“No,” cut in Tommy. “She didn’t.” He paused a moment. “I’ve got the hundred and sixty thousand...”
Flo recoiled from him. Tommy said evenly: “Let’s walk — and talk...”
He took her arm and for a moment she walked along with him, but then she pulled away from him. “I’m parked right here...”
“I prefer to walk,” Tommy said, taking her arm again.
“I don’t,” Flo declared. “I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I have a good notion—”
“To yell for the police?”
“Yes. They’re looking for you.”
“If I’m arrested,” Tommy said evenly, “I’ll have to tell them the whole story — how Earl Faraday fingered the job, how he got the number of deCamp’s box from you—”
“That’s a lie!”
“It isn’t. How he got the number, I don’t know — and don’t care. The question is simply, can you convince Paul deCamp that Faraday didn’t get it from you?” He shook his head. “Faraday’s dead. That’s your answer.”
Flo Randall uttered a choking cry. “What do you want from me — my life?”
“No, but my own life isn’t safe. Paul deCamp knows about me and the word is out by now. I’ve got to disappear.”
“Do you think I can stay around?”
“You can go to San Francisco for awhile. Or take a trip to Mexico. The only one who’s looking for you is Paul deCamp. But the police are after me. Not to mention Willis Trent.”
“What’s Trent got to do with this?”
“He’s the brains. He figured out the caper. Earl Faraday got the box number and I did the job.”
“You?”
“I’m a lock and key man.”
They had reached Fountain Avenue and Tommy tinned Flo into the quieter street.
“Paul deCamp’s got Betty Targ,” he said.
Flo stopped abruptly and looked sharply at Tommy. “What are you talking about?”
“Betty Targ.”
“Are you trying to insinuate that Paul and this Betty...?”
“Not at all. DeCamp’s holding her to get at me. She was with Faraday when Faraday got it.”
“Then she deserves to get what’s coming to her.”
“She doesn’t? Trent brought her up to the Mulholland Drive place because he couldn’t make me tell where I’d hidden the money. To cut a long story short, I said I’d get the money. I went off and while I was gone, deCamp showed up. He killed Faraday and he’s holding Betty because he figures I’ll come to him... Well, he’s right. I’ll give him the money, if he turns Betty loose — unharmed...”
“Then why don’t you go to him?”
“Because I don’t know where to reach him. And because... well I don’t figure to let him do to me what he did to Faraday. I thought you could go to him.”
“Me!” cried Flo. “He’d kill me.”
“I don’t think, so. He may be sore at you, but not a hundred and sixty thousand dollars’ worth. You’re safe as long as I’ve got the money.”
“But the minute you give it to him...”
“You can be on your way by then. I’ll promise you — he won’t get the money, until you’re out of his hands and until Betty Targ is safe.”
Flo was silent for a moment, her eyes squinting in thought. Then she said: “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to talk to him. Tell him I’ll give him the money as soon as he releases Betty.”
“Do I have to go to him?”
“Not necessarily. If you can reach him on the phone...”
“There’s a number he gave me — a sort of a, well, hideaway. I don’t know where the place is, but he told me if he didn’t show up sometime I could reach him at that number, or someone there would know how to get in touch with him.”
“Then call him.”
“Now?”
Tommy pointed to a little drugstore on the other side of Fountain. “There’s a telephone. I’ll wait out here for the answer.”
Flo Randall hesitated. Then coming to a decision, she opened her purse. Tommy drew a nickel from his pocket. “This what you want?”
She smiled a wan thanks, walked away from him and crossed the street. Tommy saw her enter the little drugstore and strolled to the corner. He stopped there and, standing on the curb, teetered back and forth on his heels, like a man who is waiting for a girl. After a couple of minutes he started back down Fountain.
He cut across the street and was twenty feet from the drugstore when she came out. She shook her head as she approached.
“I couldn’t get him.”
“Did you get anyone?” Tommy asked quickly.
“Yes... a man who said he knew my voice, but wouldn’t give his own name. He said Paul was still down at Police Headquarters.”
Tommy groaned. “I was afraid of that.”
“The man said Paul’s attorney was trying to get a... a habeas corpus writ. He wanted to know where I could be reached if Paul showed up, or telephoned.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“No. I said I’d call again — in an hour.”
Tommy frowned at the drugstore, then reached into his pocket and brought out a nickel. “What’s that number?”
Flo Randall winced. “I... I can’t give it to you. I promised I wouldn’t ever...”
“This is no time to be coy,” Tommy said testily. “We’re both on the spot and we’ve got to move fast if we want to get off it... Give me the number!”
Flo hesitated for another moment, then threw up her head. “All right, I’ve gone this far — it’s Sunset 3-1127...”
“The Valley,” Tommy said, “or up in the hills... Wait here.”
He headed for the drugstore, entered and went to the single telephone booth at the rear of the store.
He dropped his nickel in the slot and dialed Sunset 3-1127. A gruff voice answered immediately. “Mariota Pharmacy.”
Tommy blinked at the phone. “I’m calling for Paul deCamp,” he said.
“Who?”
“Paul deCamp.”
“Sorry,” said the voice at the other end of the wire. “I don’t believe I know anyone by that name...”
“You know, all right,” Tommy said quickly. “Flo Randall spoke to you just a few minutes ago.”
There was a pause then the voice on the phone said: “You must have the wrong number. This is the Mariota Pharmacy on Riverside.”
Tommy slipped the receiver back on the hook, stepped out of the booth and caught up the phone directory that hung from a chain suspended to the booth. He turned the pages to the M’s and found the Mariota Pharmacy. The number was Sunset 3-1127.
He let the book fall from his hands and strode quickly to the door. Whipping it open he sprang out to the sidewalk.
Flo Randall was nowhere in sight — but red headlights were just turning into Fountain from La Brea. Gasping in shock, Tommy whirled and shot down the side street. A police siren split the night air, giving wings to Tommy’s feet.
He ran a hundred feet faster than he had ever run in his life, then made a sudden swerve and sprang up a short flight of steps that led to a two-story apartment house. He tore open the door, almost knocked an elderly woman off her feet and bounded down a narrow corridor to the rear of the building. A door, leading to the backyard, stood ajar and he tore it open and ran out into a paved courtyard. There was a six-foot board fence at the rear. With a running start Tommy got to the top of the fence in a single leap and plunged over into an adjoining yard. It was pitch dark here and he knocked over a garbage can or two in his flight, but he found a gate that opened onto a narrow walk and in turn brought him out on La Brea Street.
Cars were zooming along the boulevard, but he dodged in and out and reached the east side of the street safely. He did not stop there. He repeated the maneuver of the other street, entering an apartment house, clambering over a rear fence and going through to the next street. On the almost deserted street he walked and ran to Santa Monica and there was fortunate enough to catch a streetcar.