted his bushy red brows, and said in an impersonal tone, “What business is it of yours what I’m drinking?”

The man turned on the stool and faced Shayne. His thin blond mustache was tinged with nicotine on the left side, and his round face, which should have been plump, was haggard. There were dark circles beneath bloodshot blue eyes, and an uncertain smile quivered on his lips.

He said, “You are Michael Shayne, aren’t you?”

“So what?”

“So you must be drinking cognac.” The young man looked at the empty glass in Shayne’s big hand. “I’ll buy one. A double?”

Читать дальше →