“Let’s go,” he said.
We went a few blocks, circled one, drove into a driveway beside a big old house that had ‘Furnished Room’ signs in front. They told me to get out of the car and walk to the back door. I did. We all piled into a big, old-fashioned kitchen. There was a woman at the stove, a big blonde who had been a looker in her day, a long time ago.
“Well, well,” she said. “What am I running here, a boy’s dormitory?”
“Where’s Jack?” Dutch said.
The dame pointed with a long fork. “In there, eating as usual.”
Dutch pushed open a swinging door. At a table in the next room I saw a big guy, dressed in a dark suit, inhaling spaghetti and washing it down with red ink. It was the one who had busted into my office.
“My pal!” I said. “Hey, Jack, re-member me?”
He gave me a dirty look as the door swung shut. The two guys beside me told me to shut up. I ignored them and looked at the dame.
“Haven’t I met you somewhere, baby?” I asked her.
“Listen at the guy!” the dame said. “He’s on the make.”
“Bring the shamus in here,” the big guy said,
I winked at the dame and the two muggs pushed me through the door. Dutch was sitting at the table. The lg guy, Jack, had pushed his chair back.
“Sit down,” he said. “I want to talk to you, Ryan. Got a little proposition to Make.”
He was a horse-faced guy, with a dark skin, two gold teeth in the front of his mouth. He had off-color gray eyes and a long, thin nose. He waved the two tough babies out of the room.
I was trying to place him. He wasn’t a local boy; he wasn’t one of Gus’s pals. He had probably come here with Dutch; from the looks of things, Dutch was working for him, taking orders and liking it. Jack was the brains of the outfit.
He lit up a long, thin, black cigar.
“You going to listen to reason, Ryan?” he asked.
“Let’s hear the proposition,” I said.
“A smart guy hi-jacked fifty grand off a couple of my boys, right after they did a nice, sweet job taking it away from a bank messenger.”
“Oh,” I said, “so that’s where it came from. From the First National stick-up.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s where it came from. And it went to Gus. One of my boys got shot up trying to hang on to the dough. Gus got sick right away, and it’s lucky for him he died, because pneumonia bugs are painless compared to what we’d have given him. Gus passed the dough to a dame. You know her.”
“Sure. And she put it right back in the First National. Where it belongs.”
“It belongs here,” he said, and slapped his pocket. “We need it, brother. We’ve got to have it, quick. And you’re going to help us get it.”
I shook my head. Dutch growled something; Jack held up his hand for silence.
“We offered the dame a grand,” he said. “That’s a nice commission. That’s the best we’ll do. You can split the grand between you. And, besides, I can do something for you. You wanted a job with Gates of the Jewelers’ Association and you didn’t get it. Sloan got it. Well, I can give you some dope on Sloan and a jewelry racket that will make you ace-high with Gates. You better use your head and take what you can get.”
“There was a dead guy in my office,” I said. “Name of Pete Blinker. When the cops find dead guys, they get mean. If you hadn’t killed Pete—”
“I didn’t kill him,” Jack said. “You’re nuts. When I left there, he was out on the floor, but he was alive. Maybe I should have killed him; he was trying a double-cross, telling me he could bring Gus’s frail to time, telling Gus’s boys the same thing.”
“Don’t call Peggy his frail or I’ll knock your teeth out!”
I made a jump for him, but Dutch clipped me on the jaw.
“Sit down!” he said.
Jack grinned at me. “Pete called her his frail,” he said evenly. “And why do you think Gus passed her that dough?”
“Why fool around?” Dutch wanted to know. “We got to get out of here, Jack. The burg is hot. Let’s take the shamus up and work ’em both over.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Finish your proposition, Jack.”
“Okey. You talk sense to the twist. Get her to agree. You go to the bank with her, with a couple of my boys, and open the box. Take out a grand, hand the rest over. Give us some time. Play ball and I’ll give you the dope on Sloan — after we leave. It’s a nice deal, Ryan. Better take it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Good business. But where do you get the idea I could convince Peggy? And do you know what the cops could do to me? Hook me as a party to the First National job.”
Jack shrugged. His off-color eyes went frosty. “It’s a proposition you’ve got to take up, pal. You don’t want to see the twist hurt; you don’t want to get hurt.”
I laughed at him. “A lot of good that would do you — with the dough locked up in the bank.”
“Take him up, Dutch,” Jack said, and his voice was like a steel file on rusty metal.
I was marched up the smelly old stairs, turned down the hall to a rear room and shoved into it. Peggy was there, lying on her side on a studio couch, ankles tied, hands tied, adhesive tape across her lips. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with indignation. But when she saw me, moisture came into her them — tears of pity, I guessed. I tried to give her a smile, but it wasn’t much of a success.
“Talk to her,” Dutch said. “Tell her what we want — what you’ll both get if you don’t come across.”
I pulled a chair over beside her and sat down. I told her. Gave it to her just as Jack and Dutch wanted me to. Then, as her eyes were asking me for my advice and opinion, I added: “But as long as the dough’s in the bank and nobody can get it out but you, a lot of good it will do them to get tough.”
Her eyes smiled at me. She was for holding out. I thought she would be. I sighed. We were going to take some punishment.
The blond dame from the kitchen came in, with Jack. The dame began to take off Peggy’s shoes. Jack took out a packet of matches. I got the idea.
“Hey, wait!” I begged. “Don’t do that. Listen, you can’t burn her feet!”
“Why not?” Dutch snarled. “Why the hell can’t we? She glommed our dough, didn’t she? She’s holdin’ out, ain’t she? We got to get out of here! This burg’s hot! For fifty grand—”
“Shut up, Dutch,” Jack said. “I made you a proposition, shamus. It’s up to you and the twist. The dough is ours and we need it.”
“Burning her won’t get it!”
“Then we’ll try burning you. She’s your doll, isn’t she? She was just playing Gus for what she could get, but she’s your doll. When you begin to smell like a piece of charred steak, maybe—” He broke off and swung around to Peggy. “Listen, toots, I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is what belongs to me. You ready to talk business?”
I was hot all over. Peggy looked at me and I nodded. Her eyes told me she was ashamed of me and sorry for me, too.
But we’d both be better off out of this house, on the way to the bank or in the bank. I had my hands burned once and whenever I think of it I go to pieces. The idea of watching them burn Peggy had me jittery.
But Peggy, no matter what she thought of me, nodded her head, too. She was ready to talk business.
Jack bent over her, ripped off the adhesive tape. It hurt and Peggy made a little noise.
“Now don’t start yelling,” Jack said, “or you’ll be taped up again. You’re ready to go to the bank and turn over the dough? Talk fast, sister!”
“Better do it,” I said. “These two men are desperate. We can’t fight them. No use taking a lot of punishment for a cold-blooded bank — and the bank would get the money, sooner or later, if these guys didn’t. It’s money they stole from the bank and Gus got it by hijacking them.”