“I think I’ve seen him. He hardly looks smart enough to be a bookie.”
“What brains does it take to be a bookie? But don’t worry about your two bucks. If the nag wins you’ll get your money.”
“I wasn’t worrying; I’m just curious.” Tommy took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly.
“I suppose Abbott lays off his big bets with somebody else.”
Rudy looked at Tommy irritably. “Why all the sudden interest in bookies?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about a guy for whom I did a little key work the other day. He’s got a swanky joint and I was wondering if he mightn’t be a bookie, or something like that. Fellow name of Trent — Willis Trent. Ever hear of him?”
Rudy looked at Tommy steadily. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“Look, Tommy,” the bowling alley man said. “I’m going to give you a bit of advice. The less you have to do with bookies and people like that, the better off you’ll be in the long run. If you know what I mean. Don’t go getting curious about people like... Trent.” He added significantly, “It ain’t healthy.”
Tommy regarded Rudy steadily. “Do I look like a copper?”
“That ain’t the point, Tommy,” Rudy said. “I know who you are, but I’m running a business here, see. I take a couple of small bets on the horses once in awhile. I give the bets to a fellow named Joe Abbott.”
“Who’s Paul deCamp?”
Rudy looked past Tommy at the two men bowling in the alley twenty or twenty-five feet away. He shifted his glance from there to the door. “You’re in the lock and key business, Tommy. You work for a fellow who’s got a little shop up the street. You sell some Yale locks, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t get—”
“You didn’t let me finish. The Yale lock company is to
“Mr. Big, eh?”
“He’s a name you hear all the time but you don’t know him. At least not fellows like you and me. I’ve never seen deCamp but I’ve heard a lot of talk about him. I’ve seen his name in the papers. He’s the big fellow.” He looked soberly at Tommy.
Tommy laughed. “I guess it’s about time I was getting back to the shop.”
He nodded and started for the door. Rudy looked after him and as Tommy went out he shook his head. There was a frown on his forehead.
Back at the shop Tommy found Mr. Roan seated at a bench with a pad of paper before him which was covered with figures. He looked up as Tommy entered.
“I’ve been doing some figuring, Tommy,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition. See what you think of it.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve been getting forty-five dollars a week. I’ve been drawing seventy-five a week myself. You know how this business is, some weeks are good, some are bad. Some weeks we take in two hundred, maybe two-fifty. Some weeks there ain’t a hundred. But it’s a sweet little business. If you and I give it all we can, it could be even better. I’m thinking of cutting you in for twenty-five per cent. What do you think of that?”
Tommy frowned. “I don’t see where I’d be gaining anything by that. That means in a bad week I’d only draw twenty-five dollars.”
“No, no, we’d continue to draw the same amount we’re drawing now. You forty-five and me seventy-five. Naturally we’ve got to have a backlog in the business... to take care of the poor weeks. We pile up the backlog from the good weeks. What I meant was, we each continue to draw the same amount of money every week, but at the end of the month we split seventy-five and twenty-five.”
“It’s a deal,” Tommy said, “if we make my drawing account fifty dollars a week.”
Mr. Roan hesitated, then nodded. “All right, partner.” He held out his hand. Tommy took it even though he was thinking he would not remain a partner for very long.
Tommy Dancer left the key shop shortly before five-thirty. As he climbed into his old flivver he looked across the street and saw a beige-colored coupe at the curb. He swore under his breath but climbed into his car and drove in the direction of La Brea. At La Brea he turned right and pulled up to the curb. The beige-colored car parked a block ahead. Tommy drove in low gear a hundred feet, stopped the car and climbing out, walked up to the car ahead. When he reached it, he stuck his head into the car and looked at a swarthy man of about thirty who was not very much surprised.
“What’s the idea?” Tommy demanded.
“What’s that, pal?” the man asked.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. You’ve been following me.”
“Me?”
“Who put you on my trail?”
“Look, bub, it’s a free country or didn’t you know about that?”
“I live on Las Palmas,” Tommy said. “That’s where I’m going now. I’m just telling you in case I happen to make a couple of quick turns and lose you.”
“That’s a coincidence,” the man said. “I was thinking of going over to Las Palmas myself.” He grinned. “Just in case you happen to see me in your neighborhood.”
“On the other hand, I might be going over to North Whitley, the Lehigh Apartments. You know where Willis Trent lives?”
The swarthy man nodded. “Thanks, pal. It so happens I might be going in
