Beyond Trent, Tommy saw a pair of trousered legs. He rolled his eyes a little farther and they focused upon slim, nyloned legs and above them the hem of a checked tweed skirt. Tommy gasped and sat up so suddenly that a groan of pain was forced from his lips.
“Tommy,” Betty Targ exclaimed.
She came toward him and stooped, but Tommy, fighting nausea, rose to meet her. He was grateful for her steadying hand on his arm. “Tommy,” Betty said poignantly, “are you all right?”
Pain lancing through him, Tommy said: “I’m all right.”
He looked around the room. Faraday leaned against the far wall, a sardonic, evil look in his eyes. But of Fred Kraft, the private detective, Tommy saw nothing. Yet he must have brought Betty Targ here.
At last Tommy’s eyes came to rest upon Willis Trent’s face. And if the bookie had been angry before, he was seething now.
“It’s out,” Trent said savagely. “Kraft got it on his radio. Paul deCamp went to the bank at eleven o’clock. One hundred and seventy-five thousand smackers... in one-hundred dollar bills!”
Tommy sought Betty Targ’s face and saw confirmation. He pushed away from the group and, stumbling, found the sofa. He dropped heavily on it.
“Who got the money?” he asked.
Across the room, Earl Faraday laughed harshly. But Trent, shooting him an angry look, followed Tommy Dancer. He stood in front of the couch looking down. “I’m through fooling around with you, Dancer. I want to know what you did with that money... and I want to know it now.”
Tommy sighed wearily. “Go to hell!”
Louie came up beside Trent. “Again?” he asked.
“No,” replied Trent. “He’s stubborn and he’ll take a lot.”
“Up to a point, boss,” said Louie. “Up to a point. I’ll make him talk.”
“Sure you will, Louie,” agreed Trent. “But you can do it the easy way.”
He suddenly whirled and lunged for Betty Targ. He caught her by a wrist and pushed her toward Louie. “Make her yell, Louie. Loud.”
Tommy propelled himself to his feet and met the stubby revolver in the hand of Trent. It was jammed into his stomach.
“Go ahead, Louie,” Trent said, over his shoulder.
“You can’t make—” Betty began but her words were cut short by a sudden, shrill scream of pain.
Tommy capitulated. “The money’s in my box.” He stepped around Trent and caught Betty in his arms, although Louie still clung to her wrist. “I merely transferred it from deCamp’s box to my own.”
In his arms, Betty sobbed. “I couldn’t help it, Tommy, I... I didn’t want to... you didn’t have to tell them.”
“It’s all right, Betty,” Tommy soothed her. He led her to the sofa, Louie relinquishing his grip. He sat her down and stood over her, shielding her with his own body.
Earl Faraday had come away from the wall. “I told you all the time that he had it and a lot of good it’s going to do us now.”
“Shut up, Faraday,” snarled Trent. “I’ve got to think.” His fists clenched, he strode across the room and back.
“All right, Dancer, you’ll go down and get the money...”
Faraday cried out: “Have you lost your senses, Trent? They’ll be watching every person who goes into that vault.”
“That can’t be helped,” Trent grated. “It’s ten minutes to two; the bank doesn’t close until three. All they know is that deCamp claims some money was stolen from his safety deposit box. They can suspect everybody and anybody who’s had access to the vault, but they can’t stop people going to their own boxes.”
“I wouldn’t go into that vault today for a million dollars,” Faraday said, shuddering.
“You wouldn’t, but Dancer would. Because we’re going to keep the girl here. He’s going down to get that money and he’ll come back with it... alone. Because we’ll be waiting here... and watching...”
“And if I’m arrested?” Tommy asked.
“That’ll be too bad.” Trent nodded toward Betty. “For her.”
Tommy Dancer drew a deep breath. “Give me the Boston bag.”
“No, Tommy,” cried Betty. “You can’t go back there. They... they’ll arrest you.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
“The bag’s in the car,” said Trent. “And here’s your key. Go fix up your face in the kitchen.”
Tommy felt his face and discovered several bruises and some dried blood. He headed for the kitchen. Louie started to follow, but Trent signaled him back.
In the kitchen Tommy found a mirror above the sink and grimaced as he examined his face. He washed himself and took another look in the mirror. A couple of bruises still showed up, but he didn’t look too unpresentable.
Louie came into the kitchen. “I’m going with you, pal.”
“I can do without you.”
“Sure, but how are you going to get down into Hollywood from here?” He winked at Tommy. “I’ll be your chauffeur, that’s all.”
Tommy knew that Louie had received his instructions and did not protest. They left the kitchen and crossed the yard to Louie’s coupe. They got in, Louie behind the wheel. The Boston bag was on the seat. Tommy picked it up and held it on his lap.
Louie started the car, turned in the yard and in second gear began descending the steep graveled road to Mulholland Highway, some distance below.
When they neared the paved highway, Louie braked the car to a stop. “Look,” he said. He leaned across Tommy and pointed upward.
Tommy turned and followed Louie’s pointing finger. Although the road that led up to Trent’s house was only partially in sight, due to spiraling up the hill, part of the house could be seen from this point. Sunlight flashed on plate glass window.
“See what I mean?” Louie said. “They can see anybody starting up the road and they’ve got two-three minutes to make a getaway.”
“Where to?”
“Don’t be a sucker. There’s a back way out, a little tunnel that runs from the house underground to the edge of the cliff and comes out on a neat little path that you can’t see from the top. I just thought I’d tell you in case you get any ideas — such as hollering copper.”
“Why should I go to the police?” Tommy demanded. “I’m as guilty as Trent and Faraday.”
“Sure you are, but there’s the babe. Personally, I don’t see babes like that myself, but in the movies guys do funny things for babes — like giving theirselves up and such.”
Tommy grunted. “I just don’t like to see a woman slapped around. Or a man, for that matter.”
“I told you there wasn’t nothing personal in that.” Louie tooled the car out onto Mulholland Drive. “You got a pretty good punch yourself, you know. For an amateur.”
“Thanks.”
Louie let the car out and in a few minutes reached Laurel Canyon. He decended the steep, curved canyon road with his foot on the gas most of the time, braking only for the sharpest turns. The car careened wildly around several curves, the tires screeching in protest. Tommy doubted if Laurel Canyon had ever been negotiated so quickly. And Louie continued the fast pace up Hollywood Boulevard. When they reached La Brea he slowed down.
“I’m going to let you out in front of the Masonic Temple,” he said. “When you come out I’ll be parked on Orchid Street, right near the Temple. You can always find a parking spot there, this time of the day. I’ll be lookin’ for you in five minutes, not more’n ten.”
“I can’t guarantee the time,” Tommy retorted. “If I’m questioned it’ll be a good deal longer than ten minutes.”
“It’s twenty-five minutes to three. The bank closes at three; I’ll wait until then.”
They were already passing the Roosevelt Hotel and the Masonic Temple was just beyond, within a block of the bank. Louie slowed down the car and pulled up to the curb.