but by then Catell was half a block away. He got to Burbank three hours later.

Catell paid the taxi and walked up to the dark machine shop. At the back a hair of light was visible through a scratch in one of the painted windows. There were two cars at the side. One was a fish-tail convertible; the other was the getaway car.

The guy that stopped Catell inside the shop recognized him and let him pass. Catell walked past the machines, through the windowless room, and opened the door to the inner office without knocking.

“—is a funny sort of timing, Topper,” Smith was saying.

“But I saw them, Mr. Smith. I saw them—” And then Catell stepped inside the room.

Smith, leaning back in his chair, rolled the cigar around in his mouth. He looked at Catell, never changing his expression. It was calm, level, and just slightly interested. But Topper jumped.

“Why, you—how—” Controlling himself, he took a deep breath and said, “I see you made it, Catell.”

“Yeah.”

“How—what I mean is, did they follow you? Did you come alone?”

“Alone. Except for you, Topper.”

“You trying to be funny, Blue Lips?” Topper got up slowly, his eyes slits and his neck swelling over the white collar.

“Not funny, Topper. Serious.”

And while Smith sat in his chair, hands folded over his paunch, Catell’s hand whipped out, grazing Topper’s drawn lips. Topper had caught the jab with a fast block, and that was his mistake. With his full weight behind the punch, Catell, pivoting a half turn, rammed his other fist into Topper’s stomach. The man doubled over, gasping, when Catell fired a roundhouse at the contorted face. Something cracked, and through split lips three front teeth jagged out.

Topper crashed sideways across the desk, pushing phones and papers to the floor. Smith got up and stepped back. He was holding the cigar between his teeth.

When Topper kicked his leg out, catching Catell on the chest, he tried to follow the kick with a fast turn that would bring him back to his feet. But Catell stepped back and pulled. Holding on to Topper’s foot, he twisted and pushed. Topper slammed to the floor, screaming, one leg doubled over at a crazy angle. Then Catell knelt down over his chest.

Two minutes later he got up, leaving the ruined man curled on the floor.

“Do you carry a gun, Catell?” Smith came out from behind the desk; flicking some ashes on the floor.

“It belongs to Topper.”

“Give it to me.” Smith put out his hand.

Catell handed over the gun. Smith took it by the grip, and without seeming to aim he pulled the trigger. Three close shots crashed out and Topper twitched once, twice. Then he lay still.

“Too bad about Topper,” Smith said. “Valuable man.”

Then he walked around the puddle of blood on the floor. He pulled open a desk drawer and handed Catell two bills.

“Here’s your thousand. Got a way home?”

“No.”

“Take the limousine. And call me in a day or two.”

“So long.”

“See you, Catell.”

That night Catell didn’t go back to the Turtle’s room. He drove to Westwood and parked the car a few blocks from Lily’s apartment.

She opened the door for him, smiling a little. He could feel her warm body through the thin robe she was wearing. Walking to the bedroom with her, he could hear the fever pounding in his ears. A hysterical tension trembled through his body, making objects change shape before his eyes, plucking at his muscles.

They sat on the bed, and then his head sank into her lap. She hummed to him while he moaned into the cloth of her robe.

Chapter Fourteen

“I see nothing but gloom,” Smiley said. “I see gloom turning the corner, bearing poisonous grub.”

The police guard came up to the cell. Balancing a tray in one hand, he started to fumble with his keys with the other.

“Lemme give you a helping hand, Inspector. You hold the tray and I’ll just—”

“Keep your hands off, Short Stuff! Maybe you think I’m stupid or something?”

“You’re gettin’ warm, Pop. You’re gettin’ real warm.”

The guard stepped back and put the tray on the floor. When he raised himself, the exertion had turned his bald head a shiny purple, and he puffed air through his white mustache.

“Nature is cruel,” Swensen said from the back of the cell. “Look at all that gorgeous hair under his nose, and nothing but bare rocks on top.”

“You guys don’t shut up I’ll take the food back,” said the guard.

“And eat it yourself?” Smiley asked.

“He’s bluffing,” Swensen said. “He come to poison us