Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

The bartender, with a cheerful, “Good to see you again, Mr. Shayne,” served the big detective a Martell’s on the rocks.

Shayne nodded his thanks. “I read your column this morning,” he told Tim.

“The question is, has Will Gentry read it yet?”

“Affirmative,” Shayne said. “I stopped by to chat with him on my way here.”

“And?”

“Go see him. Those ghetto kids have a good idea and I believe Will Gentry can be a lot of help getting them organized,” Shayne said.

“That’s welcome news. What about you? I had in, mind you helping them out, they’ve all heard about you one way or another. This is why I’m breaking a precedent and popping for lunch.”

Shayne finished his drink; Rourke ordered another boilermaker.

“I’ve talked with some of the victimized elderly people trying to make it on fixed incomes,” Tim went on to say. “It’s one hell of a problem! Half the muggings never get reported for fear there will be retaliation. These people can’t afford the rents in better sections of this town and Miami.”

“I know,” Shayne said, scowling. “I wish I had the time right now to help out, but I’m off to Taiwan tomorrow morning. When I get back let’s talk about it again. Okay?”

“Taiwan?” Tim Rourke was wide awake now. “What takes you out there?”

“A security job,” Shayne said. “I’m to babysit the Golden Buddha and some other valuable bric-a-brac being shipped by the Nationalists for a tour of this country.”

“Can I print this?”

“Talk to a Dr. Feldman out at the university,” Shayne told him. “He’s the honcho who retained me for the job. A certain Dr. Scott expects a little dirty work at the crossroads before the Golden Buddha arrives here in Miami.”

“Who’s Dr. Scott?”

“Some fusty old antiquarian I suspect,” Shayne said. “The nervous type, from what I hear. I’ll be meeting him on Taiwan.”

Tim finished his boilermaker. “Let’s eat.”

“Suits me,” Shayne said.

Rourke ordered corn beef and cabbage, which he stated was his idea of health food. “We’re having one of our periodic health fads at the newspaper,” he told Shayne. “Just about everybody is jogging and eating wheat germ on organic lettuce.”

“Sounds great for rabbits,” Shayne said. “I think I’ll stick to meat and potatoes.”

A man of his word, Shayne ordered an extra-thick sirloin with baked potato, sour cream and chives.

“Did you ever hear of the Seberg Foundation?” Shayne asked while they were eating.

“Seberg?” Rourke scowled. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“They’re sponsoring this Golden Buddha thing,” Shayne said. “Dr. Feldman either doesn’t know much about the foundation or isn’t saying.”

Long ago Shayne had discovered a question such as the one he’d just hazarded aroused the bloodhound in Tim Rourke, the instinct that made the man the good investigative reporter he was. He was certain before tomorrow morning and his departure on a flight to San Francisco that Tim would have some information for him. Added to what Lucy Hamilton would be able to garner — and she was no mean investigator herself he’d learned. By the time he was on the plane, Shayne expected he would have a fairly complete picture of the mysterious Seberg Foundation.

Shayne’s insatiable curiosity about everyone and everything involved in whatever case he happened to be working had more than once been the difference between success and failure, sometimes life and death.

“I’ll do some snooping,” Tim promised.

“I’d appreciate it.”

When he returned to his East Flagler Street office Shayne was surprised to see a puzzled expression on his secretary’s pretty face.

“I’ve tried the library here in town, the Library of Congress, even the IRS, Michael,” she said. “Nobody seems to know much of anything about this Seberg Foundation.”

“Are they listed in Miami Beach, Miami or anywhere else here in Florida?”

Lucy had been poring over telephone directories, “I don’t think so.”

“Will Gentry called. You’re cleared to carry a weapon aboard tomorrow’s flight.”

“That’s good. You know I’d better get packed for this junket. Can you hold the fort here if I take you out to supper this evening?”

Lucy smiled. “That’s what you pay me for, Michael. Supper would be a nice perk, however. Any special place in mind?”

“You decide.”

“There’s a new Cantonese restaurant over on Biscayne Boulevard,” Lucy said tentatively. “Maybe we’d better tune your taste buds for Taiwanese cooking. What do you say?”

Shayne nodded. “Sounds good, Angel.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“By the way,” Shayne said. “I mentioned this mysterious Seberg Foundation to Tim Rourke at lunch and he’s promised to come up with something.”

“You’re a bit worried about this Golden Buddha thing, aren’t you, Michael?”

“No more than I usually am tackling something like this,” Shayne told her, “but a few things don’t make sense... yet. For example, why me?”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked.

Shayne sat on the comer of her desk. “The Nationalist government has plenty of security people. They could guard the shipment until it reaches San Francisco.”