on the floor in the back of the car and that they were in the front seat.
“Watch him,” the man said. “If he comes to, sing out.”
It was strange there,wasn’t more pain. Being shot in the belly was like having your wind knocked out at football. Well, it would start in a minute. Except that they’d finish the job as soon as they found a place to stop. I thought of that knife, and could feel the nausea welling up in me.
“How in the name of God did you miss him?” she asked.
“Miss him, hell! It knocked him down.”
She gasped. “You hit the briefcase! I told you he was carrying a briefcase under his arm.”
“Oh, Christ!” We swung another corner. “Well, here! Take this.” I heard the metallic tunnnk a switch-blade knife makes as it opens. “You can reach him. Right in the bottom of the throat and then down—”
“In the car?”
“Of course in the car, you fool. We can’t stop here.”
“You’ll have to do it. This is beginning to make me sick.”
“Well, of all the chicken-livered—!”
“I can’t help it!” she cried out. “It’s taking too long.”
“All right, all right. Just watch him till I can find a street.”
My head was clearing a little and some sensation returning to my body. I was lying on something hard that was gouging into my hip. Moving my hand very slowly, I reached down and touched it. It felt familiar, a smooth of wood tapering to a point and rounded and heavier on the other end. I worked my fingers around the small end of it. She was probably looking over the back of front seat at me, but it was very dark down here and all could see was my face.
It was now or never. I pushed myself erect and slid onto seat. She cried out a warning and tried to reach me with the knife. I ignored her and swung the fid as hard I could at his head. It wasn’t heavy enough to do any damage, but he grunted and slammed on the brakes. I hit her across the arm with it. The knife dropped. She kneeling on the front seat, still reaching for me, while he tried to get out the door. He took his foot off the brake, and the car started forward again, but stalled. I swept an arm, caught her across the chest, and dropped backward across him and the steering wheel. The horn began blowing. For the first time, I was conscious there were lights around us. On the front seat, beyond her threshing silken legs, was the big alligator purse. I grabbed it, pushed her back on top of him again, and jumped out. Brakes screamed, and a man’s voice cursed me. He’d come behind, and tried to swing around us. One of his fenders bumped me and threw me off stride, but I didn’t fall. I danced sidewise, swinging the purse to keep my balance.
I was in the middle of a neighborhood business district. Opposite me, colored lights blazed on and off on the marquee of a movie theater, and on the other side of the street was a big drugstore. Cars slid to a stop and horns began to blow. I ran for the curb.
“Purse snatcher!” somebody yelled. A man leaped from a stalled car and tried to head me off. I dodged him. Two more along the sidewalk took up the chase. A woman was screaming, “Call the police! Call the police.” At the corner ahead was a filling station, and two men in white coveralls were running out in the street to stop me. I was cut off in that direction. I whirled in the middle of the street and went the other way, dodging through the cars. I made it onto the sidewalk beyond the drugstore. A man reached for me. I swung an arm and knocked him down. Just as I reached the corner I heard a siren somewhere behind me. Half dozen men were chasing me now. I turned the corner and ran another block. I was drawing away from them. It was a residential area here, and not so well lighted. I was under trees again. I crossed another intersection and ran on. All the men on foot had given up now, but the siren was still wailing and when I looked back I saw headlights. There was an alley in the middle of the block. I ducked into it. The police car went past. Halfway