Houser’s smile was twisted. “He has plenty, he owns the sponsor company. That bird owns a lot around this town that people don’t know about. He’s plenty powerful. Switzer called me last week. He said some dame named Mussaco was sending in an application, that I was to put her on. I tried to argue and he got tough. He said that if I wouldn’t play they’d get an announcer that would.
“It was my first big chance and I didn’t want to muff it. I told her to come to rehearsals and I found she had real talent, I also found that she didn’t know Zimm, I mean the name. I got interested then. I had a hunch that he wanted a chance to get to know her, or something. That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to hear the broadcast. I figured that if she got a break in pictures she wouldn’t work in his lousy club.”
“But what is Zimm’s idea?”
Houser shrugged. “You got me, pal, but I’ll kill the greasy swine if he makes a pass at her. That kid is right, Bill. Take my word. She’s on the level.” The car drew up in front of Bill’s apartment and he climbed out. Houser said: “Gimme a ring after you hear from Miss Hobbs in the morning, will you?”
Lennox nodded. “Sure.” He turned and went thoughtfully towards the door.
Lennox was up when the phone rang. He picked up the instrument and heard Nancy Hobbs say with relief. “So you’re all right?”
Lennox said: “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“I never know,” the girl told him, “and Zimm is tough. What had I better do with the little girl?”
He said: “Keep her out there and talk to her. Maybe she’ll tell you things when she won’t me. That kid’s in a spot of some kind. How is she?”
“Nervous. I’ll try, Bill, but I feel so darn sorry for her that I’m afraid I won’t get far. I’ll call you back.”
She hung up and Lennox tried to read the paper. He was half through the sport page when the phone rang again.
Nancy said, excitedly: “She’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” His voice rasped.
The girl said: “I mean gone. Old man Stewart, who has the cabin below mine, says that a car went up the road while I was at the store and stopped at my place.”
“But who... how could Zimm know where she was?”
The girl said: “I don’t know. It’s my fault. I should have brought her down to the store with me, but I thought she’d be safer up there. I’m coming in. We’ve got to do something.” The phone clicked before he could answer. He had hardly hung up when it rang for the third time.
It was Houser. The radio man asked, “Heard from Miss Hobbs?”
Bill told him and there was silence for a moment at the other end of the line. Then Houser almost shouted, “Zimm’s got her.”
“Maybe.” Lennox agreed, “but how the devil could he know where she was?”
“It’s my fault.” Houser’s voice sounded broken. “I shouldn’t have let her telephone her mother.”
“What? When? Where’d she call from?”
The radio man said: “Remember last night when you were down in Miss Hobb’s garage? Maria went into the office and called her mother. I didn’t have the heart to stop her.”
Lennox swore, and Houser asked: “What do we do now? Call the police?”
“We can’t yet,” Bill told him. “We’re not even sure that anyone took her. Certainly we can’t prove that Zimm did. I’ll have to see. You sit on your hands for a while and don’t do anything screwy.” He hung up, sat thinking for several minutes, then started towards the door. He had almost reached it when the phone rang again.
He swore, recrossed the room, and answered it. Spurck’s voice was labored. “Bill! Bill! A man just called me and said we should lay off the numbers or something I shouldn’t like would happen by my family,”
“What?”
“Positively, I’m telling you. He said I was to call you and that you should keep your nose clean. Honest. Those were his words, or anyhow they would do something to Rose. Bill, you would think he was the President or anyhow the Governor of California the way he gave orders. Gott soll huten that them tough loafers should do things to Rose.”
Lennox said: “So we let numbers alone?”
Spurck’s voice sputtered. “You should say such a thing! Is it that you think I am yellow? Honest, Bill, you hurt me.”
Lennox said: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, Sol. These boys are tough. I think I know who’s behind the number racket, and he won’t stop at anything. I’m warning you. We can’t let anything happen to Rose.”
“You’re telling me. But right away I send her to New York by plane, y’understand. If them bad boys think they can run things they should think some more. I already called the authorities.”
“You called the cops?” There was alarm in Lennox’ voice.
“Did I say cops? Phooey! I called those G-men. Positively, I’m telling you, them G-men really do things like in that picture we just made. What a picture! And if it don’t break box-office records without one star in it even I’ll...”
Lennox cut in. “Who was it you called?”
“I called Harker and told him that you would come right over by his apartment. He lives at number — Normandie. You go there and tell him what you know. We’ll show these hard boys they can’t run things like their name was Hitler.”
“All right, I’ll go down there, but for — sake, get Rose out of town. Get her on the noon plane, and tell her to take care of herself.” He hung up and went for his hat. He was boiling inside, but his face showed nothing. That Zimm should threaten Rose Spurck struck Lennox directly where he lived. Out of his hundreds of friends in Hollywood, Rose meant more to him than almost anyone else. In her whole life she had never done a small or mean thing. She was big, good, and very kind.
He slammed on his hat and went to the door, jerked it open and stared. Mike Payman was in the hall outside, his hand raised to knock. The reporter grinned. “This is service.”
Lennox’ eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want?”
Payman moved his shoulders. “Is that the way to greet a pal on Sunday morning?”
“I’m in a hurry, Mike,” Bill told him, and tried to step past.
The reporter said: “I’ll keep you only a couple of minutes. You know that numbers racket you were talking about last night? Well, I got to thinking. It might be smart if my sheet hopped on the thing, make a good page-one story, and help you.”
Lennox hesitated. “Is this your own idea?”
Payman said: “Well, I thought it up, yes, but I also talked it over with Rube Bailey, the assistant city editor. He went for it. He said that if you’d give me the dope you’ve got, we’d print just what you want printed and hold the rest until you give us the word.”
Lennox shrugged. “The trouble is, Mike; I don’t know a thing.”
Payman’s eyes were on Lennox’ face. “Yeah? Come on, Bill. Play ball. The Tribune can help and you know it. Tell me what you know.”
For a moment Lennox hesitated, suddenly coming to a decision. “All right, Mike. I’ll play ball, but you can’t print it. Spurck got a phone call this morning, warning him to lay off or his family would get hurt. He just called me. As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t any numbers racket.”
Payman’s eyes glinted. “Don’t kid me, I know you, Bill. You don’t scare.”
Lennox’ voice was deliberate. “I’m working for Spurck. Wouldn’t you lay off if you were in his shoes? After all, it isn’t his job to police this burg.”
Payman hesitated; his eyes on Lennox’ face were speculative. Bill’s eyes told nothing. Finally the reporter laughed. “I guess at that Spurck’s right. It’s no skin off his nose.”