He got to his feet and went into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, he needed a shave and his shirt had a couple of spots of blood on it. He undressed and took a shower and then put on his clothes again. In the bedroom he picked up the sack of silver and left the room.
On Van Nuys Boulevard he walked briskly toward the town of Van Nuys. On the outskirts he entered a men’s furnishings store that was just opening and bought a shirt and a dark blue necktie, paying for them with silver dollars.
On the street he walked a half block and came upon a small cafe. He went in and had some ham and eggs and two cups of coffee, then went to the washroom and changed his shirt and tie. The old ones he crumpled up and threw in the used towel receptacle.
When he left the restaurant he found a taxicab standing at the curb and walked up to it.
“Can you drive me to North Hollywood?” he asked the driver.
“Sure thing.”
Tommy got into the cab. “Lankershim and Chandler,” he said and leaned back against the cushion.
Ten minutes later he gave the man two silver dollars, got out of the cab, and walked a half block to the main North Hollywood post office.
There were several people in line at the General Delivery window, but Tommy waited his turn quietly. When the clerk behind the window finally looked at him inquiringly, Tommy said, without a tremor: “Any mail for Wilson Targ?”
The clerk stepped to a battery of pigeonholes, reached up and brought down a stack of letters. He began shuffling through them, went clear through the stack, then went back and found a thin envelope.
He came to the window and handed the letter to Tommy. The latter nodded thanks and stepping out of the line, tore open the envelope. He abstracted the claim check from the Lincoln Hotel and threw the envelope into the wastebasket.
He left the post office and walked back to Lankershim, the main business thoroughfare in North Hollywood. Approaching a taxicab, he assumed a pronounced limp and opened the door of the cab.
He got in and said to the driver: “I want to go to Sixth and Broadway, downtown in Los Angeles, but I have to stop at the Lincoln Hotel in Hollywood to pick up a briefcase.”
“Yes, sir!” exclaimed the cabby, enthusiastically, thinking of the big meter charge involved.
The cab rolled smoothly down Lankershim to Cahuenga, then over the Pass, into Hollywood. As it pulled up before the hotel Tommy took the claim check from his pocket and leaning forward, thrust it into the driver’s compartment. “Do you mind running in and picking up my briefcase from the check room?” He smiled wanly. “My leg, you know.”
“Sure thing.”
“Give them a quarter,” Tommy added. “I’ll add it to the meter.”
The taxi driver got out of the cab and went into the hotel. The doorman sized up the cab and sauntered over, “Going to be here long?” he asked.
“Just a minute,” Tommy replied.
“All right, sir. The reason I asked, I’m supposed to keep this place clear.”
Tommy leaned back and tried to look straight ahead, down Hollywood Boulevard, but the doorman, standing on the curb, kept looking at him and Tommy’s spine began to tingle.
Suddenly he looked at the doorman. “Yes?”
The man cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I was just trying to place you. Your face is familiar, but I can’t seem to remember your name. You’ve stayed here at the hotel?”
“Not lately.”
The doorman nodded. “I thought not. I’m usually very good at remembering the guests. A man stayed here only two days, four years ago, and when he came back last week, I could still call him by name.”
“A good memory’s a fine thing,” Tommy said inanely, and then was spared by the appearance of the cab driver.
He was carrying the briefcase.
He opened the door and handed the case to Tommy. “Here you are.”
“Thanks,” said Tommy. He nodded to the doorman and leaned back against the cushions.
A half hour later the taxi pulled up to the curb in downtown Los Angeles. The meter read $6.85. Tommy reached into the driver’s compartment and handed the cabby nine silver dollars.
“Silver,” remarked the man. “You don’t see that many in this town very often.”
“I was in Las Vegas a couple of days ago,” Tommy said. “Hit a dollar jackpot.”
“The hell you did!” exclaimed the cabby. “I thought those things were fixed so you couldn’t win.”
“It’s the first time I ever hit a jackpot,” said Tommy, as he climbed out of the cab.
He nodded pleasantly and started to turn away, then swiveled his head and shot a look back. The cab driver was staring at him, puzzled, but even as Tommy looked his face broke in astonishment.
Tommy turned the corner, stepped into the arcade of an office building and, crossing through, emerged on the side street. He walked swiftly for three or four blocks, circling, cutting across streets, going through building arcades and finally entered a drugstore.
He walked to a battery of telephone booths, went through the change in his pocket and found a nickel.
Stepping into a booth he dialed the number of the Melrose Lock and Key Shop.
