“Goin’ my way?” he asked of the girl, as they reached the sidewalk.
“No,” she replied. “I go in the opposite direction. Good night!”
“Good night!” said Allen, and turned toward Hollywood Boulevard.
Inside the bungalow Crumb was signaling central for a connection.
“Give me the police station on Cuyhenga, near Hollywood,” he said. “I haven’t time to look up the number. Quick—it’s important!”
There was a moment’s silence and then:
“Hello! What is this? Listen! If you want to get a hop-head with the goods on him—right in the act of peddling—send a dick to the back of the Hollywood Drug Store, and have him wait there until a guy comes up and asks what time it is. Then have the dick tell him and say, ‘Can you change a five?’ That’s the cue for the guy to slip him a bindle of morphine rolled up in a couple of one-dollar bills. If you don’t send a dummy, he’ll know what to do next—and you’d better get him there in a hurry. What? No—oh, just a friend—just a friend.”
Wilson Crumb hung up the receiver. There was a grin on his face as he turned away from the instrument.
“It’s too bad, Allen, but I’m afraid you won’t be at the bank at half past ten on Monday morning!” he said.