Trent was already scanning the pawn ticket. “Two weeks ago you pawned your watch and you haven’t had enough extra money to get it out. Yet last night you went to six night clubs.”
“Faraday could give you the answer to that,” Tommy said testily. “He’s been doing it all his life.” He was putting on his clothes.
“I made up my mind,” said Faraday, “I’m not going to get sore at you again; not until this is over. But then I’m going to meet you somewhere.” His face twitched spasmodically. “I never got a nickel from Betty Targ.”
“I know you didn’t,” Tommy said calmly.
“That two-fifty,” Trent persisted. “You got it somewhere.”
Louie exclaimed, “Is that what’s worrying you, boss? Hell, I couldda told you that long ago. He got it cashin’ those checks last night.”
Trent stared at Louie. “What checks?”
“Why, every night club they went, he cashed a check. The girl did, I mean, but she always slipped him the change... Is that what’s been worrying you?”
Trent swore softly. “You cleaned out the box yesterday morning and then you got together this two-fifty last night to hand to us.”
“If I emptied the box,” Tommy said, “why would I have to round up two hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Because the stuff was in big bills,” Trent made an impatient gesture. “How do I know just what you did?” He paused a moment, then added significantly, “But you’re going to tell us!”
“I can’t tell you something I don’t know.”
Trent caught Louie’s eye and the swarthy man’s face lit up in anticipation. He stepped toward Tommy. “There’s nothing personal in this, pal...”
“No,” said Tommy and, ducking under Louie’s sizzling right, smashed his fist into Louie’s stomach. Louie let out a startled “oof” and folded over forward. He was in perfect position for an uppercut and Tommy followed through with it, but Louie, realizing his peril, rolled away from the punch and Tommy’s fist merely grazed his chin.
Then Louie went to work. He feinted with his left and, when Tommy stepped up, sent him staggering with a savage right. He followed up his advantage with a left hook, then a pile-driving right that sent Tommy to his knees. Louie didn’t stop there. His style of fighting did not include sportsmanship. He was out to destroy, quickly and thoroughly. He used his fists as well as his feet... and when he got through with Tommy Dancer, the latter was sprawled on the floor unconscious. A final, savage kick in the stomach did not even cause Tommy’s body to quiver.
One moment Tommy Dancer was wrapped in the veil of unconsciousness and the next he was awake, his body a mass of screaming pain. A series of little explosions rocked his tortured head and then a sepulchral voice said, from a great distance: “So you’ve come ’round?”
Through a fog Tommy Dancer saw a giant standing over him. He closed his eyes tightly, then reopened them and saw that the haze had cleared and the man standing over him was revealed in his true proportions. Willis Trent.
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.
