He pushed himself up to his hands and knees and, heedless of splinters, crawled across the floor and through under the flap-gate of the counter. The mousy girl was crouched into a shivering ball, and she stared at him with fascinated horror.
“Got a gun?” Dodd demanded.
“Wh-wh-what?” she blubbered.
From the back, the clerk said angrily: “Say, what do you think—”
“Stay out of sight!” Dodd ordered. “Somebody’s gunning for me. Have you got anything to shoot with back there?”
“No!” said the clerk in a voice suddenly shaky. “Are... are you sure—”
“If I was any surer, I’d be dead,” Dodd answered.
Out in the street, a woman screamed and screamed again. Somebody shouted furiously, and then a police whistle trilled.
Dodd crawled out through the gate again, across the floor to the front door. He put his head out cautiously. On the opposite side of the street a yelling, gesticulating group of people milled around the solid blue core of a stocky policeman.
Dodd waited for a moment, looking all around, and then got up and ran for the crowd. He ducked into the edge of it and pushed himself forward toward its center.
A woman in a pink housecoat, her face smeared with cold cream until it looked like a weird Halloween mask and her hair screwed tight into scores of metal curlers, was screeching furiously at the policeman.
“Right in my apartment! Right up there!”
The policeman was trying to fend off the gaping crowd. “What, lady? What was it? What happened?”
“A woman in my apartment, I tell you! I was in the bathroom, and she opened the door and came right in! With a gun!”
“Get back,” said the policeman to the crowd. “Stand back there, can’t you? Yes, lady. What happened?”
“She told me to shut up! Right in my own bathroom! She pointed her gun at me! And she used my telephone! And then she fired shots right out of my window!”
“Stand back!” the policeman ordered. “Quit shovin’! Yes, lady. Did she rob you? Did she steal anything?”
“No! She came right in my bathroom and—”
“Yes, lady. But where is she now?”
The woman shook both fists at him. “I don’t know where she is, you big dummy! She ran out and slammed the door! What are you standing here asking questions for? Why don’t you find her and arrest her? What am I paying taxes for?”
“Yes, lady,” the policeman said in a pained voice. “But what did she look like?”
“She was a big, tall woman, and she had an awful old floppy hat and a black veil and an imitation fur coat that never cost more than nineteen dollars—”
Dodd wormed back through the crowd. He went down the block at a fast walk, turned the corner into Sixth, and trotted down the stairs into the Coon Cafe.
The wizened bartender with the drooping mustache was still the sole occupant of the place. “Now you sure do feel bad, don’t you?” he asked knowingly. “I told you so. You got the shakes, ain’t you?”
Dodd sat down on a bar stool and took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. He breathed in deeply, trying to quiet the pounding of his heart.
“If you’d just take a sherry flip—” said the bartender.
“Bourbon,” Dodd said hoarsely. “The bottle.”
“You’re gonna be a nervous wreck,” the bartender warned.
“Go away,” Dodd requested.
He poured himself a drink and then wiped his forehead with his handkerchief again. He took out the telegram from Ramsey and read it three times, but there was no doubt about it. It said Harold Stacy could be reached at Parmlee 4142, and Parmlee 4142 was the telephone number of Dodd’s office. He shook his head uncomprehendingly. Finally he got up and went to the booth at the back of the room and dialed the number.
The instrument at the other end rang only once, and then a voice said cheerily: “This here is the Dodd Bail-Bond Company. Service any old time, any old place! What can we do for you, chum?”
“Who are you?” Dodd asked incredulously.
“What’s it to you, bud?”
“I’m Dodd!”
“Oh hello, Dodd, old pal. This is Broderick. Me and Mason is keeping tabs on what’s left of your joint for you. I’m takin’ care of the phone calls. How am I doin’?”
“Just dandy,” Dodd said bitterly. “I was hoping that telephone was out of order.”
“Oh, no. It got knocked around some, but it still talks good. I can even talk to my old man in Memphis, Tennessee, on it and hear him just as plain as if he was across the road. Say, Dodd, what is this about Blinky Tooper, anyway?”
“I’ll bite,” Dodd said warily. “What about him?”
“Well, I thought you buried him. What is he doing calling up your office, then?”
Dodd stiffened. “Blinky Tooper called me up?”
“Yup. He didn’t sound so very healthy, but on the other hand he didn’t sound so very dead, either.”
“What did he say?”
“He says, are you here. And I say, no. And then he says, where are you. I say, I ain’t got no idea. Then he says, can he leave a message. I say, sure. So he does.”
“Well, what was it?” Dodd demanded tensely.
“He says, it’s very important you should call him right away quick if not sooner.”
“Where?” Dodd yelled.
“Huh? Oh, wait a minute. Mason, what was that number I give you a while back — just before we ordered the second bottle?... Oh, yeah. I remember, Dodd, it was Garden 2212.”
“All right,” said Dodd.
“Now don’t go gettin’ worried about your business, Dodd. We got everything under control here, and we’re takin’ care of your customers like you wouldn’t hardly believe.”
“Good-bye,” said Dodd sourly.
He hung up and put another nickel in the slot and dialed the Garden number. He could hear the steady buzz that indicated the instrument at the other end was ringing, but there was no answer. After a while, he hung up, retrieved his nickel and dialed another number.
“Police department,” a voice said.
“Give me the locker room,” Dodd requested.
There was a pause, and then Meekins’ voice stated importantly: “This is the locker room.”
“Dodd speaking.”
“Hi, boss,” said Meekins. “I was just wondering where you were. Do you know how much money you’ve got in the bank — in your personal account?”
“Not exactly,” Dodd answered, puzzled. “Why?”
“You ain’t got enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“To cover that check you wrote for Blinky’s funeral. It bounced.”
“It couldn’t!” Dodd exploded. “I’m sure I have enough to cover it, and anyway it hasn’t had time to bounce yet.”
“It did. There was a guy by the name of Miltgreen just over here crying to me about it. It seems he maybe didn’t think you looked so honest, so instead of sending the check through in the regular way, he takes it right over to your bank personally and tries to cash it. They tell him it’s no soap. You ain’t got enough in your account to pay it.”
Dodd said: “Why, I can’t understand... What did you tell Miltgreen?”
“I didn’t know hardly what to tell him, boss. I thought maybe you might have bounced the check on purpose or stopped payment on it or something. I gave him the brush-off by telling him I didn’t know anything about it and that he’d have to talk to you. I told him to go over to your office and wait for you. I figured I could tip you off if you didn’t want to see him, but you better had because he’s puttin’ out a hell of a squawk. He says he’s got to make the check good unless you do, and he’s got a wife and sixteen starvin’ kids. He nearly had me cryin’ before he got through.”