Page 66 of His Girl Hollywood
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” hissed Dash.
The goons were trying to get Joan to stop screaming and crying, awkwardly grabbing at her and patting her shoulder ineffectually. From her hiding place, Arlene listened intently. They were asking Joan to calm down and explain what was wrong. Joan gestured helplessly at the boat behind her on the dock,mumbling incoherently. They shrugged as if to say “Nothing we can do about it,” and turned to return to their posts. Briefly, Joan’s eyes darted to where she knew Arlene, Dash, Eleanor, and Flynn were hiding. Arlene held her breath, hoping the goons didn’t notice. Then, Joan looked down and tore the bodice of Arlene’s mother’s dress, exposing her slip and the top lip of lace on the edge of her bra.
Joan had held her arms in front of her before, blocking any view of her neckline. “No, please, don’t go. Look what he did,” she screamed. The goons turned back to her, and the sight of Joan’s lithe figure silhouetted by the dawn, visible through the dress’s excess fabric, got their attention in a way her previous distress had not. They practically tripped over themselves to rush back to her, once again trying to soothe her and get her to explain who the culprit was.
But all of a sudden, a flash of light from a neighboring boat illuminated her face. The short guy in the middle gasped when he saw it. Arlene could tell he’d recognized Joan. “Say, aren’t you—” he started to ask.
Joan pointed more furiously at a random fishing boat behind her, saying that the man who had attacked her was still inside. The goons turned toward it long enough for Joan to pluck a match from her bra and strike it against the heel of her shoe.
The thugs turned back to see Joan flinging the lit match toward an object beneath her on the dock—an open barrel of gasoline, most likely used to power the launch boat floating quietly in the shallows.
Arlene yelled, “Take cover!” as Joan sprinted in their direction. The force of the resulting explosion threw the three goons back off their feet, dumping them into the water where they struggled to swim. The fishing boat, which Joan had pretended was the sceneof her attack, and the gas-powered launch vessel had gone up in flames.
“Shit,” muttered Dash. Joan, who somehow had only a singed skirt to show for her pyrotechnic adventure, joined them in the shadows. “Was that really necessary?” he growled.
“Arlene said to improvise,” she hissed back.
“But, but, but—the boats,” squeaked Eleanor, clearly horrified by this turn of events. Joan looked back and cringed, casting an apologetic look at Arlene.
“Whose boats are those?”
Arlene shrugged. “I don’t know, but Bill probably does. There are a lot of Japanese fishermen who live over here.”
“Find out for me. I’ll buy them new ones.”
Dash glared at her, but Joan shrugged. “What? We can afford it.”
Dash sighed, knowing Joan was right. Arlene watched the line of flames lick its way down the pier, quickly approaching the Buick. They’d be out of luck without a getaway car. “Joan,” Arlene hissed and nodded her head in the direction of the vehicle. Joan’s eyes went as big as saucers, and she sprinted forward. “I’ll meet you round the other side of the warehouse,” she called back.
“Maybe call the fire department too,” Dash hissed after her.
All this time, Flynn had been tugging insistently on Arlene’s sleeve. “What?” she snapped.
“Uh, I think they know we’re here now,” Flynn whispered, pointing in the direction of the warehouse, where three more men were emerging from the shadows.
Dash grabbed at the end of the line of rope he had wrapped around his arm and began to unfurl it, careful to stay pressed against the building in their hiding spot. “Okay, Flynn, we’re up.” Flynn cast him a pleading look. “Just pretend you’re drunk and they insulted your mother.”
Arlene suppressed a guffaw as Dash’s words seemed to do the trick. Flynn visibly steeled himself, looked at Dash, and mouthed counting to three.
Flynn ran screaming from the shadows, wielding the shovel handle as if it were a sword and he was facing down the Spanish Armada. “For God, for the Queen, and for Englanddddddd,” he bellowed, as he tossed the long piece of wood back and forth between his hands and assumed a fighting stance. Dash cast an amused glance at Arlene.
The goons stopped in their tracks, temporarily stunned by this madman who had emerged from nowhere. Dash used their confusion to his advantage, slipping through the shadows. He threw out a massive lasso he’d made from the rope he’d brought, cinching the three gangsters together, their hands and their guns pressed uselessly to their sides. Dash waved Arlene and Eleanor on, urging them to follow him to the warehouse. But just as he turned, one of the gangsters twisted his wrist to take a shot at Dash.
Flynn was too fast for the thug though, raising the shovel handle and landing a blow to the man’s head that knocked him out cold. The goon’s head collided with the other two, and the force of it concussed them all. They lost their balance, stumbling together in their confusion and dragging the deadweight of their unconscious crony. Flynn slugged one of them in the jaw, sending his head crashing into the others, as a spray of blood went flying. That finished the job. The three fell in a heap to the ground, and Dash pulled the rope to drag them against the wall, while Flynn removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his breeches and wiped blood from his already swelling knuckles.
“I’m going to start doing drawing-room comedies,” Flynn muttered.
Dash clapped him on the back. “Good work, Banks.” He calledto Arlene and Eleanor, who were still hiding in the shadows. “Come on, you two. Hopefully that was the last of them.”
They scurried down the walkway, the smell of fish growing stronger as the sun rose higher in the sky. Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “How could anyone work here?”
“You can see why Don didn’t want to continue in the family business,” Arlene quipped.
The four of them finally arrived at Warehouse 6, and based on the blueprints, the fire ladder was on the other side of the building. They pressed themselves against the wall, creeping to the corner, keeping their eyes peeled for any more of Frankie’s henchmen.
Arlene poked her head out from behind the corner and surveyed the last stretch of ground they needed to cover. One lone man remained, standing within spitting distance of the ladder. He was bigger than the other guys, a hulking mass who looked like he knew how to use his fists to deliver significant damage. She had no doubt he was also concealing a weapon somewhere on his person.
“There’s one more,” she whispered back to the others.