A moment later Pete was surrounded by grim-faced policemen.
CHAPTER SIX
THE fat desk sergeant shifted his bulk on his creaking chair and nodded his bullet-shaped head.
'The Lieutenant's questioning him now,' he said. 'He's expecting you, isn't he?'
'Yes, he's expecting me,' Conrad said. 'What's he doing –pushing Weiner around?'
A dreamy expression came over the sergeant's face.
'Well, he ain't exactly combing his hair,' he returned. 'Three of our best boys got killed through him.'
Conrad swung around, crossed the charge room in three strides and went quickly along the passage, down a short flight of stone steps, then to a door at the end of another passage. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Pete sat in a hard, bright circle of light. The small room was full of tobacco smoke and the smell of sweat and dust. It was also full of bull-necked, red-faced detectives. Bardin was standing in front of Pete, and as Conrad entered the room, Bardin drew back his arm and hit Pete across his face with the flat of his hand. The sound of the blow was like the bursting of a paper bag, and Pete's head jerked back and then forward.
Blood ran down to his chin from a cut lip. His dark eyes, narrowed and full of hate, looked up at Bardin without flinching.
'So you've never heard of Maurer,' Bardin sneered. 'Don't you read the newspapers?'
'Only the sports column,' Pete said through gritted teeth.
Bardin swung his arm again, but Conrad reached out and caught his wrist.
'Take it easy, Sam,' he said quietly.
Bardin swung around. There was a dull, cold expression in his eyes as he stared at Conrad.
'That's right,' he said with savage bitterness. 'Take it easy. Never mind the guys who got killed. Never mind about their widows or their kids. Take it easy. What do you expect me to do? Put my arms around this little rat and suckle him?'
Conrad released Bardin's wrist.
'Sorry to break up the session, but I want this guy.' He pulled out a sheet of paper and tossed it on to the desk. 'This will cover you, Sam. Want me to sign for him?'
Bardin's face grew dark with congested blood. He picked up the paper, glanced at it and tossed it back on the desk.
'What are you going to do with him?' he asked in a hard, rasping voice. 'Tuck him up in bed with a radio and four good meals a day?'
Conrad looked at Bardin steadily and didn't say anything. Bardin gave a heavy snort, walked around to his desk, took out a receipt book, wrote savagely, spluttering ink and shoved it across to Conrad.
'Okay, take the little rat. He's not talking. He knows nothing. He's never heard of Maurer. He wasn't within a mile of the amusement park. If you think you'll get anywhere with him without beating the guts out of him, you've got another think coming.'
'I want him in a wagon and escort,' Conrad said. 'Fix it for me, will you, Sam?'
Bardin got up, nodded to one of the detectives who went out. Then he walked over to Pete and glared down at him. 'You'll be back, Weiner. Don't imagine you're going to have it nice and easy just because the D.A.'s interested in you. You'll be back, and we'll cook up something for you.' He swung his hand and caught Pete a smashing backhanded blow that knocked him over backwards, taking the chair with him.
Pete sprawled on the floor, his eyes dazed, his hand holding his puffy right cheek.
Conrad turned away. He didn't approve of these methods, but he didn't blame
Bardin. To lose three good policemen in saving the life of a worthless young gangster was something to make any Lieutenant bitter.
Pete got unsteadily to his feet and slumped against the wall.
No one said anything. No one moved. Minutes dragged by, then the door opened and the detective came back.
'Okay. At the side entrance, sir.'
'Take him,' Bardin said to Conrad with a gesture of disgust. 'And don't forget, when you're through with him, we want him back.'
'You'll get him,' Conrad said. He looked at Pete. 'Come on, Weiner.'
Pete crossed the room. He felt as if he were walking through a forest of menacing giants as he weaved his way around the big detectives who made no attempt to move out of his way and who watched him with hot, intent eyes.
A heavy steel-walled wagon stood at the side entrance in a big enclosed yard. Police stood around with riot guns at the ready. Six speed cops sat astride their motor-cycles, their engines ticking over, their hard, sun-burned faces watchful.
Pete climbed into the wagon and Conrad followed him. The steel door slammed shut and'Conrad pushed home two massive bolts.
'Sit down,' he said curtly.
