The man twisted, freckles stark in the pale face. He tried to kick, tried viciously to jerk up a knee, and the hands shook him until his head bobbed wildly, and the whites of his eyes rolled up.
Johnny widened his leg stance. “Let's hear something, gunman, or I feed you one of your ears.”
The frecklefaced man's hat flew off disclosing carroty red hair as he snarled defiance between gasps. “Go to h-hell-!”
Johnny's shoulders bunched under the uniform as he leaned forward to increase his leverage.
“Drop him, muscles!” Johnny turned; over his shoulder he could see the twin of the gun he had knocked into the street prominently displayed in the grip of a large, swarthy man in a seersucker suit three paces to his rear. He shrugged and released his grip, and the man he had been shaking staggered to one side, a hand at his throat, wheezing hard.
“Get your gun, Eddie,” the seersucker suit said softly. “The boss said this one was a character.”
As Johnny's eyes automatically followed Eddie scrambling in the gutter, the swarthy man took a long step and a short step forward and in perfect coordination reversed his gun and, in a full armed swing, exploded its butt high off Johnny's head.
When the first flash of light subsided he found himself on his knees staring foggily at two large feet planted solidly on the sidewalk in front of him. Too late he reacted to the position of the feet; his twisting lunge carried him right into the second crashing impact, this time along the jaw-line. Johnny felt something sharp catch under his ear and rip through the flesh, and pure anger as well as reflex conditioned his furious grab at the close-in knees. His arms tightened around them hungrily as the man above him yelled in surprise, and he lifted mightily and smashed him to the sidewalk, rolling over on him.
He grinned down tightly into the stricken face below him, cocking his own head to one side so that he could see from the good eye. “You don't look near so tough from up here, Bud.”
Methodically Johnny freed a hand and arm. He pinned the thrashing body beneath him with his own weight, and systematically hammered the contorted face, meantime trying to inch around to increase his field of vision on the side of the bad eye. Eddie was on his mind, but not soon enough. Sudden, brilliant light hurt his eyes, and he tipped forward into a long, inclined chute…
He came to, sitting on the sidewalk with his back propped against the building wall with someone he couldn't see mopping the blood streaming down his face and neck.
“-jumped him. Two of 'em. I seen it,” a voice announced excitedly over his head.
“Who is he? Where's-?”
“-big bellhop from up the street. Man, 'd you-”
“-got away. Two more in a car across-”
“-an ambulance. A doctor, anyway-”
“-see the other one? Hope his wife had a picture of him-”
“Hey! Don't all crowd around!”
Johnny cleared his throat; vision was returning on one side. “Gimme a hand up here, one of you.”
“You can't make it, Mac.”
“Gimme a hand. I'll make it.”
They struggled with his bulk and got him to his feet. The night air felt wonderfully cool as he took deep, deep breaths; he felt better. He fixed a younglooking face with his good eye. “Hustle on up to the hotel, son, and tell Paul I want him.”
He waited, releasing himself from the supporting arms; he tried a tentative step and grimaced as his knees twinged. He could feel his strength returning; with his sleeve he dabbed at the slow trickle running down the side of his face. He looked impatiently at the increasing crowd milling around; he had to get out of there. He looked up with relief when Paul pushed through its fringes. “Little difference of opinion, Paul.” The stolid Paul nodded. “Get Doc Phillips started up to my room. Then drop the service elevator to the sub-basement, and I'll get on from the alley.”
“Can you make it to the alley?”
“I'll make it.” He motioned the crowd out of the way as Paul hurried back up the street. “Goodnight, folks. Repeat performance tomorrow night by special request. Admission will be charged; refreshments will be served. Come early; seats are goin' fast. All right; back up now-”
He marked a line on the sidewalk and started off, bearing down with such a conscious effort to maintain- it that he almost missed the turn into the alley. He swerved at the last instant, and the two or three stragglers who had followed him stopped and stared silently as Paul opened the door and helped him inside. The fifteen feet to the cab seemed longer; inside it he propped himself against a side wall and slowly released breath he seemed to have been holding almost indefinitely.
He could feel Paul's eyes on him as the elevator started up. “Never kid a southerner about Antietam, Paul.”
At the sixth floor he peeled himself off the supporting wall, and with Paul's hand under his elbow started down the corridor. He thought about telling Paul he didn't need the hand and decided he couldn't spare the breath.
Doc Phillips' white shirt was dazzling in the light. “Get him out of those rags, Paul, so I can see what I'm doing.”
“'S nothin', Doc. Scratch. 'N rap on the head.”
The doctor grunted finally as he swabbed and probed. “For once you seem to be right. And a concussion, probably.”
“No concussion. Little headache. Paul?”
“Yes?”
“Bourbon in the closet.”
“You want a chaser?”
“Spit in the glass a couple of times.” The doctor was unwinding gauze. “Never mind the bandages, Doc. Little tape will do; thanks, Paul.”
“Listen, tough guy-”
“Save the, speeches for the patients, Doc. I said tape. Paul?”
“Yes, Johnny?”
“Skip on down to the switchboard like a good fella and send Sally up here? Somethin' I've gotta know.” He drank deeply from the glass in his hand, waited for the impact, shuddered, and drank again.
Doctor Phillips pressed a final bit of adhesive into place and stepped back and looked at Johnny. “Purely as a matter of professional curiosity, with what am I competing these days in my effort to keep you stitched together?”'
“I wish to God I knew, Doc. Nobody made any speeches, although come to think of it I didn't give 'em much of a chance. Both those boys were pretty good operators with the off end of a gun.”
The doctor shook his head and indicated the drink in Johnny's hand. “I'd dilute that prescription a little, if I were you.”
“You stick to the needles and saws, Doc.”
“I want to see you in the morning. I want a look at that jaw when the swelling subsides. You could have a hairline fracture.”
“You know better'n that, Doc.”
“You come by my office anyway. I want to X ray. And I-let-“
Two sharp raps barely preceded Sally's flying entrance. The thin face was anxious, and the brown eyes apprehensive. “Johnny-”
“All right, ma. Take it smaller. Thanks, Doc.”
“Don't forget I want to see you in the morning. Goodnight. Goodnight, Sally.”
“Goodnight, Doctor Phillips.” She closed the door behind him, and turned immediately.
“Save it, ma. I know it all by heart.”
“But what are you up to now-?”
“You got the list?”
“L-look at you-!”
“Now quit blubberin', or I'll penalize you fifteen yards.”
“But what happened?”
“Well, now, I'll tell you. You never saw a blonde could run like this one, but I was gainin' when she ducked around a corner. I made the corner on a wheel an' a half and zowie! She lowered the boom on me. Them blondes are hittin' mighty good these days.”
“I should have known better than to ask you. Are you all right?”
“My knees hurt worse than anything else.”
“That ought to curtail your most prominent activity.”
“You come up in the morning, and I'll show you different.”
“You're kidding.”
“Kiddin', hell. We'll let you drive the wagon. You ought to earn your way once in a while, anyway.”