Part 3

Patty stood behind the desk, her balance forward on the balls of her feet, her hands tensed on the edge of the desk, ready to run either way. Scarface Willy, a surprisingly small and dapper-looking middle-aged gentleman with only a very small scar pulling down the outside corner of his left eye and a custom-tailored outfit which must have cost him a cool three hundred dollars, stood in front of the desk. He went one way. Patty went the other way. Scarface Willy lunged over the desk. Patty hit him with a paperweight but he bobbed like a clever boxer and it only grazed his forehead. "Irish," he said. "I like your Irish, girl. I like everything about you."

"I--I'll bop you again," Patty vowed. "Or else I'll scream. Yes, I'll scream."

Willy was confused. Downstairs they hadn't behaved this way at all. The other girl was nothing like this. The other girl was all eagerness. It was always that way, though. The good things came tough.

Willy lunged a second time. Patty swung and missed him with the paperweight.

Heck and Fanetti materialized on the desktop. Fanetti was still sitting on Heck.

"Get off me," Heck said.

Fanetti got off, and vaulted off the desk.

"Fanetti, you!" screamed the surprised Scarface Willy.

"Aw, Boss," Fanetti bleated. It seemed he had a passion for calling people boss.

* * * * *

Scarface Willy clawed at the lapel of his custom-tailored suit. He withdrew a snub-nosed wide-bored automatic and made a fanning motion with it around the room. "All right," he said. "All right. Talese's had enough. Talese don't get treated like this. Talese gives protection, see? When Talese gives protection, he wants it to stick. See? You, Fanetti!"

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Sit on that guy again. You did that real good."

Fanetti looked at Scarface Willy. He looked at Heck. He shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"Because I'm getting out of here," Scarface Willy said. "With the dame. I don't like this joint. Dames who throw themselves at you. Dames who don't. People who pop up out of nowheres. A madam who calls herself a sales director. Maybe Red here can straighten me out. Can't you, Red?"

"I won't tell you a thing," Patty told him coldly.

Scarface Willy shrugged. "Not here, you won't. At my place. Are you going to sit on him, Fanetti?"

"N-no," Fanetti said after a while. The word was defiant. The tone was not.

Scarface Willy shrugged again. "I'll remember that, Fanetti. When the time comes. You!" Waving the gun.

"Me?" said Heck.

"Yeah, you. Come with me. We're going downstairs together. You and me and Red here. I'll have the gun in my pocket. You'll escort me to the street. Me and Red."

"You wouldn't dare kill us."

"Who said anything about killing you? Think I wanta face a murder-one rap? Fanetti!"

"Yeah?" Fanetti said.

"Come here."

Fanetti walked slowly in front of Scarface Willy. Then Fanetti saw the look on Willy's face and began to back away. He had a look of fascinated horror on his face. Coldly, contemptuously, Willy reached into his jacket again. He took out a long, barrel-tubed contraption and slowly screwed it on the end of his automatic. Fanetti backed away faster. He opened his mouth to say no.

Before he could say it, though, Scarface Willy shot him twice, once in the meaty part of each thigh. The silencer muffled the twin explosions almost completely. Fanetti crumpled in pain, writhing on the floor. Willy unscrewed the silencer from his gun and put it away. "Shall we go?" he said.

* * * * *

With a numbness clouding his mind and making coherent thought all but impossible, Heck walked in front of Scarface Willy and Patty to the office door. He jerked the door open and heard them walking behind him. He also heard Fanetti's moan. He told the receptionist:

"You'd better get a doctor, quick as you can."

"A doctor?"

Heck jerked a thumb behind him. "In there."

Then Scarface Willy came out, with Patty. She was walking before him. Unless you were looking for it, you did not see the bulge of the automatic which he held in his pocket. But if you were looking for it, as Heck was, it seemed as big as a sixteen-inch naval gun.

The pretty female elevator operator smiled and said a few things and obviously expected Heck to flirt with her as the car went down. Heck maintained a white-faced silence.

"Say, Mr. Finch, is anything the matter? You don't look so good."

Scarface Willy grunted a barely audible warning. Patty let out a sigh. "Working too hard, I guess," Heck told the elevator operator.

"Well, you're white as a sheet. Why don't you go down to the beach and get yourself a good sunburn one of these days."

"Maybe I will," Heck said automatically as the elevator reached ground level. He got out. The others got out behind him.

"The street," Scarface Willy said.

They went outside. A snarl of traffic passed sluggishly in the street. Horns tooted. Someone, probably a taxi driver, yelled. I can get away right now, Heck thought. The street was crowded. He could slip away. Scarface Willy wouldn't dare shoot. But Scarface Willy didn't want him. Scarface Willy wanted Patty....

"Listen," Willy said. "The girl goes with me. You get it? She goes, and you get time to think. Say, twenty-four hours?"

"To think about what?"

"Don't listen to him, Heck, whatever it is!" Patty said bravely.

"I'm cutting myself in, Finch. To think about--say, fifty percent?"

"Fifty percent!" gasped Heck.

Willy squeezed Patty's arm. Patty winced. "Fifty percent, bucko," said Willy. "A fifty-fifty split. Don't tell me now. I want you to think about it."

A long black car untangled itself from the steady snarling stream of traffic and cruised over to the curb. The chauffeur leaned back, opening the rear door. Pushing Patty ahead of him, Scarface Willy climbed in.

"What about me?" Heck wanted to know. "You can't take her without--"

"You stay where you are, bucko. I already told you."

* * * * *

The door slammed. Heck clawed at the handle. "Wait! Wait!" he cried. The car sped from the curb, almost bowling Heck over. "Help!" he shouted. "Help! Kidnapper!"

Already the car was out of sight in traffic. And Heck hadn't even looked at the license number. A curious crowd had gathered around him. Someone pushed his way through. A cop. Eying Heck speculatively. "Well," he said, "and what's this racket about a kidnapper?"

"Nothing," Heck said. "Nothing." If the cops came in on this, there was no telling what might happen to Patty. The mental numbness enveloping him again, Heck went back into the building.

"Maybe you'd better send for Baldid," Heck told Laara. "Because if anybody can help us, it's Baldid."

"But you're wrong, Heck," the blonde said promptly. "You couldn't be wronger. Baldid is a successful businessman, is all. He wouldn't know how to deal with this situation at all."

"Me," Heck groaned, "I'm not even a successful businessman. I'm nothing. I'm nobody."

"You're Hector Finch. Don't ever say you're nobody."

"That," said Heck resignedly, "is saying the same thing."

"Are you just going to sit here brooding while that man has your fiancée?" For the first time, as if danger were the impetus, Laara readily admitted that Patty was Heck's fiancée.

"I'm thinking. I'm trying to think. Listen, Laara, in order to teleport some place, do you have to know precisely where?"

"No. But you need a general idea."

"Just knowing that it's Scarface Willy's hideout or headquarters or whatever it is--would that be enough?"

Laara shook her head.

"Wait a minute!" Heck cried. "The doc's still here with Mr. Fanetti, isn't he?"

"I think so. They have to do something for Fanetti's legs before he can be moved."

* * * * *

"Poor Fanetti," Heck said, and took Laara's hand, and teleported from her office to his.

Fanetti was sitting up. His trousers had been removed and a sheet was draped over his legs. His face had an unhealthy pallor, as if he'd lost too much blood and needed a transfusion--which probably was the case.

"How are you, Fanetti?" Heck said.

Fanetti shrugged. "I been hit before," he told them, a little proudly.

The doctor said: "I've sent for an ambulance. This man needs three or four days in the hospital. He'll be all right after that."

"Fanetti, listen," Heck pleaded. "I need help. I need to know where Scarface Willy hangs out. I need to know badly."

"He took the big redheaded cutie?"

"Yes," said Laara.

"Jeez," said Fanetti in awe. "Kidnapping. That Scarface Willy'll do anything."

"You've got to tell me where I can find him."

"I'd like to, Boss. I'm on your side. You ought to know that."

"Well?"

"But I don't know!"

"You don't know?" Heck repeated the words in a shocked voice. Getting Fanetti to co-operate, he had thought, would be the toughest nut to crack.

"Nobody does, but maybe an inside few who got to. Willy's taking no chances. Hell, he's up on history. He knows what happened to guys like Dutch Schultz right in their own hangouts. So, he don't take no chances. I'm sorry, Boss."

"But there must be somebody can tell me."

Fanetti scowled. "I tell you what," he said. "The racetrack."

"The racetrack?"

"Yeah. A lot of Willy's friends hang out in the Clubhouse. You can't miss 'em. Especially on a weekday like this, they almost got the Clubhouse all to themselves. The suckers with the little bets hang out near the rail, but it's the Clubhouse for Willy's friends. You see...."

But Fanetti found himself talking to the doctor and to Laara. Heck had teleported.

* * * * *

... Out of blackness.

He heard a bugle call. He was high up over a grandstand in a terraced room almost the size of an auditorium. It was set up like an open-air restaurant with only one side open. That side faced the racetrack.

"They're coming from the paddock for the fifth race," a loudspeaker voice announced. "This is the forty-fourth running of the Belvedere Handicap for four-year-olds. Purse, fifty thousand dollars."

There was a bar and all but two or three of the patrons of the Clubhouse were clustered around it with drinks. Then, one by one, they drifted over to the barrier which overlooked the grandstand, the rail-enclosed viewing area, and the turf.

"Excuse me," Heck began. "I'm looking--"

But they went right by him. They were interested in the horses now coming to the post for the forty-fourth running of the Belvedere Handicap. They hardly saw Heck at all.

"Sultan's Lady," said one. "I got a hun'red ona nose."

"Sultan's, stupid. Can't you talk English?"

"Miramar," insisted another with smug confidence.

A bell clanged. A shout went up from below. The horses began to run.

"Excuse me," Heck said.

But all eyes might as well have been glued to the turf. In spite of himself, Heck watched the brief pounding flurry of the horses' hooves. When it was over and the crowd below settled back into anxious whispering, a loudspeaker voice said:

"There is a photo-finish in the fifth race, ladies and gentlemen, with Sultan's Lady and Miramar neck and neck."

"Sultan's Lady," said one of the Clubhouse patrons.

"Miramar!" hotly contested the other.

"Gentlemen," said Heck.

They all ignored him.

Heck took a deep breath and shouted at the top of his voice: "Mr. William Talese!"

Two or three of the men turned to him for the first time. "Hey, kiddo. You mean Scarface Willy? So what about him?" one of them demanded.

"I'm looking for him."

"He's looking for him," one of the thugs repeated in an amused tone.

"We, er, had a business deal," Heck improvised.

"Yeah? What kind of a business deal?"

"I am not at liberty to divulge that. But it will mean millions of dollars to Mr. Talese and some of his chosen friends. Mr. Talese said to meet him right here, but I haven't got all day. In fact, it's late already. So, where can I find him?"

"How do we know you're on the level?" one of them asked.

"Fanetti!" Heck cried on impulse. "Do you know what happened to Fanetti?"

"Naw."

"Me and Willy shot him," said Heck, "in both legs. That ought to prove I'm like this--" he crossed his index and middle fingers--"with Willy. Here, if you don't believe me, call this number."

One of them called the number. And spoke. And listened. And returned with an awed look on his face. "The little guy told the truth."

* * * * *

At that moment the loudspeaker blared: "In the fifth race, the results: Miramar and Sultan's Lady in a dead heat."

The two thugs at the barrier began to argue about the respective merits of Miramar and Sultan's Lady. Numbers flashed on the tote board. Sultan's Lady had won on the shorter odds and that meant something to one of the thugs. It seemed to mean the opposite to the other.

"Willy Talese," Heck said. "I've got to find where he hangs out. It's a matter of life and death. I've got to see him."

"I thought you said business." Suspiciously.

"Well, yes. Of course."

"Pal, I wish I could help you. Hey, do any of you guys know Willy's hangout address? Confidential, of course. For Willy's good friend here."

They all shook their heads blankly. The speaker told Heck: "And I'm Willy's number three lootenant. It shows you how careful you got to be these days. You just can't trust nobody."

"But somebody must surely know!"

"Well, listen," Willy's number three lieutenant said, "you might try Johnny The Cat Simese."

"Johnny the, uh--"

"Johnny The Cat Simese. He hangs out at Ada's gym, when he ain't bodyguarding Willy's corpus."

"You don't mean corpus, stupid," one of the other thugs said. "A corpus is a dead man."

"Well, anyhow," said the lieutenant.

"Ada's gym," memorized Heck. "Johnny The Cat Simese." He teleported. He vanished.

"Hey, what the hell?" one of the thugs said.

And another one: "Where'd the little guy go?"

They looked around. Naturally, there was no Heck.

* * * * *

Heck bounced on canvas.

He looked up. A menacing-looking fat man came toward him wearing bathing trunks and stale sweat. Another menacing-looking fat man was on the other side of Heck. This was in a wrestling ring. Outside the ring, an enormous woman some six feet tall and five feet wide and quite shapeless and chewing on a wad of tobacco big as a baseball yelled in a gravelly voice:

"Cut it, cut it! Where'd you come from, sonny-boy?"

"I'm looking for Johnny The Cat Simese," Heck said.

"I'm The Cat," a third wrestler, wearing a bathrobe, said, and came over to the ring. "What's he want, Ada?"

"How should I know?" the fat woman said, spitting a brown stream of tobacco juice.

"It's confidential," Heck said, "and it's urgent." He climbed awkwardly through the ropes and walked along the ring apron, then climbed down. He whispered in Johnny The Cat Simese's well-cauliflowered ear: "I'm looking for Mr. Talese."

"What makes you think I know anybody named Talese? Wait a minute! Talese! You mean Scarface Willy."

"Yes," said Heck.

The next thing that happened happened so fast that Heck hardly knew he was the target of a well-coordinated wrestling attack. Two big hands caught him. A big leg got behind him. He fell down. A big body fell on top of him, squeezing the wind out of his lungs. He looked bleary-eyed into Johnny The Cat's face.

"So!" Johnny The Cat cried exultantly. "So!"

"Wh--what's the matter?" Heck managed.

"As if you didn't know, pal. Get up!"

"That's impossible. You're on top of me."

Johnny The Cat got up. He propelled Heck to his feet and got his right arm in a hammerlock, forcing it up between his shoulder blades. "So," he said, "old Willy was right."

"R--right about what?"

"No rough stuff here, please," Ada said. "Only in the ring."

"This is the Chicago guy," Johnny The Cat declared.

Ada came over and slapped Heck's face. I can teleport, Heck thought in despair, but it wouldn't do any good. The Cat was holding him. "I've never been to Chicago in my life," Heck protested.

"Not much you ain't," said Johnny The Cat.

"Well, I haven't."

"You might as well admit it. You're Little Hymie. Well, ain't you?"

"No," said Heck. "I'm Hector Finch of _Hector Finch, We Sell Anything_."

"You're Little Hymie and you come here to rub out Scarface Willy. That Willy now, he's smart. He figures the knock-out boy has got to find him first, see? So he sends his troopers--"

"Troopers?"

"Like me, stupid. He sends us out on our usual business, figuring you, Little Hymie, would come looking for him by finding us."

* * * * *

"You're right," Heck said suddenly. "Take me to Scarface Willy for my punishment."

"Take you to him, pal? That's the last thing we'll do. We'll take you, all right. We'll take you outside for a little schlammin, then back you go to Chicago as a warning to the other boys that Scarface Willy is strong enough to buck the whole damn Syndicate if he wants-ta."

"Then, in that case, I am not Little Hymie."

"You just now said you was."

Big Ada said, somewhat exasperated: "Will you guys for cryin' out loud make up yer minds?"

Johnny The Cat said: "Hold on to him, Leech."

One of the two wrestlers in the ring climbed down and took the hammerlock from Johnny The Cat. Heck was still held so that he could not move. "I'm getting dressed," Johnny The Cat explained, and disappeared in the direction of a sign marked, Locker Room.

"Listen," Heck began.

"It ain't none of my business," Ada told him.

A few minutes later, Johnny The Cat came out. He took the hammerlock back from The Leech. "Need any help?" The Leech asked.

"My pleasure," said The Cat.

He pushed Heck ahead of him down a flight of stairs. It led outside to an alley.

* * * * *

"Now, pal," said Johnny The Cat.

He was still clutching Heck's arm, but Heck had no choice. He teleported.

Taking Johnny The Cat Simese with him.

"Hey, who turned out the lights!" Johnny The Cat yelled. "How come it's dark ina middle of the day?"

The darkness was absolute. Heck had teleported out without teleporting in anywhere. "It isn't dark," said Heck, improvising. "It's your eyes. I blinded you."

"You blinded me how?"

"Mental suggestion. Like--like a witch-doctor's curse."

"Say, are you kidding me or something?" But there was alarm in Johnny The Cat's voice.

"Would I kid about a thing like that? Do you want your sight back?"

"I feel just like I'm floating."

"You're dis-oriented because you can't see."

"Dis which?"

"Do you ever want to see again?"

"Yeah!" pleaded Johnny The Cat.

"Then take me to Scarface Willy. Right now."

A pause. Then: "So you can hit him in the head. No thanks. My life wouldn't be worth a plug nickel if I did."

"I am not Little Hymie. I have absolutely nothing to do with Little Hymie. I promise you that."

"That's what Little Hymie would say if he wanted to see the boss. If he wanted to kill the boss."

"So, stay blind."

Silence. Heck let the silence grow. He could feel Johnny The Cat Simese's big hand moving uneasily between his shoulder blades.

"Ain't you gonna say nothing else?" The Cat asked.

* * * * *

"Ain't you gonna ask again, pal?"

No answer.

"Ain't you gonna say I can see again if I take you to Willy? Ain't you?"

Finally Heck said: "You don't even have to take me. Just tell me where it is."

"I--I can't."

"Just think where it is!"

"I won't--"

Heck smiled suddenly in the darkness. "Try not to think about it," he said. "I've put the thought in your mind. You have to think about it now, don't you? You couldn't stop thinking about it if you wanted to. Where is Scarface Willy? You know, don't you, Johnny The Cat? Don't try and tell me you don't know. Where is he? Think about it! Where is Scarface Willy?"

After the long silence, Heck's sudden deluge of words brought a groan from the frightened Johnny The Cat. But abruptly the groan became a shout of anger. "I don't have to listen to you," Johnny said. "All right. I'm blind. All right. But I still got you. I can still give you that schlammin, Little Hymie."

Heck felt his hand forced up cruelly between his shoulder blades. He was spun around. Something cracked. He wondered if his hand were broken. He had only seconds now, he knew. Seconds before Johnny The Cat Simese began to administer the schlammin, gangdomese for a beating he'd bear the traces of for the rest of his life. He had tried to find Patty--and he'd lost. Patty was still in Scarface Willy's hands. And he, Heck, was all washed up. A little guy, he thought in a flood of self-pity, who was one of the best goldarn salesmen and perfectly happy being a salesman, but who was in way over his depth now.

He heard Johnny The Cat's harsh anticipatory breathing.

He knew Johnny The Cat was about to strike him with those huge, powerful hands.

He knew that in a matter of minutes he would be a beaten pulp....

"Try not to think of where Willy is!" he cried--and clutched Johnny The Cat Simese--and hoped--and teleported!

It was a large, comfortable looking room. It was not empty. It was far from empty.

"Patty!" Heck cried.

Because Patty was there.

She seemed very frightened. She was standing next to Scarface Willy and Heck got the impression she wasn't frightened because of him. She was frightened for him. Or maybe frightened with him.

Because Scarface Willy didn't look so good, either.

There were two other men in the room. One was somewhat below medium size--about Heck's own height. This must be Little Hymie, Heck thought. Little Hymie held a gun. The bigger man with him was sneering. It was Hymie who did the talking.

"O.K., Willy," he said, "then you and your moll are both going to get it."

"I'm not his moll!" wailed Patty.

Johnny The Cat hulked in bewilderment behind Heck. There was very little time left, Heck knew. Johnny The Cat was too bewildered to do anything....

Patty's eyes went big when Heck shouted her name a second time. Apparently the first time he hadn't materialized sufficiently for them to hear him. Willy stared at him in disbelief. The big man with Little Hymie began to turn around. He was every bit as big as Johnny The Cat Simese.

And the killer's small hand tightened on his gun--

Heck jumped, launching himself at Little Hymie. The gun went off, furrowing Heck's cheek. The slug plowed harmlessly into the ceiling. Heck and Little Hymie scrambled over and over on the floor. Heck got the gun from Little Hymie, then Little Hymie hit him and the gun went clattering across the floor.

Patty, Willy, Johnny The Cat and the other big man all lunged for it. Little Hymie hit Heck again, and Heck counter punched. Little Hymie bleated. Heck hit him again. Little Hymie subsided.

Heck looked up in triumph. His eyes went wide.

The other big man, Hymie's companion, had the gun. He was far bigger and far more capable than Hymie. It still looked more like curtains. It looked more like curtains than ever before. Hymie stood up groggily. "Over there with the rest of them," ordered Little Hymie.