One of the harness bulls stepped in:
“That bird... the one with the burned face... was he the one who was shooting off that rod? My—! man! You’re hurt!”
Johnny swore softly as he got into a dry dressing gown; he had to lift his right arm into the sleeve.
“Some,” he admitted. “That’s a present from the... gee you let walk away... suppose he’s halfway... to Albany by now.” Talking was painful.
“Oh, yeah?” The bluecoat was scowling. “Listen, fella. That playmate of yours is with Sergeant Connolly, right now. At the doctor’s. He got burned, half the skin is off his face. But he’s where we can put the bracelets on him; if he’s the rod that worked on you... we’ll be havin’ fun.”
Johnny said: “Oh! At the doctor’s? With a sergeant? We better snap down there, pronto. Maybe... your officer Will need the doc... unless... ”
... It was a curious procession, that pell-mell rush down the two flights of stairs: half-dressed women, timorous bell-hops, plain-clothesmen... and Johnny.
The door to Doc Benter’s room was open.
Sergeant Connolly lay on his face, his arms outstretched. The house physician was in the closet, trussed up with belts and cords. Connolly had been hit from behind, with a blackjack. The doctor was unconscious, but unhurt.
On the desk, under a green-shaded lamp, lay a silver hypodermic.
7
They untied the doctor, gave him whiskey and let him talk. The sergeant didn’t respond so easily.
“... Look out for the thin one,” mumbled the physician. “He’s full of cocaine... Hello, Johnny. You look bad... who’s the policeman?” They got the story from him, in bits. Egghead and Kippy had jumped him, after gaining entrance to his room in the guise of patients. Kippy had departed: Egghead had tried one means of crude torture after another until the doctor had consented to reveal the small stock of drugs he had. Then the thin man had stoked up... he was as dangerous as a mad dog, thought Benter.
The officer came to, after a minute or so, but it was another five before he could explain.
“Had this heavy-set one in front of me”... he put a hand to his aching head and rested his elbows on knees, dis-spiritedly. “Didn’t know which one was the doc... he got back of me, for a second, and gave me the tap... where’d they go?”
Nobody knew.
Cops ran around in circles; bandages and plaster were put in action; Johnny’s arm got attention; telephones went hot-wire with overwork — but Kippy and the Egghead had vanished into thin air.
“You better get a good, long sleep, Johnny.” Benter was finishing the dressing on his arm. “I suppose the precinct will want to nurse you in Bellevue, as a material witness... but I can stall ’em off for a day, maybe. Urgent danger... infection... you know.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Johnny. “I don’t want to be cooped up, right now. I got things to do.”
“You better not do ’em,” growled Benter. “You mean hunting for that couple of thugs? Lay off — leave it to the cops.”
“They’ll never lam outa here.” The bluecoat who had been left by the sergeant’s orders, as a guard over Johnny, was heavily confident.
Johnny said: “Yeah?” and got a hooker of rye inside his belt. The cop took one, with him.
“They know these babies,” nodded the patrolman. “Kippy Minzer... he’s got a record like Legs Di-mond... out on parole now, he is... Thanks.” The second glass followed the first in close formation... then a third.
“Slot machine was his racket?” Johnny inquired as he filled the cop’s glass for the fifth time.
“You know it.” The officer unbuttoned the top button of his coat. “Them slot machines, now. They’re lousy... Jeeze, this’s good stuff.” He held his glass to the light admiringly.
“Have another.” Johnny got amber liquid right up to the brim, nodded affably, though his arm hurt like hell.
“Mind ’f I do,” said the policeman.
“Warms you up,” Johnny filled up more glasses and Benter, refusing one, watched him curiously. Two more buttons came free on the blue coat. Then the officer stepped out of the room for a minute.
“Got a gun, doc?”
“Sure, Johnny... but I wouldn’t let you have it, shape you’re in.”
“Hell. Self-protection, doc. This dumb bunny in uniform would be about as much use in a jam as nothing at all. He’s cocked, now.”
“Mm, huh.” The doctor went over to a closet, took something off the shelf. He laid it on the desk beside Johnny.
“Don’t say I gave it to you. It’s a .32... and all ready to work. But you pinched it, if anything happens. I never gave it to you... ”
Johnny got the gun in his left dressing gown pocket and grinned.
“That’s my story, too.”
“What you goin’ to do, now you’ve got it?”
“Listen, doc.” Johnny got over near the door, stood with his back to the wall. “I’m the only witness to a pineapple-throwing that these two worked early this morning. The man that went out was a good friend of mine. They tried to get me, too... but I got a break. I’m going to turn ’em up, before they turn me up. They came into the Metropole to put the tag on me... and again I had some luck. So... ”
“Maybe you won’t be so fortunate the third time.”
Johnny said: “I’d thought about that.”
The patrolman came in the room, bleary-eyed. Johnny edged through the door without waiting to hear what explanation the doctor might give. He was at the turn of the corridor when the door opened and the bluecoat bellowed:
“Hey, you. Hey, Mister Gear. Hey! You can’t run away like that... ”
It was an effort to climb the two flights of stairs. He was short of breath when he reached the end of the corridor leading to his room.
There was a big closet five feet away and Johnny paid it no attention, but the minute of waiting to get his breath was the margin between death and life, for...
... The door opened, an inch at a time, the aperture away from him. Noiselessly he got to the stair-door and stepped into the well. Through a half-inch crack he could see Kippy, sidling along the wall towards the door of the room he had left only an hour before. He tried the door, called softly, found no one on guard and went in.
Johnny’s first impulse was to follow — then he remembered Egghead. That coke-eater would be nearby... but where. Johnny thought he knew. He stepped to the closet, got his gun out and said:
“Come out, Egghead... and come out backward, too. When you’ve got the door open, chuck your rod on the floor.”
The closet door opened slowly.
8
Johnny saw a thin back, jabbed his .32 at it and heard something drop on the floor. He picked it up by the trigger guard, stuffed it in a side pocket, with his left hand.
“Ever hear how a man dies with a hole in his kidneys?” Johnny was walking Egghead down the hall, keeping close behind him, prodding him with the revolver. “Takes a week or ten days... they say its the most terrible way to kick in, that there is.”
“You got me wrong, mister. I never hurt no one. Not me. You got me wrong.”
“I’ve got you right, Egghead. You’re going to stay that way. And — unless you want me to drill two holes in your kidneys, you’ll tell Kippy to come out, when we get to my room. Ask him nice and quiet. Say I’ve gone to the hospital. Make it sound natural... or else... ”