Hooks stepped up to the window.
“I am expecting a call,” he announced. “My name is Borglund. Will you have me paged if the call comes in—”
“Party is asking for you now,” responded the girl.
“Take the call in Booth 4.”
Hooks hurried into the indicated booth. He lifted the receiver, and recognized the growl of Wheels Bryant.
“That you, Hooks?”
“Yes. Hello, Wheels.”
“Trouble over at Big Tom’s. Gun play. Coppers cleaned up the joint after the mob finished the fireworks. Slide over with the mob and get the lay. There’s a guy we’ve got to get—”
“The mob’s gone upstairs, Wheels,” responded Hooks, in a low tone. He was watching from the booth to make sure that the girl was not listening in. “Carpenter’s in trouble. He’s working on a bird named Morton, and he must have landed in a jam. Someone called for the cops—”
“Leave it to the mob. Carpenter can tell them what to do. Get over to Big Tom’s right away. Alone—”