Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 9, September 1982

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Texas was a lot like Miami. It was full of sound and fury, death and destruction. Mike Shayne felt right at home. It was one of the worst feelings he’d ever had!

Michael Shayne was just stepping out of the building on Flagler Street where his office was located, when a rough hand suddenly grabbed his arm in an iron grip and spun him around. “Shayne, you goddam shamus!” someone roared, and then Shayne saw a big fist coming right at his face.

He ducked, letting his reflexes take over. The punch sailed by harmlessly, and Shayne stepped in closer to the man who had thrown it. He hooked a short, vicious left to the man’s unprotected stomach, followed with a devastating right cross that lifted the attacker off his feet and sent him sprawling on the sidewalk.

The man looked up at Shayne and rubbed a jaw that was going to be plenty sore, as bystanders hurried to get out of the way. Shayne’s pulse was pounding, pumping adrenalin through him in preparation for the fight to continue. But it was evident from the grin that broke out on the other man’s face that the fight was over.

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