But with all his distaste for the show, Chance came to the hotel every night while she was there. And it was with a distinct sense of loss that he drove her to McCarran Field and stood watching as she went up the steps to the plane, followed by the band.
He turned away and Doc, beside him, took his arm. "She's on her way. You'll never stop that kid now."
"Who wants to stop her?"
Doc said, "Wouldn't you rather have kept her here?"
"Yeah."
"Then why didn't you say something? Why didn't you ask her to marry you?"
Chance said slowly, "If I'd asked her, and she'd agreed, she would always have a doubt in her mind, a feeling that marriage cheated her of something she might have liked better."
"What woman doesn't?"
"You know more about women than I do."
"You can say that again, and I still wouldn't have to know 211
much. Go on over to Hollywood next week. Take her out to dinner, tell her how much you need her help. Why do you think she's taken with that redheaded screwball? Because he needs her. He leans on her. She even handles the money for the band. That gives her a sense of importance."
"What do you want me to do, put her in the cashier's cage in place of Dutch?"
"Why not? She can count money, can't she?" "Sure, but that's no place for a woman, in a gambling house."
Doc snorted. "You got ideas about women. Where the hell you got them I don't know unless they came out of a book. My God, a woman isn't something to stick up on a pedestal and worship."
The next week Chance went to Los Angeles. Ever since Judy had left the hotel he had been restless. "I guess I need a vacation," he thought. But in his heart he knew what was the matter with him. He needed the girl.
He drove over. He did not let Judy know he was coming, not so much because he wanted to surprise her as because he did not make up^his mind to go until after noon.
It was eight o'clock when he checked into the Roosevelt Hotel. He went up to the room and called her number. There was no answer. His impulse was to go to bed, to caU her in the morning.
But he wanted to see her that night. He went back down and drove to her apartment. It was a modest two-story brick building north of Santa Monica.
He chmbed the stairs and moved along the upper hall toward the rear. Her door was open a couple of inches and a hght burned within.
He knocked. He got no answer. He hesitated for a moment and then pushed the panel inward. The room beyond was empty. He stood debating what to do. He didn't know either of Judy's roommates. He guessed that one of them must have stepped out for a m.inute, since the door was unlatched.
He went in leaving the door wide. There was a small desk in the comer, paper lying on it. He crossed and picked up a
pencil. He'd leave a note for Judy, ask her to call him at the hotel as soon as she got home.
And then he heard the snoring in the bedroom. It was heavy snoring, a sound that suddenly filled the apartment. Without thinking, he crossed the room and pushed the door open.
Red Tooker lay on his back in the middle of the bed. He was naked except for an undershirt. His hair was mussed and he looked homeHer than Chance remembered.
Chance stood staring at the redheaded man, hating him. He wanted to cross the room, seize Tooker and throw him from the second-story window.
He didn't, for his eye caught the open suitcase beside the dresser, the mussed shirts, the rumpled pajamas. He stood for a long minute, fighting for control, then turned on his heel and marched into the front room. He had almost reached the door when he thought of the note he had scribbled to Judy. He turned back to the desk, gathering it up, balling it with his jstrong fingers.
He started again for the door. Then he stopped. Judy was in the entrance, a blue-paper parcel under her arm. She almost dropped it in her surprise.
"Chance."
His voice had a thick sound as if his tongue had swelled until it was too large for the mouth cavity. "Sorry I walked m.
Her eyes went beyond him, to the bedroom door now wide, and understanding came to her. "Chance, listen. . . ,"
He said flatly, "There's nothing to hsten to, kid. You're on your own. You're making your Hving. Who you sleep with is none of my Goddamn business."
"But Chance, it isn't . . ."
"I can stand anything but a liar."
Sparks leaped into her gray eyes. Her temper when aroused was a match for his own. "Doc's right. He said once that you were as stuffy as a minister. You set your own rules and God help any of us who don't hve by them."
Her words hurt him almost as much as the sight of Red 213
Tooker had. He said, "If that's the way you feel, I'm glad I found out." He was again walking toward the door.
"No you don't." Her tone had risen. She caught his arm. "Darnnit, you're going to hsten to me whether you want to or not."
"Let go." They stared at each other.
"Not until I've told you off."
She had hold of his right arm. His left came up in a backhanded swing that caught her squarely across the face. "You bitch." He walked out.
Judy stood against the wall for a long minute, looking through the empty doorway. Then she started to cry.
(^apten^ fS
Ralph Cellini breezed into Ab Shaw's office Wednesday morning, humming to himself. Even his scarred face looked pleasant and he gave the blonde at the reception desk a bright smile, not neglecting to reach over and pinch her.
"Tooker not showed yet?"
"Not yet, Mr. CeUini."
"When he comes, show him into my joint." He kept the office here although he seldom used it. However, it came in handy when he found a new girl who was a httle hard to break down.
Ten minutes later Tooker opened the door. Red Tooker was surprised. When the call had come from the agency, he had assumed that it was about a booking and that it was Ab Shaw who wanted to see him.
Cellini waved a hand. "Come on in, keed." They knew each other. Cellini was a great one to hit the night spots, and he was free with his money when he wanted some orchestra to play a special number.
Tooker came in uncertainly, a frown on his ugly face. "What are you doing here?"
Cellini grinned. "Didn't know I had a piece of this joint, did you?"
Tooker sat down. He put his green porkpie hat on the corner of the desk. "No."
"Tell you something else you don't know. It was me that got Ab to take you on. It was me booked you into the Peacock."
"The hell."
"Weren't you siu-prised to get a break hke that?"
Tooker nodded. Screwball that he was, he was afraid of Cellini, afraid of any favors the man might deal out.
"That girl in your band, that Judy Liller. She's good."
Tooker's mouth tightened. So that was the gimmick. The fat greaseball son of a bitch wanted Judy. Red Tooker got a feehng of nausea at the pit of his stomach. He had no illusions about himself. He was a coward and he knew it. Some of the brash front he had developed over the years was to hide this gnawing cowardice, even from himself, but he could not deny it now. He knew that he would never face up to Cellini.
"Why don't you marry her?"
The words caught him utterly unprepared. He gaped at Cellini as if he were a fish just pulled out of the water. "Marry her?"
"For Christ sake. People do get married."
Red Tooker had been busily engaged in ducking marriage for a dozen years, and the idea of marrying anyone insulted his natural instincts. But Judy was a girl in a million. He not only liked her, he respected her. She was the one woman he had ever known whom he had not made a legitimate pass at. He had slept in her apartment, yes. He had a habit of sleeping anywhere that the impulse overtook him, but he had never made a real pass at her.
He drew a long breath. "She's a chick. She deserves better. What's your angle?"
Cellini considered. He was not afraid of Red Tooker. He had the guy exactly where he wanted him. Tooker could not help himself. He had to
follow Cellini's orders.
"Look," said Cellini, "I'll level with you. You know Elson?"
"He's a square."
"I hate his guts. This kid isn't really his sister, you know. She was kind of adopted. Elson's in love with her."
Tooker said, "You're sending, but I ain't getting it clear."
Cellini said, "I could have had him wiped out, but that wouldn't hurt. You see these?" He touched the network of scars across his cheeks. "Elson gave me these."
Tooker knew hate when he saw it, and hate scared him.
"KiUing ain't enough. I want the bastard to suffer. First, he loses the girl. Then we'll think of something else."
Tooker had not hked Chance, but at this point he had one of his few moments of greatness. "You got the Mnrong boy."
"Elson your pal?"
"I hate his insides, but Judy's a good chick. She plays it v^dth me, I don't do it to her."
Cellini leaned forward. All his affabihty was gone. "You crum. You cheap horn-blowing jerk. You got a monkey on your back. You been carrying him a long time."
Tooker's mouth was suddenly dry.
"You bastard. Do you think you can buy a fix in this town if I pass the word? Do what I say or you've had it. Marry the girl. I give you a week. Now, get the hell out of here before I blow my stack and you get hurt."
Long after Tooker had gone Cellini sat quiet at the desk. He had no doubt that Tooker would obey him. The jerk had been on horse a long time. He was as much CeUini's slave as if he had been bom into bondage. Ralph Cellini was thinking of a different matter, and as if in answer to his thoughts the phone rang. It was his downtown office. There was a longdistance call for him from New York.
He did not call back from the agency. He wanted no one to overhear what was said. And when he got his connection from his own apartment, his voice was not quite steady.
"Hello, this is Ralph."
A voice he knew said, "The sale has been made. Two boys vdll be in on the noon plane to close. The papers have to be signed in L.A. Can you manage?"
Cellini gripped the phone hard. This was it. This was what he had been waiting for. "I can manage."
"Set it up." The phone at the end of the long circuit clicked.
At ten minutes after twelve, Cellini stood by the gate at the International Airport, watching as the passengers from FHght 1105 out of Chicago came up the ramp.
He wondered if he would spot the men who had been sent on this important mission. He didn't. One was fat and looked like an overheated salesman. The other was tall and thin and might have been a doctor, from the black case he carried.
They were not together. The fat man stopped first, mopping his face. "Real hot."
Cellini said, "Real hot," and the man gave him a wide, gentle smile. "Thought we'd never get here. Don't like to fly. It bothers my stomach." He belched.
CeUini breathed deeply. He was getting jimipy. There was nothing to worry about, but he was well known around town. One of the racket squad might just be watching the airport. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. When he lowered the handkerchief he passed the car key and the slip of paper to the fat man and then turned quickly away.
The fat man moved on, followed by the other. They halted to pick up their baggage. Cellini idled at the ticket counter and asked about flights East. When he turned back, they were crossing the street toward the parking lot.
He found a phone booth and called Vegas. Danzig had no desire to leave Vegas. Danzig cursed him in three languages. Cellini held his temper.
*1 can't help it," he whined. "The boys are getting out of line on the service. They're holding out. They think you don't care any more."
Danzig said, "Maybe I'd better get myself another boy." Once that threat would have struck terror to Cellini's heart. Now he merely smiled.
He said, "I'm sorry, Benji." The whine in his voice was more pronoimced. "I can't handle it. This thing is going to blow if you don't put the fear of God into these apes. You gotta do it tonight. I told them you was coming. They 11 be at your Brentwood place at ten."
"All right. But some of those bastards are going to get killed." Danzig slammed down the receiver.
Cellini got a cab and rode across to the agency and went 217
into his office. He told the blonde he had to see a couple of men that afternoon and then he was driving over to Vegas. If anyone wanted to reach him, he would be at the Peacock by midnight.
Then he drove to his own apartment. It was a garden-court affair, built around a pahn-filled square of ground with a swimming pool at the lower end. There was no central lobby and each apartment was reached by a separate flight of stairs leading up from the underground garage.
He dismissed his cab and walked down the ramp into the garage. The fat man and his partner were sitting quietly in Cellini's car.
He nodded to them and they got out, following him up the private stairway to his apartment.
Inside he turned to face them. He knew they were not employees of the Syndicate. In matters of this kind, the Syndicate always called in outsiders for a particular job.
"It's set for ten," he said. He saw the tali man open the black bag he had been carrying. It contained a shotgun with a small stock and sawed-off barrels. At short range it could be murderous.
"I'll spot the house for you," Cellini said. "His dame is in Europe. There are two guys living there, his brother-in-law and a jerk he keeps around for laughs. There are no guards." "Yard lights?" "No yard lights."
They nodded. They followed him back down to the car and he said to the fat man, "You drive."
He sat in back. He told the fat man which turns to take. The man knew the way. Apparently he had been in Los Angeles before.
"Vv^hat about afterward?"
The fat man turned. He had a gold eyetooth. Cellini had not noticed it before. "We got a friend. He has a beach cottage. We'll hole up there."
"V/hat do you want, a stolen car?"
The fat man shook his head. "Our friend has a car. It's taken care of."
Celhni pointed out Danzig's house. It was a ranch type, 218
set on a large comer lot. He pointed out the window of the big living room. "There's a couch directly across from it. It's Danzig's favorite place to sit. Either there or the chair that backs up to that window. He'll be there at ten tonight. He's expecting some boys to call."
They nodded. The fat man circled the block. He drove back and forth across the section, timing each run by the stop watch on his wrist. Apparently satisfied, he drove back to Cellini's apartment. There was an almost-new Ford sedan parked before the building. The fat man compared a shp he drew from his pocket with the Hcense plates. "That's our car."
He pulled up beside it. The thin man got out. He had the shotgun under his coat. Cellini experienced a feeling of terrific relief when they drove away.
He died at least three times during the long afternoon. If there were a slip now, if Danzig did not show up, or if the fat man and his companion failed . . . His mouth was dry, fiUed with a dirty taste of fear. If there were any shp, he was as good as dead. He could not run far enough, or hide skillfully enough to keep Benji Danzig from finding him.
He knew Danzig would drive. Danzig hated to fly, and unless something unforeseen happened, Danzig would drive alone. He drove hke a madman, as if the car were racing the forces which were driving him onward.
Celhni knew all this. He thought he probably knew more about Benji Danzig than any hving man.
At six-thirty he could stand it no longer. He drove out to the Brentwood house.
He had nothing but contempt for Ike Goldham, Benji's brother-in-law, or for Roscoe Franks, the stooge Danzig supported for no reason that Cellini had ever been able to determine.
They were in the kitchen, making sandwiches and guzzling beer when he walked in. Both were surprised to see him.
Goldham was a small, ratlike man with too-sharp features and a hangdog air. He had been a minor labor racketeer before Danzig brought him
to the Coast. Now he ran errands, scuttling back and forth between Hollywood and Las
Vegas with messages, money and payofiFs of one kind or another. Franks was a Serb, a big man with a flat, moonhke face who, by his blundering, provided Danzig with laughs.
Goldham wasn't pleased to hear that his brother-in-law was arriving. He had set up a party for that night, and he went reluctantly to the phone to call the girls and cancel it when CeUini explained that there was to be a very important business meeting.
Cellini helped himself to a sandwich and made some coflFee. He was almost too nervous to eat. Where the hell was Danzig? Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he wasn't coming, or maybe the high-powered car had plunged oflF the road.
At quarter after eight there was the sotmd of a car in the driveway. He opened the rear door in time to see Danzig's graceful figure step to the ground and cross the yard toward him.
Danzig was nervous when he came into the kitchen. He refused coffee and a sandwich, pouring himself half a glass of whisky, which he downed straight.
''What's with these muggs?"
CeUini glanced at Goldham and Franks. The sons of bitches' ears were flapping. "Shouldn't we talk alone?"
Danzig glared at his brother-in-law and his stooge. "Scram."
The men could not get through the door fast enough.
"All right, give it to me."
"It's this way." Cellini had his story all set. "Blubber Lane at the finance company and Marco Bellingham down at the beach have got a bunch of the boys together. They are kicking on the price of the service."
"Sor
"So you told me no rough stuff until the hotel is cleared. So, how am I supposed to whip tirem into line? They aren't afraid of me the way they are of you. I kept telling them you'd come over and straighten things out. They won't beheve me. They've got the crazy idea that for some reason you're afraid to leave the hotel."
Chance Elson Page 23