“And most of the routines. You’re figuring on talking me out of the tip. Okay. But when you want some service around here don’t ask for Bellboy Number Three. Now, go and squawk to the manager... and I’ll tell him you’ve got a two-buck suitcase loaded with bricks. I’d tell him anyway, only I’m sore at him right now.”
“Tsk, tsk,” said Johnny. “And to think that a boy like you probably had a mother.”
“I had a wife, too. I pay her thirty bucks a week alimony.” The boy made a moist raucous sound with his mouth and departed. A moment later Sam Cragg came in. He glanced about the suite.
“Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”
“Why not?”
Knuckles massaged the door. Johnny opened it and looked at a huge, muscle-bound man of about forty.
“I’m the house officer,” the man said. “I just wanted to see if everything was okay.” His eyes focused on the single suitcase.
“Everything’s fine,” Johnny said. “Only I’ve been wondering where a man could place a bet on a horse in this town. A friend of mine’s got an awfully good one running today at Belmont...”
“What’s his name?”
“The horse or my friend?”
“The horse.”
“Mr. Copperman.”
“Mr. Copperman?” The house detective frowned. “What price is he quoted at?”
“Twelve to one. My pal’s been holding him back. He’ll win in a walk.”
“Is that a fact? Well, they’re kinda tough in this town these days, but I’ll tell you what... I mean, if you really want to put down a bet, why, I might...”
Johnny winked. “I’m going to run over to the bank. Suppose I look you up in about a half hour?”
“Fine, Mr., uh...?”
“Fletcher. And you?”
“Tim O’Hanlon.”
Johnny nodded and closed the door gently on the detective. He turned to Sam, a glint in his eye. “That damn bellboy! I see where I’m going to have to stay sharp around here.”
“I hope you stay sharp long enough to unload those books and get us a stake,” Sam Cragg said.
“A steak?” Johnny exclaimed. “With French fried potatoes? Why not?” He started quickly across the room, in the direction of the telephone. As he passed the table his leg brushed against the leg. A rough splinter caught at the cloth; there was a “r-rip” and Johnny cried out in consternation.
“Goddamit, no!”
But there was a seven-inch rip in his trousers, from thigh to knee. Johnny dropped into a chair and stared at the rip like a man in great agony.
Sam Cragg whistled. “Gosh, what a rip.”
“And us with a dollar forty-five between us!” Johnny wailed.
“Maybe we can borrow a needle and thread from the housekeeper,” Sam suggested.
“The stitching will show.” Johnny shook his head in despair. “How can I keep up a front with a pair of pants like this? I’ve got to get a new suit.”
Sam quailed suddenly as if someone had struck him an invisible blow. “Johnny, you’re not going to...”
Johnny got up heavily. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re strangers here; if this were New York I might be able to figure out something. But here in Los...” He stopped, his eyes fixed on something that he saw through the window.
Sam moved up quickly beside Johnny. He looked out of the window, but for a moment could not determine what Johnny was staring at so fixedly. Then he saw and exclaimed.
“No, Johnny, no...”
“California Credit Clothiers,” Johnny read. “ ‘Buy Clothes the Modern Way. E-Z Terms.’ ”
“It won’t work,” Sam said. “You’ve got to have a down payment.”
“Who says so?”
Johnny strode quickly to the bureau across the room and jerked open the top drawer. He exclaimed in satisfaction as he found a cushion containing several pins. Stooping, he pinned together the rip in his trousers, as best he could. It covered the bare flesh of his leg, but that was about all.
“Now, let me see,” he mused aloud. “I’ll only have one chance, so it’s got to be done right. I’ll need your help...”
“I couldn’t carry it off,” Sam protested. “They’d know I was gypping them...”
“Who said anything about gypping?” Johnny demanded innocently. “They’re offering to sell on credit and that’s all I want. I’ll pay them for their suit... when I get some money.”
“An outfit like that knows the routines...”
“So do I. And some maybe that they haven’t heard. It’s all in the way it’s done. But I think you’re right, you’d give the show away. Better keep your mouth shut. But back up my play.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Sam, “but if they hear my knees knocking, I can’t help it.”
They left the suite and rode down to the lobby. There Johnny popped into the phone booth a moment. When he stepped out Sam looked at him, puzzled.
“What’d you do that for?”
“Quiet,” admonished Johnny. “I’m trying to remember...”
Out on the street, he muttered half aloud... “Hillcrest 1251, Hillcrest 1251...”
He turned east on Hollywood Boulevard. Sam looked at him in surprise then shrugged.
Chapter Four
A block and a half down the boulevard Johnny exclaimed in satisfaction. “I knew there’d be one nearby.” He nodded to a small shop, over which was a sign: Job Printing.
He turned in, Sam at his heels.
A man stopped a small Kelly job press and wiped his hands on his short printer’s apron. “What can I do for you, gents?”
“Like to get some printing done,” Johnny said. “Opening an office here on the Coast and need some stationery.”
The printer brightened. “That’s fine, Mister. Some letterheads and envelopes, maybe?”
Johnny nodded. “Can you give me a price on some good twenty-pound letterheads in two colors — about ten thousand quantity, and envelopes to match.”
“Why, yes,” said the printer. He got samples out of his display case. “Here’s a nice Hammermill Bond. I can print you up a very neat two-color letterhead on this stuff, for only seven-fifty a thousand — in ten thousand quantity. And envelopes — Number Ten — to match, at only six-fifty a thousand.”
“Good. And how about some business cards, for our salesmen. Something like this...” Johnny picked up a pencil and wrote on a sheet of paper:
“Better figure on five thousand of these cards, but in five lots, with the names of the salesmen changed — one thousand for each salesman.”
The printer nodded enthusiastically and did some quick calculation. “Four-fifty a thousand,” he concluded.
Johnny pursed up his lips. “Seventy-five dollars for letterheads, sixty-five for envelopes and twenty-two fifty for cards... mmm, a total of one hundred sixty-two dollars and fifty cents. Not so bad. I’ll tell you what: I’m quite sure it’ll be all right, since Mr. Cragg said he’d leave the whole thing up to me, but just to be on the safe side, I’d better run back to his office and show him the samples...”
“Sure,” said the printer. “Just take a couple of these along.”
“I’ll do that,” said Johnny, gathering up the samples, “but look, couldn’t you just set up a couple of lines and run off a sample card like this, with Mr. Cragg’s name on it?” He smiled ruefully, “Mr. Cragg’s the sort who goes for that sort of thing — likes to see his name in print.”
The printer frowned. “Well, I dunno. Without a depos...”
“It’d cinch the order,” Johnny said, slyly. “I know Mr. Cragg...”