Bill swore and hung up. At five-thirty he left, took a cab to Levy’s and bought a cocktail at the bar, carried it to one of the small tables and sat down. Mike Payman of the Tribune came through the mirrored door and helped himself to the other chair. “How’s the boy?”
Lennox finished his drink and motioned to the waiter. “I’m lousy, thank you, and how are all your troubles?”
Payman grinned. “Mine sit at a city desk, and curse poor legmen.”
The drinks came and Bill tasted his. “Listen, Mike, you get around a lot. What do you hear on this numbers racket?”
Payman fished an onion from his drink and ate it thoughtfully. “There’s always some new racket in this land of broken promises. Why worry about numbers?”
“They’re getting into Spurck’s hair,” Bill explained. “I thought maybe you would know who the big shot is.”
Payman moved his shoulders, finished his drink and said, “As long as you’re buying, I’ll have another, thank you.”
Lennox looked at him. “That’s the trouble with this town. It makes chiselers out of all of us. You weren’t a bad squirt when you were on that San Diego sheet, but now you’re nothing but a bum. You could have ten grand in your pocket and still cadge a drink.”
Payman’s eyes got narrow, suddenly, then he laughed. “Okey, I’ll buy this one.”
Lennox rose, “I hate not chiseling a drink out of you, but I’ve got to run, late now.” He did not wait for Pay-man’s reply, but went through the door, crossed the street, and walked into the Derby.
Nancy Hobbs said: “I’ve only waited twenty minutes. You would be late on a night like this.”
He slid into the seat. “And what’s so special about tonight?”
She said: “Behold an editor. You’re in distinguished company, my boy, and we’ve got to celebrate.”
He said: “I’m sorry, kid, I can’t tonight. I promised Ben Houser that I’d drop over to the studio. He’s got a little girl appearing tonight that he thinks really has talent. They rehearse these programs, you know.”
“Just a talent scout,” she mocked. “And you haven’t even looked at my dress. What’s the matter, William? Haven’t I box-office appeal?”
He looked at her. She was pretty, more than pretty, with her little nose and its three tiny freckles across the bridge. He grinned. “I still don’t see how you ever escaped pictures, honey. You’re very swell, but if I keep telling you, you might go Hollywood on me, and I can’t have that. You’re the only reason I’m glad to be back in the cockeyed town.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I really can’t stand it when you get complimentary, but something’s on your mind, William. What is it?”
He said: “It’s numbers. Spurck’s hot and bothered, and I have to stop them, somehow. The trouble is I don’t know where to begin.”
She said: “I hate to show my girlish ignorance, but what the hell are numbers?”
“It’s a new racket,” he told her. “New out here, that is. It’s a type of lottery. You pick a certain number. If it wins, you get six hundred for one.”
“Sounds interesting.” She stopped eating to stare at him.
Lennox said: “That’s what a lot of people think. It’s rotten because the money isn’t made that’s too small for these wolves to grab, and your chances can hardly be figured. Why, even in a town as big as New York there are days when there aren’t any winners.”
She asked: “Why is Spurck worked up?”
Lennox shrugged. “You can’t stop people gambling, but it’s bad for them to do it in working hours.”
She said: “Police.”
He shook his head. “What can they do? Arrest a few sellers? That won’t stop it. What I have to find is the brains, the big shot back of it.”
Her frown grew. “I don’t like it, Bill. These boys will be tough. Why is it that every time trouble starts you have to mix in?”
He grinned. “Worrying about me, babe?”
Her voice was fierce. “And don’t I have the right, or do I?”
He looked at her and for just a moment the shell of cynicism which five years on newspapers and three in Hollywood had built about him, almost cracked. His voice was softer and he patted her hand. “You’re a pal.”
Her tone was bitter. “Sure, I’m a pal. I always am. I suppose I’ll go up and listen to those amateurs who should be home washing dishes or fixing the car.”
He said: “You don’t have to go.”
She stared at him. “Sure I do. Why? Because, you big ape, I’d rather go to amateur night with you than to the Ambassador with anyone else. Now forget it and eat before I make a public fool of myself.”
Ben Houser said: “It’s swell of you to come, Bill. Hello, Miss Hobbs!”
Nancy said: “Hello!” without much enthusiasm, and they followed Houser into the big studio. The room was already full and they had trouble finding seats. Houser said, under his breath:
“Watch this girl, Bill. I’ll raise my hand when she comes up.”
Lennox nodded. Nancy yawned behind her hand and Houser went towards the mike. The signal glowed and he swung into his sales talk.
Lennox sat listening. Then he watched while two girls played a duet on pianos, while a colored boy played the mouth organ, while four college boys sang Sweet Adeline. Then he saw Houser raise his hand.
“And now, folks, we have Miss Maria Mussaco, who has brought her own accompanist. What are you going to sing, Maria?” The girl, small, dark, with flashing eyes and red lips, said:
“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.”
“All right. Let’s have it.”
The pianist struck a few chords, then the girl was singing. The voice rose, gained volume, assurance. She needed training, but the studio with the crowd of people was fading from Lennox’ eyes. He saw instead, Irene Dunne, singing to a group of extras, representing exiled Russian nobility on the “Roberta” set. When the girl finished the applause was thunderous.
Nancy Hobbs leaned close. “Houser’s right, Bill. That girl has something.”
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the platform. Suddenly he stiffened.
Nancy said, sharply: “What’s the matter? What’s happened?”
He was still staring. “See the accompanist, the man standing by the piano? That’s Tom May.”
“And who’s Tom May?”
“A grip. We had him thrown off the lot for selling numbers. I want to talk to him.”
He saw May leave the platform, lost sight of him, but the program was continuing and he could not move. As soon as Houser signed off, Bill rose and pushed his way forward.
Houser said: “What did you think of her, Bill?”
“Not bad,” Lennox told him. “She needs training, but, well...”
“Think she’d go in pictures?”
“Maybe,” Lennox was cautious. “She won tonight, didn’t she? Doesn’t that mean that she gets two weeks work at some night-club?”
“The Corn Club,” Houser told him. “It’s a hot spot and I hate to see her work there. She’s a nice kid, too nice to work in Phil Zimm’s place. But... well, that’s why I was hoping you’d get her a test.”
“Where is she now?”
“You mean you’ll talk to her?” Houser was eager. “She’s already gone to the Corn Club, but I’ll run you over. Our winners always go over there after the broadcast. She’ll sing later on.”
Lennox looked towards Nancy. He did not care to see the girl but he did want to talk to May, and there was a good chance that the accompanist would have gone to the club. At least the girl could tell him where he could find the former grip.