“All right,” Trent said, “he left before nine. What then?”
“That’s all, sir,” Kraft continued. “He drove to his apartment on South Reeve and never came out again, although I waited until after one o’clock, as you instructed.”
“Make something out of that,” Faraday said, through bared teeth.
“I make something out of the redhead,” Trent said calmly. “That was Flo Randall.”
“We never went near the bank.”
“Not yesterday,” Trent signed. “Unfortunately, Mr. Kraft didn’t start to shadow you until then.” He looked at Louie. “You didn’t read the complete dossier on Tommy.”
“Doss-doss-say? You mean the report? You only asked for last night.”
“Let’s hear the whole day.”
Louie again took out his notebook. “Picked him up at nine-thirty in the morning. He had breakfast at a place on Highland, then went to the bank. He was inside only a few minutes, then came out and went to his shop on Melrose. You went in about half hour later and after you left, he came out and got in his car and drove to a joint on Santa Monica, the Hadley Manufacturing Company. This was about eleven-fifteen and he stayed in there until after one o’clock. He went back to the shop then and stayed until five o’clock when he went to his apartment. He came out and went to your place. From there on I told you before.”
“Make something of that,” Tommy said pointedly.
“You knew you were being shadowed,” Trent said. He hesitated. “I wonder if you knew it last night.”
“Of course I knew it.”
“Uh-uh,” Louie cut in. “He didn’t know it. I’m sure. Not the way him and the babe was—”
Faraday snarled deep in his throat and Louie looked at him in mild surprise. “Did I say something?”
“Faraday’s girl,” Trent offered.
“Dancer’s girl,” Tommy corrected.
“She ain’t got red, I mean, titian hair,” Louie said.
“Not the same girl.” Trent made an impatient gesture. “That’s beside the point. He looked at Kraft, the little private detective.”
“Fred, I’ve got another job for you. A Miss Elizabeth Targ, who lives on Foothill Roulevard in Beverly Hills — bring her here.”
Tommy said curtly: “Keep her out of this.”
Trent ignored Tommy. “Get her,” he said to Kraft.
“For sure, you mean?” asked Kraft. “If she wants to come or not?”
“I said, bring her!”
Kraft bobbed his head up and down and started for the kitchen. Tommy Dancer catapulted from the sofa and lunged for the little private detective. He had hold of the man’s arm and was whirling him around when Louie sprang up behind him and landed a crashing blow on his ear.
Tommy went over sidewards, dropped to his knees and remained there for a moment, while a roaring filled his ears. Then it cleared away suddenly and he pushed himself up from the floor.
Louie stood over him, his feet wide apart, a mocking grin on his thin lips. Tommy came up and Louie gave him his knee in the groin. Tommy went down to the floor a second time, gasping in agony.
Trent came over. “Get up!”
Fighting nausea, Tommy climbed weakly to his feet. “Slugging is Louie’s trade, so get wise to yourself. Take off your coat.”
Tommy blinked at him stupidly. Louie stepped around Trent, caught hold of Tommy’s coat and peeled it off his shoulders. Trent nodded to him and the swarthy man began searching the coat. While he was engaged in the task, Kraft left the room and the house.
Tommy moved heavily back to the couch and seated himself. He watched Louie go through his coat and gave the man grudging approval for the way he performed the task. Louie missed nothing. The pockets he emptied cursorily, but his real work began after that. He examined every seam in the coat, went over every inch of the lining, feeling, bending, crinkling, the cloth. A scrap of paper could not have remained concealed. Finally, he tossed the coat to the floor.
“The pants,” he said.
Tommy hesitated, then caught Trent’s cold glance and rising, removed his trousers. Louie gave them the same examination he had given the coat, then went over Tommy’s shoes and his person.
When he completed his search he shook his head. “Four bucks fifty cents, a key to safety deposit box 365, and a pawn ticket for a wrist watch, hocked for twenty.”
Trent was already scanning the pawn ticket. “Two weeks ago you pawned your watch and you haven’t had enough extra money to get it out. Yet last night you went to six night clubs.”
“Faraday could give you the answer to that,” Tommy said testily. “He’s been doing it all his life.” He was putting on his clothes.
“I made up my mind,” said Faraday, “I’m not going to get sore at you again; not until this is over. But then I’m going to meet you somewhere.” His face twitched spasmodically. “I never got a nickel from Betty Targ.”
“I know you didn’t,” Tommy said calmly.
“That two-fifty,” Trent persisted. “You got it somewhere.”
Louie exclaimed, “Is that what’s worrying you, boss? Hell, I couldda told you that long ago. He got it cashin’ those checks last night.”
Trent stared at Louie. “What checks?”
“Why, every night club they went, he cashed a check. The girl did, I mean, but she always slipped him the change... Is that what’s been worrying you?”
Trent swore softly. “You cleaned out the box yesterday morning and then you got together this two-fifty last night to hand to us.”
“If I emptied the box,” Tommy said, “why would I have to round up two hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Because the stuff was in big bills,” Trent made an impatient gesture. “How do I know just what you did?” He paused a moment, then added significantly, “But you’re going to tell us!”
“I can’t tell you something I don’t know.”
Trent caught Louie’s eye and the swarthy man’s face lit up in anticipation. He stepped toward Tommy. “There’s nothing personal in this, pal...”
“No,” said Tommy and, ducking under Louie’s sizzling right, smashed his fist into Louie’s stomach. Louie let out a startled “oof” and folded over forward. He was in perfect position for an uppercut and Tommy followed through with it, but Louie, realizing his peril, rolled away from the punch and Tommy’s fist merely grazed his chin.
Then Louie went to work. He feinted with his left and, when Tommy stepped up, sent him staggering with a savage right. He followed up his advantage with a left hook, then a pile-driving right that sent Tommy to his knees. Louie didn’t stop there. His style of fighting did not include sportsmanship. He was out to destroy, quickly and thoroughly. He used his fists as well as his feet... and when he got through with Tommy Dancer, the latter was sprawled on the floor unconscious. A final, savage kick in the stomach did not even cause Tommy’s body to quiver.
Chapter Sixteen
One moment Tommy Dancer was wrapped in the veil of unconsciousness and the next he was awake, his body a mass of screaming pain. A series of little explosions rocked his tortured head and then a sepulchral voice said, from a great distance: “So you’ve come ’round?”
Through a fog Tommy Dancer saw a giant standing over him. He closed his eyes tightly, then reopened them and saw that the haze had cleared and the man standing over him was revealed in his true proportions. Willis Trent.