Page 67 of His Girl Hollywood
“Seven guys to guard one man?” Flynn questioned. “What is he? The president of the United States?”
“We’re Frankie’s meal ticket,” Eleanor explained. “Without me and Don, all he’s got is a bunch of debts he can’t pay. We rake it in for him, but everything else—the dice, the ponies, the fights—he’s operating at a loss. Ever since they repealed Prohibition, he’s been bleeding money. He’d do anything to keep us under his thumb.”
“Including kidnapping and assault, apparently,” Dash muttered.
Arlene knew she had to keep her head. They were so close. They’d already taken down six men. They could handle one more. She breathed in and out, counting to five on her inhale and exhale. “This isn’t anything we haven’t prepared for,” she whispered.“Eleanor, it’s your time to shine. Flynn, you’re her backup in case anything goes wrong.”
“I’m sorry, did I not just knock out three men already?” Flynn spluttered. Dash gave his best friend a withering look. “All right, all right. But I’m not hitting anyone else. My hand hurts.”
“That’s ’cause you don’t know how to throw a punch,” Dash retorted. “I can see the headlines now.Hollywood’s favorite swashbuckler felled by bruised knuckles.”
Flynn scowled. But he didn’t say anything more, merely tapped the flashlight in his palm menacingly.
Arlene struggled to maintain her composure. It was a miracle they’d made it this far with the peanut gallery in tow, but they had to keep going. “While Eleanorand Flynndistract the goon, Dash and I will climb the ladder and sneak in. If Don is actually inside, we’ll get him out and meet Joan with the car back out here.” They all nodded. “Go do your thing, Eleanor.”
Eleanor flounced her hair and turned the corner, strutting her way toward the tough guy. Arlene could hear the loud squeak of Eleanor’s voice from around the corner.
“Hiya, handsome, could ya help a lady out?”
A low-throated bass responded. “Depends whatcha need help with, doll.”
“I got a problem only you can fix.”
Dash’s eyebrows rose and he gave Arlene a look. “She’s a natural.”
“It’s a shame she’s pregnant,” added Flynn. “I bet she and I could have some fun.” Dash smacked Flynn in the stomach before Arlene had time to feign outrage.
“Shut up, you two.” Arlene peered around the corner once more. Eleanor was playing the guy like a violin. She’d grabbed onto his tie and turned him so that his back was facing the fire ladder.
Arlene put up her hand and waved them forward. The thugstarted to turn his head in their direction, and Arlene froze. But Eleanor grabbed the man’s jaw, squeezed it in her hand, and drew him down into a powerful kiss.
“Lucky bastard,” muttered Flynn.
“Go help her!” Arlene rolled her eyes.
Flynn tiptoed the twenty feet remaining, took the flashlight, and held it under his shirt so that the barrel was protruding. He crept behind the goon and shoved the flashlight, still concealed in his shirt, into the guy’s back. “Don’t move,” he ordered. The thug, still dazed from Eleanor’s amorous diversion, raised his hands above his head.
Arlene and Dash ran for the fire ladder, climbing it two rungs at a time. It was only a matter of time before the guy figured out that Flynn wasn’t actually holding a gun, and then there’d be another fight. But the more time they could buy him, the better.
Arlene reached the roof of the warehouse and pried the trapdoor there open. It was heavy, but it lifted away from its hinges with surprising ease. As Dash finished climbing the ladder behind her, she jumped into the dark, landing in a pile of deconstructed cardboard boxes that stank of fish. She looked around, giving her eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness. She’d landed on a narrow walkway, which she presumed was meant for firefighters in the event of a blaze, but it appeared to currently be serving as storage for the cannery’s extra boxes. Dash landed next to her with a soft “Oof.”
She crawled to the edge of the ledge and looked down, cracks of light from the rising sun illuminating the floor of the space. The warehouse was deserted, save for one lone figure in the dead center of the room. His head hung from his neck in a way that suggested defeat, and he appeared to be tied to a chair. It was Don. It had to be. Shockingly, there were no remaining guards. Apparently Frankie thought outside reinforcements were sufficient.
Dash tapped her on the shoulder and pointed silently to the indoor ladder nailed to the wall. She nodded and made her way toward it. She didn’t want to startle Don and have him cry out, so she climbed slowly and methodically, taking care not to make too much noise or slip. Dash followed above her.
The ladder ended about two feet off the ground, so she jumped. She braced her legs and landed with a thump on the cement floor.
“Come back for more?” Don groaned, the words barely intelligible through his gag. He sounded like he was in pain. Worse, he thought they were his jailers and torturers, not his rescuers.
She couldn’t help herself; she ran toward him, stopping in front of him to take him in. He lifted his head with what appeared to be a monumental effort, opening his right eye. His left was swollen shut, and the sight of his battered face made her gasp. He looked at her in disbelief. She tore the gag from his mouth, pulling it to his chin, and pressed a fierce kiss to his lips. He moaned, but whether it was from pleasure or pain, she couldn’t tell. She broke apart from him, still holding the back of his head, and met his eyes.
“Arlene?”
She nodded and knelt to untie the rope around his feet. It was rough between her fingers and the knot had been expertly tied. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“But what? How?”
“Eleanor found me. She saw the message you left in Eddie’s rug. Found your tie. She thought I might know what it meant. She told me Frankie wanted to remind you where you came from. It took a minute but it all clicked. Thank God you left that clue. I never would’ve found you otherwise.”