“Here, Fletcher.” He thrust a hand into his pocket and brought out a crumpled dollar bill. “Here’s a buck for you, from me, personally.”
“Thanks, Mr. Johnson, that’s mighty white of you.” Johnny cleared his throat. “Uh, you wouldn’t have another dollar, would you? Sam Cragg’s pretty hungry, too.”
Johnson swore. “Damn you, Fletcher!” But he brought out another dollar and handed it to Johnny. “Now, keep away from me so I don’t change my mind and fire you instead.”
Johnny returned to the counter department and handed Sam one of the dollar bills. “Buck apiece was all I could promote,” he-said.
Sam was disappointed. “I had my heart set on a steak and French fry dinner.”
“So did I. Where’s Elliott?”
“He beat it a couple of minutes ago. He’s the boss’s son, he don’t have to wait for the whistle.”
“Damn,” exclaimed Johnny. “I was going to hook him for the steak dinners.”
“After the way he acted this noon? I don’t think even you could sell him on an encore.”
“No? You underestimate me, Sam, when I’m desperate.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Just a minute.”
At the end of the line of counter benches was an old-fashioned bookkeeper’s desk on which stood Johnson’s telephone. Johnny strode to it and scooped the receiver off the hook.
“Nancy girl,” he said into the mouthpiece. “This is me.”
He heard her exclaim in astonishment, “Mr. Johnson...”
“Uh-uh, not the foreman,” Johnny chuckled. “Give me a couple of weeks, will you...?”
“Fletcher!” she cried. “You want to get fired?”
“Not before I earn that twenty I need for Saturday. Look, Nancy, do me a favor...”
“I’m doing you one, now. Get off that phone! The workers aren’t allowed to use the phone.”
“Sure, sure, the regular workers, maybe. But I’m not a regular worker. But to cut a long story short, has Elliott Towner breezed through?”
“Yes, now will you—?”
“Where does he live?”
“With his father — naturally.”
“And where does the old man live?”
“Hillcrest.”
Johnny winced. “That’s way out in the country, isn’t it?”
“About forty miles.”
Johnny was about to hang up, but suddenly thought of something else. “What about Elliott’s club?”
“The Lakeside Athletic on Michigan Avenue.”
“That’s it, Baby. Thanks a million. Remember Saturday...”
He hung up, started back toward Sam, but before he reached him the five o’clock bell rang and there was a mad rush for the sinks and lockers behind the rows of barrels. Johnny and Sam joined the stampede and had to wait in line to wash up.
“Do a good job, Sam,” Johnny advised his friend.
Chapter Six
At ten minutes after five they left the leather factory and made their way to a near-by street corner. They clambered aboard a crowded streetcar and fifteen minutes later alighted at Madison and Wells.
Johnny started to cross the street and Sam caught his arm. “Hey, you’re going east.”
“Certainly.”
“Yeah, but we want to go west.”
“West? That’s where all the flophouses are.”
“Ain’t that what we’re looking for?”
Johnny shook his head. “Sam, you’ve got ninety cents and I’ve got ninety cents. On West Madison we can find a joint where we can get a steak for that, but where’ll we sleep — and what about breakfast in the morning?”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” admitted Sam. “But east of here, everything’s more expensive.”
“We’re all washed up,” Johnny said. “A little dust on our suits, but we don’t look too bad.” He cleared his throat. “I thought maybe we might have dinner at the Lakeside Athletic Club...”
“Huh?” Sam blinked, then reacted. “Not Elliott T owner?”
“Why not?”
“The way he acted this noon...”
“That was crude. I’ve had time to think now.”
“All right, Johnny, he can’t get any madder’n he is already.”
“That’s what I thought.”
They walked swiftly down Madison and a few minutes later turned South on Michigan. The fourteen-story building housing the Lakeside Athletic Club was just ahead.
Johnny turned into the club door, Sam crowding at his heels. A uniformed doorman looked inquiringly at them.
“Yes?”
“We’re going in to join Mr. Towner,” Johnny said easily and would have gone through the inner door, except that the doorman moved a few inches and blocked his path.
“He’s expecting you?”
“I rather think so.”
The doorman reached to a high, narrow desk and scooped up a handful of slips of paper. He shuffled quickly through them. “There’s no pass here.”
“He probably forgot to leave one.”
“I’ll have to get an okay from him,” the doorman said, picking up a phone. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Cragg,” gritted Johnny through his teeth.
“Michigan door, for Mr. Towner,” the doorman said into the phone. “I believe he’s in the steam room, now.” He nodded, looked at Johnny and Sam. “Club rules, gentlemen. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh, we don’t mind,” said Johnny, pretending not to see Sam’s warning signal.
The doorman turned back to his telephone. “Yes, Mr. Towner, Arthur, at the Michigan door. There’s a Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Cragg here, say you’re expecting them. No...? Just a moment, please.” He covered the mouthpiece with a big hand. “Mr. Towner says he doesn’t know anyone named Fletcher and Cragg.”
“We’re from the plant,” Johnny said. “Tell him that. It’s important that we see him. Extremely important.”
The doorman spoke into the phone. “They say it’s an extremely urgent matter, Mr. Towner... Very well, sir...” He handed the phone to Johnny.
Drawing a quick, deep breath, Johnny said: “Mr. Towner, this is Johnny Fletcher...”
“And who the devil is Johnny Fletcher?” boomed the deep voice of Harry Towner.
“I’m from the factory,” Johnny said, in desperation, “I... I have something very important to tell you about that — regarding what happened at the plant this morning.”
There was a moment’s pause, then Harry Towner grunted. “All right, give me Arthur.”
Johnny handed the phone back to the doorman.
“Yes, Mr. Towner?” said the doorman. He bobbed his head. “Very well, sir. Thank you.”
He hung up the phone, scribbled quickly on a slip of paper and banged his palm on a bell on the desk. “Front!” he called.
A bellboy appeared from the lobby behind the little reception room. The doorman handed the slip to him. “Take these gentlemen to Mr. Towner in the steam room.”
“This way,” said the bellboy.
Johnny and Sam followed him into a large lobby, fitted out much like a hotel lobby. The bellboy headed swiftly for the elevators.
“Watch my cues,” Johnny whispered to Sam Cragg as they followed the bellboy. “I asked for Towner and got the old Duke, instead of Elliott...”
“Holy cats!” exclaimed Sam.
“They can’t do more’n throw us out.”
They stepped into the elevator and were whisked up to the fourth floor where the bellboy led Johnny and Sam along a corridor and finally into a huge room containing a fifty foot swimming pool and numerous steam rooms and cubicles where masseurs and attendants gave club members treatments.
The bellboy stopped a moment, looked around and located Harry Towner. The Leather Duke was wearing a towel about his waist and nothing else. The bellboy headed for him.
“Mr. Towner, these are the gentlemen to see you,” he said and went off.