“Mollinson's at eight.” He smiled at her again. “Wear something pretty. Not that you need it.”
Down the spiraling stairway and out through the hushed main floor he carried in his mind the picture of Jessamyn Burger's high booming color. The dinner would be no hardship.
CHAPTER IV
On the granite library steps Johnny stopped to light a cigarette. A heavy push from behind sent him reeling. The cigarette flew from his hand and he staggered down three or four steps before recovering his balance. Another stiff push nearly upset him again as he turned to see what had happened. He stared at a slim, dark, handsome-looking man standing on the step above him. The man grinned and pushed Johnny again, deliberately.
Belatedly, Johnny recognized the dark man as the one who had been in the Manhattan suite with Micheline Thompson and Jim Daddario. Savino. Tommy Savino. Had this little pimp followed him all the way up here from New York? If he had, it left Killain with plenty of egg on his face. “What's the matter with you?” Johnny demanded at another push. Only the first one had moved him. Still smiling, Savino said nothing. He stepped down onto Johnny's level as if to push again, changed his mind and swung his left hand. It caught Johnny on the ear, more of a slap than a punch, but it stung.
The man's left arm started up again, and Johnny reached for it. He checked himself immediately. That's what he wants, he told himself. He's looking for trouble. This is his town.
He evaded the left hand with a head movement. Savino's fixed smile took on a jeering aspect at Johnny's checked grab for his arm. He kicked Johnny heavily in the right shin. A hot, glowing coal ignited in Johnny's stomach. There was nothing openhanded about the right hand smash with which he hit Savino flush in the sneering mouth, knocking him flat on his back on the steps.
The dark man scrambled to his knees like a snarling wildcat, the corners of his mouth dribbling blood. His right hand darted to his left wrist. Johnny stepped in close and picked him up bodily. He carried Savino to a wall buttress and stood him up against it with a knee in his back to hold him there. Unhurriedly, Johnny worked the left arm around behind the struggling body and beneath the loose-flowing jacket sleeve found a knife holster strapped to the forearm.
Savino cursed luridly as Johnny removed a deadly-looking six-inch blade from the holster. He was disappointed to find no bone in the handle as there had been in the knife that had killed Carl Thompson. Johnny placed the blade against the stone buttress and applied pressure until it snapped off close to the hilt.
“Ye're under arrest,” a voice rambled from behind him. “Both of you. Fightin' in public.” Johnny turned. Sap in hand, a hulking patrolman stood watchfully, feet planted wide apart. Johnny removed his knee from Savino's spine. The slim man whirled but the policeman spoke hastily. “None of that, now. We'll settle it at the stationhouse. March on out to the curb.”
Johnny looked at the high, narrow, boxlike body of the vehicle pulled up out in front. It had two steps up from the back and no windows. A twenty-year-out-of-date Black Maria that appeared without being summoned. Here comes trouble, Killain, Johnny told himself. It looked as though Carl Thompson had known what he was talking about.
They walked through the rim of a gathering crowd to the police van. Johnny got in first and went at once to the front end and stood with his back to the wall. Savino followed him, and the patrolman lumbered on last. He looked at Johnny up in the front. “Sit down, you,” he said sharply, and turned to close and latch the van doors.
Johnny stayed where he was. The instant the staring faces of the people outside were shut out, Savino charged, the patrolman a stride behind. Johnny grabbed Savino and held him out at arm's length, using him as a buffer against the sap in the policeman's big hand. “Get him, Collins,” Savino grunted, writhing in Johnny's hands. Johnny tightened his grip and Savino swore hoarsely. Behind him Patrolman Collins prowled ineffectually, trying to get at Johnny past the barrier of Savino's body. Their heavy breathing filled the van.
A sharp left turn staggered them up against the wall. The van slowed and Collins smothered a remark under his breath. As it stopped he hung the sap back on his belt, opened the back doors and stepped down. Johnny half-threw Savino at the doors and he staggered out into a sunlit yard. Johnny followed cautiously and found himself in a hollow square of public buildings with thousands of windows looking down upon the open space. He relaxed for the first time in minutes. This kind of trouble didn't usually come in the open and the sunlight.
The driver swung down off the front seat, a folded canvas stretcher under his arm. His stolid expression turned foolish at sight of all three of his passengers on their feet. He hurriedly stuffed the stretcher back inside the van.
Back entrance double-doors were spaced at regular intervals around the square. A blue light marked Police Headquarters. “Get inside,” Patrolman Collins said curtly. His hands were empty. A raging Savino almost sprinted to the door. Johnny moved quickly to keep him within reach. Savino might be allied with the police but he was still Johnny's passport. The moment Johnny was maneuvered into laying a hand on the police rather than on Savino the situation would become a lot stickier.
He followed on Savino's heels down a long, polished-stone corridor. Closed doors on both sides bore silver-lettered glass panels labeled City Engineer, City Clerk, City Health Department, City Council Meetingroom, City Tax Office. Savino's pace outdistanced Collins and the van driver. A red neon arrow with the word POLICE beneath it pointed down a short flight of stairs. Savino ran down them with Johnny right behind him. They burst out into a brightly lighted room with a high desk behind which sat a hard-faced uniformed sergeant.
Johnny made it his business to beat Savino to the desk. “I want to prefer charges against this man,” he said. He tossed the broken knife up on the desk. “That thing had four more inches on it when I took it away from him.”
“I'll prefer the goddamn charges,” Savino blurted thickly. His handsome features were pale with anger. Dried blood crusted a corner of his mouth. “Where's Riley?” he demanded.
The sergeant nodded silently to an unmarked door at the rear of the room. Savino wheeled and walked to it, entering without knocking. The desk man glanced back at the stairs as Collins and the driver rattled down them. “I brought 'em in, Sarge,” Collins puffed. “Fightin' on the street.” He pointed at Johnny. “He started it.”
“He's preferring charges against Savino,” the sergeant said. His face was expressionless. He held up the broken knife. “Claims he took this away from him.”
“I didn't see nothin' like that,” Collins said. “First I saw this guy hit Savino in the mouth an' flattened him.”
“Then why'd you arrest Savino?” Johnny asked him. “Just to give him a shot at me in the van?”
Cold blue eyes looked down on Johnny from behind the high desk. “I don't see any marks on you,” the sergeant said. “Any witnesses to your story?”
“Three,” Johnny lied easily.
The blue eyes shifted to Collins who looked suddenly uneasy. “I'm tellin' you what I saw, Sarge.” He bore down heavily on the personal pronoun. “I didn't-”
He stopped as the door at the rear of the room behind which Savino had disappeared opened quickly. A big man in an impressive uniform filled the doorway. He was both tall and wide. There was barely enough room in the doorway to see Tommy Savino standing in the room behind him with a smirk on his face. Johnny looked at the scrambled egg motif on the big man's uniform cap and the bulge of crumpled white shirt overflowing the belt buckle visible via the unbuttoned jacket. “What is it, McDonough?” the man in the doorway asked.
“Street fight, Chief,” the desk sergeant replied. “Collins brought-”
“Book that one,” the chief interrupted him, looking at Johnny for the first time. “I'll talk to him later.”