The music had ceased. Somewhere in the crowd a woman squealed. Then Zimm and Switzer pushed forward. Switzer dragged May to his feet, cuffed him again and again, and then, grabbing the collar of his coat, almost carried him from the floor.
Zimm turned to Bill. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lennox. The punk was drunk, see? He won’t cause any more trouble, I promise you.”
Bill nodded. “All right. Forget it.” He took the girl back to the table. Her face was still white, and she was shaking.
Houser said, sharply: “What happened.”
Lennox shrugged. “Nothing. A drunk.”
The radio man nodded. “This is a tough spot.” He turned to Maria. “I’m sorry I steered you up against it.”
She said, very low: “It isn’t your fault. You’ve been swell, but I have to go now. My number is coming up.”
Houser said: “Want me to go back with you?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather you didn’t.” She was gone, leaving the radio man staring curiously after her.
Houser said: “She’s a game kid. I wish I hadn’t brought her into this.”
Lennox looked at him. “What are you worrying for? You didn’t have anything to do with it. Don’t all your winners play this spot for two weeks?”
The radio man said: “Yes, but you don’t understand.” He brooded over his cigarette, and Lennox waited, half expecting him to continue, but Houser remained silent.
The floor show began. Lennox hardly bothered to watch the dancers, paid no attention until Maria appeared. She sang “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” again. She was noticeably nervous, much more so than she had been at the radio station, but the applause was good. She bobbed her head and disappeared.
Houser rose. “I’ll just go back and get her. Meet you out front.” He was gone and Nancy yawned. “Now can we celebrate?”
Bill grinned. “You’re like a spoiled kid with a stick of candy.” He helped her rise and they moved towards the foyer.
Nancy said: “Wait while I spoil some powder with my nose,” and disappeared towards the woman’s room. Lennox lit a cigarette and lounged against the wall, close to the entrance of the bar. The wall was thin and a voice he recognized reached him distinctly.
“You damn’ fool. What did you mean starting something on the dancefloor?”
May said: “I tell you, Mr. Zimm, that girl knows something, you know, about that business at...”
Zimm’s voice got harsh. “Shut up, fool. How the hell could she know? We checked and...”
May’s answer wasn’t clear and Switzer, the bodyguard, cut in. “What the devil is Lennox hanging around for, anyway? I had a tip tonight that he was after this numbers thing, that Spurck is after it...”
Zimm’s voice was still harsh. “Okey, if that’s the way it is, we can’t take chances. I’ll take care of this dame, but I’ll do the talking. You birds gum things up.”
Lennox’ mouth was thin as he moved forward to meet Nancy Hobbs. Suddenly he stopped. The passage from the dressing-rooms ran along the side of the bar and opened into the foyer. He saw Houser appear, hold the door for Maria, saw them come towards him. Then he saw Zimm step out of the bar and block their passage.
For seconds Bill hesitated, then moved towards them, heard Zimm say: “Never mind, Houser. I’ll see that she gets home.”
“But listen...” Houser was hesitating as if not willing to leave the girl with Zimm, yet for some reason trying to avoid a direct issue. “Bill Lennox of General is here, wants to talk to her.”
Bill knew that the radio man had said the worst thing possible. He knew that Zimm did not want him to talk to the girl, was afraid of something which she might tell. The night-club man’s voice was harsh, had lost all pretense of friendliness. “I said I’d take her.” There was a command in the tone which no one who heard it could miss.
Houser’s face reddened and his fists at his side clenched. Bill expected to hear him tell Zimm to go to hell, but after a moment his shoulders moved in a hopeless gesture. “Well...” He stopped as he saw Bill, and hope leaped into his harried eyes.
Lennox said, coolly: “You’ve got the wrong night, Phil. Miss Mussaco has a date with me. Come on, Maria.”
His eyes never left Zimm’s face from the time that the man swung about. For an instant it seemed that Zimm’s hand would streak for the shoulder-clip. Then with an effort he controlled himself; but his black eyes, usually devoid of expression, blazed with an indescribable fury as if passion was gripping, riding him, blinding him to reason. His voice, when he spoke, was hardly recognizable.
“Make it some other night, Lennox. This is very important.”
Bill shot a look at the girl, jerking his eyes away from Zimm’s face for an instant only. She was chalk-white, her skin almost translucent, wax-like. Fear gripped her so that speech was out of the question. His eyes switched back to Zimm. He knew how dangerous the man was, how bad to cross, but he would hardly start anything here with three hundred people only a few feet away.
Bill said, and his tone was almost mocking, “She goes with us...”
He left the end of the sentence hang in the air between them like some suspended thing, a challenge which Zimm must face or back down. The nightclub man chose to back down, but Lennox knew that his danger was increased by the man’s power to control his anger, to grip himself. For seconds Zimm stood like a hawk poised to strike. Then the tension went out of him... he even managed to call up a smile, a grimace which twisted his thick lips into something that was more chilling than a scowl.
“Sorry,” Zimm said. He swung on his heel and was gone, striding down the passage.
Houser’s held breath made whistling sound as it escaped his tightly held lips, and Lennox looked at him sharply. The radio man was wiping his beaded forehead with a handkerchief. His laugh sounded shaky, unreal, and his voice had gained a high, thin note when he said: “That’s that.”
Bill wanted to ask him what he meant, how much he knew, but there wasn’t time. Zimm might change his mind, might come back. He said, sharply, “Get Miss Hobbs and take her home. Tell her I’ll be there later, and don’t let her argue. Come on, Maria.”
He had the girl’s arm even as he pushed Houser towards the foyer. Nancy tried to speak to him as he passed, but he shook his head and motioned towards Houser. She stared. Then, with a shrug, followed the radio man across the lot towards his parked car.
Bill motioned a cab forward, pulled the door open, and helped the girl in. “What’s your address?”
She gave it to him and he relayed it to the driver, then got in and slammed the door. “Step on it.”
The cab shot away, its rear wheels spraying loose gravel across the entry. Lennox twisted and looked back. He was unarmed. His gun was in his desk at the apartment. His mouth set grimly as he watched the street for signs of pursuit. He had sent Nancy with Houser because he had feared trouble, half expected Zimm to follow. He said to the girl. “What’s it all about, Maria?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice barely reached him.
Impatience, almost anger, made his voice edged. “Why lie? You were scared to death back there, and yet earlier you didn’t know who Zimm was, didn’t know until I told you. Listen, Maria, I’m up against this numbers thing, and from something I overheard I’ve a hunch that Zimm has his fat finger in it. Come on. Talk! What do you know that Zimm thought you might tell me?”
She shook her head and her voice sounded strained as she said: “I don’t know anything, honest. Nothing I can tell. I thank you, but you shouldn’t have taken me away. I should have stayed. It was silly for me to be afraid, I’d have been all right.”