Tommy tossed a couple of one dollar bills on the table and followed her out of the Saigon Spa.
Outside Elizabeth got into the car and huddled down in the seat. Tommy climbed in and started the motor, “Home?”
“No.” She looked at him. “Haven’t you got a place?”
“Sure, but it’s not much.”
“It’s better than sitting here in the car.”
That was the last word she spoke until Tommy parked the Cadillac in front of the dingy two-story stucco apartment building on Las Palmas Street, where for $35.00 a month he rented a one-room, kitchenette and bath apartment.
He got out of the car and walking around opened the door on her side. “You’re sure you want to come in?”
“Of course I’m sure!” she snapped at him and got out.
They crossed the sidewalk and Tommy opened the door of the apartment house. He had lived here almost a year, but not until now had he been aware of the cooking smells that permeated the corridors. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked to the end of the hall. Tommy unlocked the door of his apartment. He threw the door wide open and flicked on the light inside.
For just a second Elizabeth hesitated. Then she stepped into the apartment and shrugged off her mink coat. Tommy looked at the threadbare sofa, the scarred table across the room, the wide door that concealed the in-a-door bed, the blue rug that had seen better days many years ago, the open bathroom door and, on the right, the tiny kitchenette. He wondered if Elizabeth Targ had ever been in as shabby a place as this.
He closed the door. “I’ve got some beer in the icebox and I think there’s about a half pint of rye around somewhere.”
“I’ve had enough to drink,” Elizabeth said. She turned and looked at him. “Well?”
Tommy crossed to her and knew that he was trembling violently as he took hold of her. He could feel the involuntary shudder that ran through her body. He slipped his arms about her and, holding her close, pressed his lips to hers.
There was no resistance, no returned pressure, but something exploded inside of Tommy and he was suddenly kissing her savagely; her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her throat. And still she made no resistance.
Then suddenly he released her and stepped back. “Damn you,” he said savagely.
She cocked her head to one side. “What’s the matter?”
“You know very well what’s the matter.”
“Did I push you away?” She came toward him and kissed him, squarely on the mouth; a long kiss, but utterly without passion.
Again it was Tommy who stepped back.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“You!”
“I’m here.”
Tommy said bitterly: “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I want you more than anything in this whole damn world. I’d crawl on my knees to you — if you didn’t have Earl Faraday in your blood.”
She looked at him steadily for a moment, then turned and picked up her mink coat. She put it on and held out her hand. “My keys.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“No.”
He handed her the key and she went to the door. Opening it, she said: “Good-bye, Tommy Dancer; thanks for everything,” and went out, leaving the door open.
Tommy stood for a moment looking at the door, then crossed and kicked it shut. Whirling, he headed for the kitchen where he found the part bottle of rye.
Chapter Five
Andy Keels had a sucker. At a dollar a game he had already won three times and the sucker, in desperation, was playing a fourth game, double or nothing. In the sixth frame it looked as if Andy’s score would be well over the two hundred mark. As his victim sized up the beautiful railroad he had left for himself, Andy came back to the bench where Tommy Dancer was seated, skimming through the evening edition of the morning paper.
“Too bad I’m not playing you,” Andy said. “I’d like to go through that bankroll you’re carrying.”
“I can go through it myself.”
“Your boss hears you held out on him you’ll be looking for a new job.”
“Might be a good thing for me. I’m getting fed up with the shop.”
“What’s the difference what shop you work for, Tommy? You don’t spend much time in the shop anyway.” Andy, who was looking off, suddenly uttered a low whistle. “Oh-oh, here comes one of your new friends.”
Tommy craned his head about and saw Herbie the Lugan bearing down on him. As usual, Herbie was attired in a natty, neatly pressed suit, a flaming red necktie and as usual there was an ingratiating smile on his smoothly shaved face.
“Hi, chum!” he said cheerfully as he came up. “How’s tricks?” He looked at Andy and gave him a bare nod. Andy grunted and went back to the job of polishing off his victim.
Herbie the Lugan seated himself beside Tommy and, leaning over, clapped him on the knee. “Where’d you go to so quick last night, pal?”
“Home.”
“Too bad you left so early. The party got lively all of a sudden.” He rolled his eyes. “There was a handsome blonde who began taking off her clothes. Which reminds me, Willis Trent says he called your place today.”
“Twice.” Tommy folded his newspaper. “If he’s got some more locks he wants opened, why doesn’t he tell Mr. Roan?”
“It ain’t that, Tommy. He wants to see you.”
“Why?” Tommy asked bluntly.
“How should I know? He just, well — he told me he wants to see you.”
“You work for Trent?”
“It ain’t that, only, you see...”
“I thought you might be his valet or flunky,” Tommy said in as insulting a tone as he could muster.
The good cheer faded from Herbie the Lugan’s face. “Wise guy, huh?”
“Run along, little man.”
Herbie the Lugan got to his feet and scowled down at Tommy. “You’re making a mistake, chum. Trent ain’t a man you can push around.”
“Trent? Oh, yeah, by the way, just who is Willis Trent? What does he do for a living?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Well, just what is the point, Herbie?”
“The point is that Trent wants to see you. If you’re smart you’ll do what he says.” And then he added, “It’d be healthy.”
“Mmm,” said Tommy. “I’ll tell you what; answer a couple of questions and maybe I’ll run over and see Trent.”
Herbie the Lugan brightened. “Sure, pal, sure.”
“What does Trent do for a living? That’s one of the questions.”
Herbie shrugged. “He’s in business.”
“What kind of business?”
Herbie frowned. “Just business.”
“Monkey business?”
Herbie pursed up his lips and pushed them in and out in a mighty pout. “He’s a right guy. You can ask anybody. They’ll all tell you that Willis Trent is okay.”
“Who’ll tell me?”
“Anybody.” Herbie the Lugan made a vague inclusive gesture that could have included anyone in the bowling alley or anyone in the state of California, for that matter.
Tommy grunted. “Who’s Earl Faraday?”
A quick wince flitted across Herbie’s smooth features but he said blandly: “Faraday? Who’s Faraday?”
“He was at the party last night, a tall lean fellow with a lot of oil on his hair. Trent and he spent quite a little time out on the terrace.”
Herbie the Lugan shook his head, then suddenly brightened and nodded. “Oh, him! I remember now. I don’t know him.”
“You know the girl in the red dress he was hanging around? Flo Randall?”
Herbie looked suddenly, shrewdly at Tommy. “You like her, huh?”
“Not if she’s Faraday’s property.”
“She ain’t exactly, but—” Herbie caught himself. “I mean don’t let this fellow Faraday, or whatever his name is, bother you.” He smiled brightly. “You goin’ up to see Trent, now?”