They'd hardly need to look at the license plates. The gray paint job, the white sidewall tires and the red-glass reflector buttons by which the plates were held would be sufficient identification. They'd be able to spot him two blocks away.
He slid under the wheel, and opened the dashboard compartment. The keys and the gun were there, and-he checked it quickly-the gun was loaded. Everything was as it should be.
He drove north and east, winding back and forth through a maze of side streets, avoiding anything in the nature of an arterial thoroughfare. He didn't think McKinley would have his spot check set up so soon, but he might; and there wasn't any hurry. He had the whole day to kill.
The houses he passed grew shabbier, fewer and farther apart. Many of them stood empty. Most of the streets were unpaved. It was one of those borderline, ambiguous areas common to most cities; an area surrendered to industry but not yet made part of it.
Toddy pulled onto a brick-paved street, and rounded a corner. On the opposite side of the street was an abandoned warehouse. On the right, the side he was on, was an automobile salvage yard, its high board fence set back to allow room for the dingy filling station at the front. A four-wheel truck trailer, all its tires missing, stood between the street and the closed-in grease rack.
Toddy drove into the inside lane of the station. He spoke a few words to a cold-eyed man in greasy coveralls and a skullcap made of an old hat. The man leaned against the gas pump. He looked up and down the street, said 'Okay, Mac,' and jerked his head. Toddy drove into the greasing tunnel; then, as the rear wall slid up, into the yard beyond.
The job took two men three hours. When it was over Toddy himself, if he had not watched the transformation, would not have believed it was the same car.
A chromium grille disguised the radiator. The white sidewalls were replaced with plain tires. A sunshade sheltered the windshield. The roof and fenders of the car were dark blue; the rest of the body a glossy black. The red reflector buttons were gone, of course, as were the original license plates. The plate holders, with the substitute plates, had been moved to a new position.
Toddy paid over one hundred and fifty dollars, adding a five-dollar tip for each of the workmen. That left him with a little less than ten dollars, but that was more than enough for what he had to do. He wouldn't be paying his hotel bill. He wouldn't be going back to pay it.
He took one of the main streets back toward town, stopping once at a restaurant-bar, where he passed the better part of two hours, and again at a drugstore where he bought faintly tinted sunglasses. The glasses were disguise enough; not really necessary, for that matter. They'd be looking for a car, not a man.
It was dusk when Toddy reached the city's business section, and a light drizzling rain was beginning to fall. Driving slowly, Toddy turned north up Spring Street.
Milt wouldn't be buying gold, now. Moreover, he wouldn't be receiving his nightly visit from the driver of the beer truck. He wouldn't because there would be no more scrap gold to go out in the empty bottles.
Toddy swore suddenly and stepped on the gas. Almost immediately, he slowed down again. So what? What difference did it make if he passed by the hotel, the one where he and Elaine had lived? They didn't know anything or want to know anything. All they were interested in was the rent which was paid through tomorrow.
He parked on Main Street, and sat in the growing darkness, smoking, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. For a panic-stricken moment he wondered whether Milt had already skipped; then grinned and shook his head. Milt would see no need to hurry. He'd move cautiously, safely, taking his time.
So that was all right. He wished he had nothing to worry about but that.
It was seven o'clock by the time he had finished his third cigarette. He tossed the butt out the window, transferred the gun from the dash compartment to his pocket, and started the car.
He drove up Main a block, swung over to the next street, drove back three blocks. On a dark side street he turned right and cut the motor. He coasted to a stop a few doors above the entrance to the Los Angeles Watch & Jewelry Co., brokers in precious metals.
Luckily, he waited a moment before reaching for the door of the car. For Milt hadn't stopped buying gold. Doubtless he felt that it was too soon, that he had to go through the motions a little longer. Or perhaps he was waiting for a weekend to beat it. At any rate, the door of the shop opened suddenly and a rain-coated figure carrying the familiar square box dashed toward Main Street. A few minutes later, two other buyers came out together and trotted toward Main.
Crouched low in the seat, hidden by the rain-washed windows, Toddy waited ten minutes more. But no one else emerged from the shop, and, he decided, no one was likely to. It was too late.
He slid over on the seat and rolled down the window. He looked swiftly up and down the street. Then he rolled up the window, opened the door, and got out.
He walked close to the building fronts, pausing as he passed the one next to Milt's shop. He could see in from there-see a scene so familiar, so associated with warmth and friendliness, that what he was about to do seemed suddenly fantastic and hateful.
Milt, seated back in his cage, the bright work light lifting him out of the shadows, draping him in a kind of golden aura. Milt… how could he…?
But he had. And his friendliness-his faked friendship- only made matters worse. Toddy reconnoitered the street quickly, strode to the door, and stepped inside. He was halfway down the long dark aisle before Milt could look up.
'Toddy! Iss it you? For days I have been worrying about… about…'
'Yeah,' said Toddy. 'I'll bet you have.'
He moved swiftly through the wicket of the cage, and brought a hand down on the gooseneck of the lamp. It flattened against the workbench, casting its light upon the floor. No one looking in from the street would see anything.
Milt had started to rise, but Toddy shoved him back in his chair. He seated himself, facing the little jeweler.
'That's right,' he nodded grimly. 'That's a gun. If you don't think I'll use it, give me a little trouble.'
'But I do not understand! Trouble? Have ever I-' He broke off, staring into Toddy's cold set face, and abruptly his mask of bewildered innocence vanished. 'Stupid Toddy. Oh, so stupid. At last he awakens.'
'Get it out,' said Toddy. 'Every goddamned nickel. And don't ask me what.'
'Ask?' Mitt shrugged. 'I am not given to foolish chatter. As for it, I have anticipated you. It is already out.' He started to reach beneath the workbench, then paused abruptly, arm half-extended.
Toddy nodded. 'Go ahead. Just don't try anything.'
He took the heavy briefcase that Mitt drew out, laid it on the bench, and slipped the catch. He shook it slightly, his eyes swerving from the jeweler to the bench. There was one packet of scat money-fives, tens and twenties. The rest of the horde was in thousand-dollar bills, dough too hot for the dumbest burglar to touch. Milt couldn't spend it in this country. Abroad, there'd be no trouble. Violation of income tax laws was not an extraditable offense.
'Your visit was most inopportune,' sighed Mitt. 'A few hours more and I would have been gone.'
'You're still going. You're going out to Venice with me, out to the beach. We're going to have a nice long talk.'
'We can do that here. We are alone on this street. No one will come in.'
'Someone will tomorrow.'
'But… Oh,' said Milt. 'Still, is it necessary, Toddy? You have the money. By tomorrow, you can be very far away. In any case, my hands are tied. I dare not complain.'
Toddy jerked his head. 'I'll be a lot farther away the day after tomorrow. And you'd talk, all right. Everyone that's had anything to do with me will get a going-over. I've been in jail, and-'
'Yes. I know.'
