corner and waited—but no Willie. It dawned on my thick head that the lucky slob was spending the night with Margrita— and
I went back to the side street, threw my head back and stared up at the dark terrace and windows. Vaguely I heard steps behind me and then the whole damn hotel fell on me.
11
When I came to, I was sitting on the sidewalk, everything spinning like mad. The old merry-go-round was getting up speed. I shut my eyes and waited, opened them again and everything had stopped. A few curious people were staring down at me, a young cop was kneeling at my side. The back of my head felt like it was trying to take off. The cop asked, “Suffer from fits?”
Like a dope I touched the back of my head, had to fight off screaming with the pain.
“Quite an egg you got there—must have hit your noggin when you fell. Just take it easy, got an ambulance coming and...”
Holding his hand I stood up. The street did tricks for a moment, then settled down. But when I bent over to pick up my hat I nearly blacked out again. This cop liked to talk, went into a lecture about people suffering from fits shouldn't be out alone, all that.... I felt for my wallet. It wasn't there. The cop grinned. “Lose something?” He held up the wallet. “Found it near the curb, must have dropped out as you hit. See you're a private...”
I tried to be casual as I opened the wallet. Everything was there—except the stone. I started for the car. The cop said, “Hey, the ambulance is coming.”
I couldn't tell him I'd been sapped, I grunted, “Forget it, always go to my own doc when I get these... attacks.”
He walked me to the car. “You in condition to drive?”
“Only get these attacks once every ten years,” I said, driving away. I headed for the yacht basin but as I crossed Broadway, saw one of these big advertising clocks, I headed downtown. I was to be at the office at midnight to give the patrol boys their cards. My head was only faintly buzzing. One thing was for sure—the rock was the key to the works, and some man-to-man talk with Will would straighten out many things.
It was ten minutes before midnight when I unlocked the office door, reached for the light switch... and the business end of a gun cut into my back as an even harder voice said, “Keep your meathooks up—high!”
I was frisked in the darkness, then the lights went on. Two burly goons were staring at me, one with a Luger in his hand. The office was a mess—again. I said, “You went through this act once. What's the pitch?”
The joker behind the gun asked, “Tiny, where's the bundle?”
“The what?” He was close enough to try brushing the gun aside, but the other punk worried me.
“Give me no questions,” the gunman said, slapping me across the face with his free hand. My nose began to bleed and my head started buzzing with static again. The other clown picked me up like I was a puppet, said, “Tie him up and get to work.”
I was furious—my feet dangling in the air, his stinking breath covering my face. But I had to stall for time. “If you tell me what this is all about, I might...”
The gunman slapped me again and I swung like a punching bag. My head hurt and blood gushed down my chin, over my shirt and good tie. “Open the safe, bud, and you won't get hurt.”
The other giant let go and I got to my feet, opened the safe. It was five to midnight. There wasn't much in the safe, papers, petty cash, and two guns. The guy with the gun took off his coat, said in a bored voice, “Guess we got to work you over, shorty, after all. Where's the dough?”
As he reached over to smack me, I kicked him on the knee-cap with my metal-toe shoe and he screamed. I turned to sidestep the other mug's rush, but didn't quite make it. He threw himself on me and we both went down. He had at least a hundred pounds on me and I could hardly move. When I tried to get a finger under his ear, he brought his elbow down into my guts and I had to fight hard to keep from passing out. I managed to grab his left thumb, started working that back, trying to break it, as he roared with pain and began clubbing me with his right fist.
His buddy managed to crawl over and swung at me with a sap. Although I blocked this with my shoulder, the blackjack felt like a crowbar. They both were swinging at me when the door opened. Curly Cox and Dan Rosen were so surprised they hesitated a second before swinging into action. Rosen had only been a run-of-the-mill middleweight—ring rules hampered his style—but in a street brawl he was strictly champion stuff. He landed on the gunman with his hands and feet working, while Curly hit the joker who was pounding my guts with a solid right that made him forget me.
I took time out to get my breath, then chopped at Curly's guy, hitting him on the temple with the edge of my right hand—and that was that. Rosen was enjoying himself with the other goon and as Curly grabbed the guy's arms, Danny smashed a right and left to his face, added a terrible right to the belly as a finisher.
We got to our feet and it took me a long minute to straighten out. Curly asked, “Boss, what's all this?”
“I don't know, exactly,” I said, taking the gunman's Luger and sap. The other sport had a knife and a .22 strapped to his ankle. They were careful, no identification on them, not even clothing labels. All they had between them was about a hundred bucks and a set of car keys... and the sliver of rock!
This threw me entirely off base, if they had the rock, what else did they want? What money...? The phone rang. Thelma Johnson sounded hysterical as she asked, “Mr. Darling, have you seen Will?”
“Yeah—on TV.”
“Oh the way she was kissing him! Where is he now? I'm worried sick, have a feeling he's with that woman and...”
The numbness was leaving my shoulder and head, and I had to spit out a mouthful of blood before I could shout, “I'm as anxious to find Will as you are. And if...”
“You must find him! If he's with that... that... slut, I'll... I don't know what I'll do! I'm about crazy now and... and...” She began to weep over the phone.
