Tommy nodded. “Thanks.” He opened the box door and drew out the long, enameled safety deposit box. “I don’t mind,” he said, “you can see what I’ve got in it.”
“You don’t object?” Plennert purred.
“Why should I? I’ve got nothing to conceal.” Tommy carried the box to the high table, set the Boston bag on it, then grinning sardonically, opened the bag and revealed the inside of it. “Nothing, see?”
He opened the safety deposit box, throwing back the long cover, so that it rested against the back of the stand. He reached in. “A fifty dollar bond... in
Plennert’s hand shot out: “Do you mind?”
Tommy cocked his head to one side and looked at Plennert from narrowed eyes. But he handed the lease to Plennert.
Plennert looked at the lease, nodded, then shuffled the slips in his hand until he came to a card. “Ah, yes,” he said.
“My address!” exclaimed Tommy. “You wanted to make sure.”
“Just a routine precaution,” Plennert said smoothly. He handed back the lease.
“All right,” said Tommy grimly. He took out the heavy sack of silver dollars, untied the drawstring and ripped open the mouth of the bag. “Two hundred and fifty silver dollars,” he announced.
Plennert peered into the sack. “Silver,” he said, thoughtfully.
“I collect them,” Tommy snapped. He reached again into the safety deposit box. “And Indian pennies, too. People collect all kinds of funny things — buttons, dolls, books — does this make me a crook?”
“Oh, no,” Plennert said hastily. “We told you that this was mere routine — nothing personal at all. A man has a right to collect whatever he pleases.”
“Thanks!” Savagely Tommy thrust the sack of silver dollars into the Boston bag. He followed with the envelope of Indian pennies, then reached for the box of Navajo jewelry. “No law against collecting this stuff, is there?” He whipped off the cover of the box.
“Jewelry,” murmured Plennert.
“Indian stuff. I served at Fort Wingate for awhile. That’s near Gallup, New Mexico — this is Navajo stuff.” He sneered. “Junk to you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dancer,” Plennert said stiffly. “I’m only doing a job. I happen to work for the bonding company...”
“Sure,” said Tommy. “No hard feelings. Well,
He closed the Boston bag and slammed down the cover of his safety deposit box.
Benedict and Plennert exchanged glances. Tommy started to carry his box back to its slot in the vault wall, then stopped and looked first at Benedict, then Plennert. “Well?”
“Oh, it’s quite all right, Mr. Dancer,” Plennert said, hurriedly. “You’ve been very considerate and...”
Tommy slammed the long box into the slot, turned the key and withdrew it. “If you think of any other questions,” he pointed at the slips in Plennert’s hand, “you know where to reach me!”
“Yes, of course. And, ah...”
“...Thank you, Mr. Dancer,” cut in Benedict, the bank manager. “On behalf of the bank, I want to apologize.”
“It’s all right,” said Tommy. He let his features soften for a moment. “I guess in your place, I’d do the same thing.” He shook his head. “A hundred and — what was fifty, thousand?” He whistled. “Whew!”
He smiled weakly and stepped toward the door. On the way he scooped up the Boston bag and nodding again, this time to Miss Ungerman, left the vault.
In the main banking room, he shot a quick glance at the big clock on the rear wall. Five minutes to three. The bank would be closing in five minutes. Well, it was only a short walk back to Orchid.
He walked out of the bank, sent a quick look toward the corner and grimaced. Fred Kraft was gone.
The lights were green and Tommy crossed Hollywood Boulevard He walked swiftly to the corner of Orchid and by sheer will power resisted an almost overwhelming urge to look behind him. He turned into Orchid and started diagonally across the street. A beige-colored coupe shot away from the curb and headed for him.
Tommy sprang forward and the coupe screeched to a stop as Louie slammed on the brakes. Tommy opened the door, stepped into the coupe and said, hoarsely:
“Drive!”
Louie shifted into second, stepped on the gas and zoomed for the corner, made a right turn into Hollywood Boulevard. “You got it?”
“I got it!” Tommy emitted a blast of air from his lungs and wiped his perspiring forehead. “I wouldn’t go through that again for all the world.”
“They braced you?”
“Cops,” said Tommy. “Cops and bonding company investigators.”
The wheel of the car wavered a little, although Louie kept his foot heavy on the gas.
“But you got the money?” he cried.
“I
“Open the bag!”
“Drive,” cried Tommy. “They let me go, but how the hell do I know they aren’t following? I didn’t dare look back.”
Louie’s eyes went to the rear vision mirror. He slammed on his brakes for the La Brea boulevard stop, shifted into second and shot across the intersection.
“We’ll see, now!”
