Tommy took the card to one of the writing stands and filled it out slowly. He gave his name and address, hesitated over employer and finally wrote: George Roan. “Business references” he left blank but filled out the other spaces. He returned to the safety deposit window.
The woman gave the card a perfunctory scrutiny. “Can you give a business reference?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any charge accounts at the stores,” Tommy replied. “I always pay cash.”
The woman hesitated. “I guess it’s all right. The regular size boxes are six dollars per year, plus twenty per cent Federal Tax. Seven dollars and twenty cents.”
Tommy took out a ten dollar bill and she gave him change. The attendant searched through a drawer of keys and brought out two, held together with a circular clip.
“Here you are, Mr. Dancer. Box three sixty-five.”
Tommy held up the Manila envelope. “Could I put these things in the box now?”
“Of course. Here...” She slipped over a pad of small blanks, “Fill out one of these.”
The blank merely required Tommy’s signature and box number. He wrote it out and handed it to the woman, who took a key from her desk and pressed the electric button. “If you’ll come in...”
Tommy stepped to the wooden gate and went through. He followed the woman into the vault which was not more than ten by ten feet in size and lined on two sides by safety deposit boxes. The attendant said: “If you’ll give me your keys...”
Tommy handed them to her. She put one of the keys into the lower keyhole of Box 365 and turned it. Tommy shot a quick glance over his shoulder. The woman’s compartment, out in the banking room, was out of eye range from where he stood. Good.
He turned back to the girl and discovered that she had put the bank’s key into the upper keyhole. She turned it and withdrawing the pulled open the steel door, revealing a long black metal box. She pulled it out and handed it to Tommy.
“Just put it back when you’re through and close the door,” she said. “It locks automatically.”
Tommy flashed her a smile and she left the little room. Tommy took the box to a high metal stand and opening it dumped in the contents of his Manila envelope, a $50 war bond, a lapsed insurance policy for $1,000 and the lease of his Las Palmas apartment.
He took a small white envelope from his pocket and held it in his left hand, concealed by the safety deposit box. Stepping back to the open compartment he slid the box into the slot. Then, looking over his shoulder, he reached swiftly into the small envelope and drew out a white metal key blank. He inserted it in the top keyhole of his box, worked it back and forth, then drawing it out, dropped it into the white envelope. He closed the door and heard the locks snap. Then turning, he slipped the white envelope into his breast pocket and left the vault.
Outside, he nodded to the girl and, leaving by the door, walked casually through the banking department to the street.
At McCadden he retrieved his car from the parking lot where he had left it, and a few minutes later he entered the Melrose Lock and Key Shop. George Roan, a stocky, middle-aged man with close-clipped greying hair looked pointedly at the wall clock.
“Eleven-forty, Tommy,” he said.
“Sorry. I couldn’t seem to get up this morning.”
“Or yesterday morning. What the devil’s got into you lately? You haven’t got any more interest in your work than a duck has teeth.”
“Lay off!” Tommy snapped.
“I was figurin’ taking you into the business,” Roan said, bitterly. “But the way you been actin’ I think I’d be better off letting you go and getting in an apprentice.”
“You do that,” Tommy said coldly. He walked to a bench at the rear of the little shop and took down a metal tool box.
As he started for the door, Roan exclaimed in alarm. “Where are you going?”
“I’m taking you at your word,” Tommy retorted.
The proprietor of the key shop groaned. “That’s the trouble with you young fellows today, can’t take a word of criticism.”
Tommy stopped just within the door. “That was a little more than criticism.”
“What the hell’s the use of being boss if you can’t blow off steam once in a while? Forget it, and get to work. I’ve got to run out and talk to the Gribble people about a new burglar alarm system.”
Tommy hesitated, then returned to the bench at the rear of the shop. He set down his tool kit and opened it. Roan, muttering to himself got his hat and coat. But before he stepped to the door he frowned at Tommy’s back.
“Look, Tommy, when I get back we’ll talk about that partnership deal, huh?”
“All right.”
Roan went out. Tommy waited a minute or two, then reached into his breast pocket and took out a white envelope. He opened it carefully and shook out a key blank that had been smoked and which now bore several whitened spots down one side. He picked it up gingerly and inserted it in a vise. Then with a file he worked rapidly for several minutes, filing notches into the key. He stopped to examine the key from time to time, changed from a large file to a small one and worked more carefully.
After about ten minutes he took the key out of the vise and held it up to the light. He studied it closely and finally nodded in satisfaction.
Grinning crookedly he dropped the key into his pocket and going to the telephone dialed a number.
A voice said in his ear: “Meestair T-r-rentes’ apar-rtment.”
“I’d like to talk to Mr. Trent,” Tommy said. “Tell him it’s Tommy Dancer...”
Trent came on the phone a moment later. “All right?”
“All right.”
“Good. I’ve got that number for you.”
“What is it?”
There was a pause, then Trent said: “I don’t think you’d better go in for a day or two. No need to call unnecessary attention to you.”
“I don’t agree with you, Trent. I rented the box today and it’ll seem only natural if I go in the next day to put in some things.”
“I’ll give you the number tomorrow.”
“Suit yourself,” Tommy said coolly and hung up.
George Roan returned to the shop an hour later, his face beaming with good cheer. “Got it,” he exulted. “A sweet eight hundred dollar job.”
“Great,” said Tommy. He held up a slip of paper. “I was just going to run out. Woman lost her garage key.”
“If they could carry the garages with them, they’d lose the garages,” Roan said. “All right, go ahead and when you get back we’ll talk about that deal.”
Tommy took his tool case and left the shop. Outside he climbed into his flivver and started up Melrose. Across the street a car made a U-turn and took off after him. At Highland Tommy eased over to the right ready to make a right turn, but when the lights turned green, he gunned his motor, shot out into the intersection and made a frantic left turn in front of a through-bound car, whose driver slammed on the brakes and tooted wildly.
Tommy, oblivious, scooted south on Highland to Oakwood. A few minutes later he was back on Melrose at Highland and this time made the correct right turn.
He drove on Highland to Santa Monica where he turned right on the car tracks and went several blocks until he found a clear spot at the curb. He pulled in and, shutting off the ignition, leaned back and rested his head on the seat cushion. He closed his eyes.
Tommy dozed for a half hour then, yawning, switched on the ignition. He drove leisurely to McCadden and Hollywood Boulevard and parked his car.
Leaving the lot he strolled to Hollywood Boulevard and turned left to Highland.
Chapter Nine
Tommy crossed the street and entered the Hollywood-Highland Bank and walked to the Safety Deposit window. He nodded to the girl behind the counter and filled out a blank. “Want to put some papers in my box.”