off?”
He counted to five before she replied. “No,” she said.
“Someone's listenin' in on an extension?”
Again the hesitation. “You're going to get yourself in a lot of trouble,” her voice said finally. It sounded flat, without emphasis. “You'd better listen to-”
“Micheline,” he broke in, “qu'est-ce que c'est que vous voulez dire? Quand — ” The loud click of the broken connection in his ear cut him off. “Damn it all,” he said softly, and hung up the receiver. He stood looking blankly at the phone for an instant before turning to go back upstairs. Before he had taken three steps a sharp ring spun him around again. He had started for the telephone before he realized it was the front-door bell.
Tingle answered the door. There appeared to be no conversation as she was shunted aside by two uniformed police who barged right in. “Here!” Jingle said indignantly. “What do you think you're doing?”
They paid no attention. The leader stopped at sight of Johnny. “That him?” he asked his companion.
“Yeah.”
The front man addressed Johnny directly. “Let's take a little walk, pal.”
“Yeah? Whose invitation?” Through the small-paned window beside the front door Johnny could see the Black Maria at the curb and a third cop standing on the sidewalk.
“Our invitation. Let's go.”
“You got a warrant?” Johnny wished he had his shoes on. He wasn't going willingly in the police van, and a rough-house barefoot was like driving a racing car with a couple of cylinders missing.
The second man glanced at the wide-eyed Jingle taking it all in. “Take a walk, kid,” he said gruffly.
“This is my house!” the girl retorted. “Don't you try to tell me what to do in my own house!”
Johnny laughed. The second man looked at him. “We don't need a warrant for you to come along for a quiet little talk, now, do we?” he asked.
“You sure as hell do,” Johnny told him.
The leader spoke up again. “You could be making-”
“Get it out of your head I'm goin' with you voluntarily,” Johnny interrupted. His voice was flat and hard. “Take it any damn place you please from there.”
The second man said something in an undertone to the leader. The man looked undecided, started to reply, shrugged, and strode to the wall phone. He dug out a dime from a handful of change and dialed.
“What's the hard time for?” the second man asked injuredly. Johnny thought the question was asked to cover the rapid, low-voiced phone conversation. “You'd think someone was going to eat you.”
“Someone ate your ex-boss. Whose side were you on?”
The policeman's face darkened but he was saved from the necessity of a reply by the first man's turning away from the phone. “He's coming over,” he announced to no one in particular.
“Good,” Johnny said briskly. “I'll get dressed. I'd like to look my best for Chief Riley.” He walked to the stairs.
“Go with him, Charlie,” he heard from behind him. He didn't know which of them had spoken. He heard the solid thump of boots on the stair treads behind him. When he was in his own room he went immediately to his shoes beside the bed. He slipped into socks and shoes, lacing and tying them carefully. He straightened and flexed his knees. He felt like a new man.
“Cigarette me, Jack,” he said expansively to the patrolman who had followed him into the room. It was the man who had made the phone call. His eyebrows climbed in surprise but he produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Johnny took one, lit it, winced at the before-breakfast taste, and sat down in the room's only chair. The man in uniform eyed the bed, but it would have put him at a disadvantage since he wanted to keep between Johnny and the door. He stayed where he was.
They waited in silence.
CHAPTER VII
Chief of Police Jack Riley's entrance into Johnny's room was impressive. Johnny was reminded of a younger, heavier Dameron. Another twenty pounds might reduce him to fat-man status but he still carried himself well. Johnny looked at the heavy gold badge on the blue uniform jacket, a badge identical in appearance to the torn one Carl Thompson had showed him in the hotel room.
“All right, Stewart,” the chief said. “Take the van and the others on back.”
“A change of plans?” Johnny inquired when the patrolman had left the room.
Chief Riley was in no hurry to reply. Without moving from where he stood, he examined the room deliberately. In some intangible way his manner irked Johnny. The chief finally returned his heavy-lidded gaze to Johnny. “You'd better leave town, Killain.”
“Yeah?” The measured pompousness of the pronouncement raised Johnny's hackles. “Like for what?”
“One of my men is in the hospital. I'm prepared to prove you led the gang that put him there. If I have to, that is. It might be a little less wearing all around if you just moved on.”
“This happen last night?”
“You know it happened last night.” Chief Riley's heavy features darkened in remembrance.
“I happen to have a pretty good alibi for last night.”
“You have no alibi for last night that will do you the slightest good.” The chief rapped out the words. “Am I making myself clear?”
“You mean your man will identify me?”
“He will.” Chief Riley said it positively.
“Let's go see him an' give him a chance,” Johnny said, knowing Riley had no such intention. “I'll bring my alibi along. Name of Lowell.”
The chief went red, white, and red again. Anger generated the color changes. “You're nothing but a goddamned agitator, Killain. I told Jim in New York you were-”
“Go ahead,” Johnny said softly as the angry voice ran down suddenly. “You told Jim what in New York?” The chief's hands clenched at his sides. “It's mighty funny the attraction New York seemed to have for Jefferson's officialdom the other day. Maybe you have an explanation for it?”
“The only thing I've got for you is a warning,” Chief Riley said between his teeth. “Be out of this town by noon or take the consequences.”
“Would you mind repeatin' that?” Johnny asked him. “I'm not sure the tape recorder caught it the first time.” He laughed at the chief's suspicious stare around the room.
At the laugh Riley went scarlet with rage. For a second, Johnny thought he was going to attack. If the thought had crossed his mind he quickly reconsidered. His voice shook. “Killain-”
Johnny gave him no time for threats or anything else. Moving swiftly, he crowded up against the chief who instinctively retreated. Johnny planted a heel deliberately on a well-shined toe and Riley flinched. “Drag it out've here, Riley,” Johnny said in a hard tone. He sank a casual elbow into the well-padded ribs and the chief gasped. “I've got you on tape now. You may have to roll over like a two-dollar whore for Daddario but I don't. The whole damn crowd of you are chickenshit to me.” Under the sharp prodding of careless feet and elbows the chief stumbled backward to the door. He landed out in the hallway in demoralized retreat without Johnny ever having laid a hand on him.
From the doorway, Johnny saw Mrs. Peterson standing wide-eyed at one side. Riley saw her, too. He made a pathetic attempt at a dignified exit. He waved a finger at Johnny. “Killain, I-”
Johnny moved toward him. The chief angled hurriedly to the stairs. In mid-flight, he stopped and turned. “Remember what I said. I'll-I'll-“ His voice shook. He faced about and tramped heavily down the balance of the steps. The lower floor shook from the violence with which he slammed the front door on his way out.
Valerie Peterson shook her head soberly. “That was a foolish thing to do.”
“The hell it was,” Johnny disagreed. “He's had me measured for a disappearin' suit from the minute he laid eyes on me. He just made a mistake figurin' I'd run the minute he swelled up his chest. Now he doesn't know whether I had a recorder in the room or not. I'll fix his wagon good now where it'll hurt, with his boss. Where does
