"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?"