Late the following night, Sal drove Shifty Al in her smart roadster to a Long Island suburb. A block from the Bernstein residence she brought the bus to a stop to allow Al to alight. He was to proceed on to the house, and she was to keep the car running at this safe distance for the getaway.
But Sal knew that somewhere between the Bernstein house and where she was waiting in the roadster, somewhere in the shrubbery, Jim was hidden. And before Shifty AI ever traversed that distance on his way back, he would be minus the swag.
She watched AI walk up the street and disappear. Then with the motor still running she leaned back in the seat to wait. But before long she was tensely at attention. A man passed and looked at her closely. He had not gone far when he turned and was coming back. When he was opposite her, he paused and lifted his hat. Oh, so that’s what he was. It was not so bad as she had first thought.
But she did not want this interfering man around anyway. Al would be coming out soon and there would be a slight display on the street. The strange man’s hat was back on his head and he had passed on.
Sal turned to see if he was moving away, but as soon as she had done it, she realized what a fool she had been. He was looking back, and he nodded again. He felt that he was getting some encouragement. He turned and approached her.
“Swell night for a ride, ain’t it?”
“Lay off that stuff,” and Sal’s eyes blazed at him. “And I guess you’d better beat it or I’ll get the police.”
But the man only leaned closer across the window of the car and spoke. “Lady, that’s O.K. with me, because I am the police.” He flapped open his coat to expose a shining badge.
Sal looked furtively down the road and back to the man beside her. It certainly looked as though she was going to live up to the name of Jonah Sal. Jim might pull the job at any minute, and this dick would see him when he came from the shrubbery for the attack.
“I’m waiting for a friend,” she told the man who was half leaning into the car, “so don’t you think you’d better be moving on?”
But she had not handed him the ice pitcher soon enough. Shifty Al had appeared. He was coming from the gate farther down the street. Jim was almost certain to be unaware of what was going on back at the roadster.
Jim let AI pass, then quietly pushed his way through the shrubs that boarded the sidewalk. He raised a black jack over Al’s head and Al sank to the ground with scarcely a sound at Jim’s feet. Then with deft fingers, the swag was lifted from the inside pocket of the prostrate man.
Sal had caught the beginning of the scene and suddenly adopted her most telling manner for the benefit of the strange man still on the job of picking her up. Anything to divert his attention. She was all charm and seduction. But it was too late.
The man had followed her eyes and was watching the by-play down the street. Quick and sure as Jim’s maneuvers had been, they were not quick enough. While he was still leaning over the prone body of Shifty, the dick was down the street and almost on him, gat out and leveled.
“Stick ’em up and don’t waste any time about it,” he yelled.
Back in the car Sal cursed her luck that there was no gat in her bag. She and Jim always travelled without them. It was safer, and they had no need for them when the job was fixed. It looked like Jim’s finish and not a chance for her to get him out of the mess. She saw the dick grab something from Jim’s hand. Gun still raised, he was looking it over. Five single grands there should be, and the dick had them. Had them! He was shoving them into his own pocket. He would have the cuffs on Jim in a minute.
No. Jim was turning and walking quietly in the opposite direction. So that was the game. The plainclothesman wanted to keep the coin himself instead of handing it over at Headquarters. Well, Sal wanted it too, and there was still a chance.
Jim was almost out of sight. He was safe anyway. The dick was coming back down the street. When he was alongside the car in which the girl sat, she took a glance at her watch, ignoring the fact that the man had stopped again. She made a pretense of releasing the emergency.
“Ain’t gonna leave, are you, girlie?” the dick asked her.
“Yeh. I guess this is one time I been stood up. My hard luck. But I’ve decided not to waste any more time waiting around.”
“Well, you don’t want to spend a lonely evening just because some dumb guy didn’t know enough to show up, do you?”
Sal’s momentary assumption of hauteur was decidedly chilling. Then she slowly looked over the man on the sidewalk, and flashed a smile.
“Well, get in, cutie, since you’re so persistent. I’ll drop you wherever you’re going. Where’s it to be?”
He did not answer the question.
“Might as well get acquainted, girlie. My name’s Benson, Oscar Benson.” He flung his arm over the back of the seat.
“Mine is Sally — Donovan.” And she decided she might as well get chummy. She snuggled into the arm that was held around her. “I kind of expected to spend a pleasant evening at one of the night clubs in the city. But I guess it’s off. Where you want me to drop you, cutie?”
“You ain’t gonna drop me. I’m the guy that’s gonna show you that pleasant evening.”
The girl looked at him through wide, smiling eyes.
“You know any night clubs, Ike?”
“Me! Say, girlie, I own ’em.” He flashed his badge again.
She laughed, and he took the opportunity of drawing his arm closer about her.
When they reached the city and were threading their way up the Broadway traffic, Benson directed her to steer into a side street in the Forties and draw up to the curb.
Out of the car, he ushered her into a doorway and up the stairs. His presence worked like magic on the hostess who greeted the two at the door. They were shown a table in a secluded corner, and a waiter hurried around with drinks.
Sal did not know what her method of procedure was to be. She had seen Benson plunge the five grand into an inside pocket when he had gotten hold of it back on the street. But a carefully worked out technic had convinced her never to attempt anything crude. You always got caught if you did. She had seen it work out that way too many times.
A waiter came to take the order.
“Anything you want, kid, it’s on the house,” said Benson.
“Generous, aren’t you, Ike?”
Sal ordered light on the food, but suggested that a bottle of something might cheer her up. They both drank and were cheered. Subsequently they ordered more.
Sal waited as patiently as she could for the drinks to show effect. She became rather discouraged when she saw that it was going to take a good many before Benson slopped over. Drinks were free for him, and he had accustomed himself to plenty of them. She was feeling just a trifle unsteady herself.
But she was going to get the coin in the dick’s inside pocket. That steadied her. He was getting mushy and confidential. And above all she found that he liked to talk about himself. That she could work on, if only she didn’t get too dizzy.
Benson was around on her side of the table by this time. He was even showing pictures of himself. He must be fairly well lit to get as friendly as all that, unless he was just naturally a bore. Sal patiently looked at snapshots of him in and out of uniform, when he had been just a flat-foot, and pictures cut from the tabloids showing him with famous criminals. Sal was not getting very far, and the supply of photos in Benson’s wallet seemed endless.
“And here’s one,” he leaned closer over her shoulder, “here’s one of the boy himself at the beach.”
“Say, kid, that’s great.” Sal looked at it a long time admiringly. “You wasn’t on the force then, was you?”