“Those babies have time that’s worth lots to ’em. And they’re sitting on the rim of a volcano all the time. They don’t dare to get out of touch with things.”
Paul Pry nodded.
“I take it that it’s a dangerous game?”
“Dangerous! I’ll say. A man only does that when he’s flirting with the undertaker. They last about once. There ain’t any case of a man who’s done a successful muscle act twice.”
Paul Pry nodded, thoughtfully.
“Why?” asked Mugs Magoo.
Paul Pry looked at his watch.
“Because in precisely forty-five minutes I am going to muscle Tommy Drake, the big shot of the Big Front Gilvray gang, and—”
He broke off as the whiskey glass slipped from Mugs Magoo’s nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor.
“You’re what!!”
“Just what I said, Mugs.”
Mugs Magoo sighed.
“Well, I’ve given you up for lost so long now that when I actually file past the coffin for a last glance at what the machine-gun bullets have left of your face, I’ll feel like it’s a habit, but that’s the first time you’ve ever done anything so damned hare-brained as to make me spill good drinkin’ whiskey.”
Paul Pry adjusted his tie, reached for his overcoat.
“You shaved?” asked Mugs Magoo, ruefully inspecting the pool of whiskey on the carpet.
“Yes, why?”
“Oh, nothin’, but undertakers Have a hell of a time shavin’ ’em after they get cold. It’s always considerate to give ’em a break.”
Paul Pry smiled.
“Good night, Mugs.”
The reply was unmistakable.
“Good-by! I’m goin’ to miss you.”
And Paul Pry, with that farewell knelling in his ears, closed the door, adjusted his hat, and went to keep his appointment.
Things clicked as by clockwork. The big limousine drew up to the appointed comer within twenty seconds of the time which had been agreed upon. The door opened. Tommy Drake, well-clothed, fleshy, important, ferreted the shadows with restless eyes. His well-manicured hand was concealed under his coat.
Finney, the chauffeur, kept his right hand thrust into the side pocket of an overcoat as he locked the car with a key held in his left hand.
They went into a certain speakeasy. It was within forty feet of where they had parked the car. They went in the businesslike manner of those who are about to make a collection or know why.
Paul Pry glided from the shadows. His duplicate key shot back the lock of the car door. He entered, slipped under the robe which was on the floor in the rear of the machine.
One minute and forty seconds later, Finney scraped the key against the lock of the car door and pretended to unlock it. He flung back the door.
“Sittin’ up front, Tommy?”
“Sure.”
The car lurched as the bodies swung up from the running board. Then a door slammed, and the motor purred into rhythmic power. A gear meshed smoothly, and the car glided out into traffic.
“Business pickin’ up any?” asked Finney.
“So, so,” said Tommy. “These big places are under regular contract. They take so much whether business is good or bad. It sometimes leaves ’em with a little carry-over stock, but they’ve got a soft graft, at that.”
“Uh-huh,” said Finney.
The car continued to purr smoothly and uneventfully through traffic.
Finney’s voice sounded, nervous, dry. “Well, we’re within two blocks of your house, Tommy.”
“Uh-huh,” said Tommy Drake.
Paul Pry slipped back the heavy robe. Such noise as he made was covered by the sound of the whining tires as they snarled at high speed along the pavement.
He slipped a gun in either hand. Promptly at the same moment, he pressed the cold muzzles of those guns against the necks of the men in front of him.
“Don’t look around, don’t make any squawk,” he said. “You, driver, take the first turn to the left and step on it. Remember one thing, I’m desperate. If you so much as make a move, or if you try to signal, I’ll blow your spines out through your neckties.”
Finney gave an audible gasp, a synthetic start, for the purpose of impressing Tommy Drake.
Tommy Drake froze into rigid immobility. After a second or two, he spoke, calmly, without turning his head.
“What is it, a shakedown or a croaking?”
“Just a shakedown,” reassured Paul Pry. “You won’t have any trouble if you act reasonable.”
Tommy Drake sighed.
“O. K. I thought maybe I was goin’ for a ride. If I had been, I’d as soon have taken it here as later.”
Paul Pry chuckled.
“Just be reasonable, and you’ll be on your way by ten o’clock tomorrow morning — sure.”
Tommy Drake grunted.
“After the banks open, eh?”
“After the banks open,” agreed Paul Pry. “Driver, you keep both hands on the wheel and your eyes straight ahead. Tommy, you stick your hands up. I’m going to put a little bandage over your eyes.”
The gangster elevated his hands.
“No funny stuff,” warned Paul Pry.
The gangster said nothing.
Paul Pry whipped a handkerchief about Tommy Drake’s eyes, then dove swiftly for the shoulder holsters and took away twin automatics.
“Now, driver, I’m doing the same by you as far as frisking is concerned. Keep your hands on the wheel.”
“O. K. by me,” said Finney. “I ain’t got a date with a tailor for a wooden nightie. It’s under the left armpit. Be careful, because the safety’s off.”
Paul Pry deftly extracted the gun.
“Keep moving,” he said. “Ready to turn to the right at the next street, and drive carefully, I’m nervous.”
And the cold steel rings again pressed into the necks of the men in front.
Guiding them to the turns, making a sufficient number of side excursions to be certain no one was following them Paul Pry directed the automobile to the bungalow where the girl with the starry eyes had established herself as a bride of a few days.
Finney swung the car to a stop in the driveway.
“Out and in,” said Paul Pry. “Driver, you can pilot Tommy Drake. Keep his blindfold on.”
They clumped up the three steps to the wooden floor of the porch. Slick Sarah flung the door open. Her eyes gleamed with delight.
“My hero!” she said, and flung herself with a little glad cry of abandon into the arms of the muscle man.
They piloted Tommy Drake to a bedchamber, handcuffed his wrists and ankles to the side rungs at the head and foot of the bed, left him like a sprawled calf ready for branding.
Then they held a celebration.
During that celebration much giggle water was consumed. Finney and the girl lavished praise upon Paul Pry. Finney showed his gratitude by frequent back slappings and handshakings. The girl accomplished the same result in a more feminine manner.
Some time after midnight it was suggested that Paul Pry had better make certain that Tommy would come to terms.
Pry nodded, arose to unsteady feet and vanished into the bedroom. Finney remained behind, since he insisted upon making it appear that the abduction was on the up and up and that Tommy should be told that the chauffeur was also held a prisoner in another room.
Paul Pry unlocked the handcuffs.
“Keep on the blindfold,” he said.
Tommy Drake sat up on the bed, his arms stiff and numb.
“Listen, guy, I’m going to be reasonable. There’s no use of you and me misunderstanding each other. You’ve got me where you want me, now. Personally, I don’t think you can get away with it, but that’s something that’s between you and Big Front Gilvray.
“In the meantime, there’s no use rubbing it in. I know when I’m licked, and I’m getting damned tired of these handcuffs.”
Paul Pry remained obdurate.
“You’re all right, Tommy, only you’re too slick. I’ve got to keep you where you won’t be able to out-slick me. Where are the checks?”