Then Scarface Willy came out, with Patty. She was walking before him.
Unless you were looking for it, you did not see the bulge of the
automatic which he held in his pocket. But if you were looking for it,
as Heck was, it seemed as big as a sixteen-inch naval gun.
The pretty female elevator operator smiled and said a few things and
obviously expected Heck to flirt with her as the car went down. Heck
maintained a white-faced silence.
"Say, Mr. Finch, is anything the matter? You don't look so good."
Scarface Willy grunted a barely audible warning. Patty let out a sigh.
"Working too hard, I guess," Heck told the elevator operator.
"Well, you're white as a sheet. Why don't you go down to the beach and
get yourself a good sunburn one of these days."
"Maybe I will," Heck said automatically as the elevator reached ground
level. He got out. The others got out behind him.
"The street," Scarface Willy said.
They went outside. A snarl of traffic passed sluggishly in the street.
Horns tooted. Someone, probably a taxi driver, yelled. I can get away
right now, Heck thought. The street was crowded. He could slip away.
Scarface Willy wouldn't dare shoot. But Scarface Willy didn't want him.
Scarface Willy wanted Patty....
"Listen," Willy said. "The girl goes with me. You get it? She goes, and
you get time to think. Say, twenty-four hours?"
"To think about what?"
"Don't listen to him, Heck, whatever it is!" Patty said bravely.
"I'm cutting myself in, Finch. To think about--say, fifty percent?"
"Fifty percent!" gasped Heck.
Willy squeezed Patty's arm. Patty winced. "Fifty percent, bucko," said
Willy. "A fifty-fifty split. Don't tell me now. I want you to think
about it."
A long black car untangled itself from the steady snarling stream
of traffic and cruised over to the curb. The chauffeur leaned back,
opening the rear door. Pushing Patty ahead of him, Scarface Willy
climbed in.
"What about me?" Heck wanted to know. "You can't take her without--"
"You stay where you are, bucko. I already told you."
* * * * *
The door slammed. Heck clawed at the handle. "Wait! Wait!" he cried.
The car sped from the curb, almost bowling Heck over. "Help!" he
shouted. "Help! Kidnapper!"
Already the car was out of sight in traffic. And Heck hadn't even
looked at the license number. A curious crowd had gathered around
him. Someone pushed his way through. A cop. Eying Heck speculatively.
"Well," he said, "and what's this racket about a kidnapper?"
"Nothing," Heck said. "Nothing." If the cops came in on this, there was
no telling what might happen to Patty. The mental numbness enveloping
him again, Heck went back into the building.
"Maybe you'd better send for Baldid," Heck told Laara. "Because if
anybody can help us, it's Baldid."
"But you're wrong, Heck," the blonde said promptly. "You couldn't be
wronger. Baldid is a successful businessman, is all. He wouldn't know
how to deal with this situation at all."
"Me," Heck groaned, "I'm not even a successful businessman. I'm
nothing. I'm nobody."
"You're Hector Finch. Don't ever say you're nobody."
"That," said Heck resignedly, "is saying the same thing."
"Are you just going to sit here brooding while that man has your
fiancée?" For the first time, as if danger were the impetus, Laara
readily admitted that Patty was Heck's fiancée.
"I'm thinking. I'm trying to think. Listen, Laara, in order to teleport
some place, do you have to know precisely where?"
"No. But you need a general idea."
"Just knowing that it's Scarface Willy's hideout or headquarters or
whatever it is--would that be enough?"
Laara shook her head.
"Wait a minute!" Heck cried. "The doc's still here with Mr. Fanetti,
isn't he?"
"I think so. They have to do something for Fanetti's legs before he can
be moved."
* * * * *
"Poor Fanetti," Heck said, and took Laara's hand, and teleported from
her office to his.
Fanetti was sitting up. His trousers had been removed and a sheet was
draped over his legs. His face had an unhealthy pallor, as if he'd lost
too much blood and needed a transfusion--which probably was the case.
"How are you, Fanetti?" Heck said.
Fanetti shrugged. "I been hit before," he told them, a little proudly.
The doctor said: "I've sent for an ambulance. This man needs three or
four days in the hospital. He'll be all right after that."
"Fanetti, listen," Heck pleaded. "I need help. I need to know where
Scarface Willy hangs out. I need to know badly."
"He took the big redheaded cutie?"
"Yes," said Laara.
"Jeez," said Fanetti in awe. "Kidnapping. That Scarface Willy'll do
anything."
"You've got to tell me where I can find him."
"I'd like to, Boss. I'm on your side. You ought to know that."
"Well?"
"But I don't know!"
"You don't know?" Heck repeated the words in a shocked voice. Getting
Fanetti to co-operate, he had thought, would be the toughest nut to
crack.
"Nobody does, but maybe an inside few who got to. Willy's taking no
chances. Hell, he's up on history. He knows what happened to guys
like Dutch Schultz right in their own hangouts. So, he don't take no
chances. I'm sorry, Boss."
"But there must be somebody can tell me."