The neon lights over Morgan’s Cave had been doused and the front of the club was dark by the time the cab bringing Johnny Liddell banged its front tire against the curb, squealed to a stop.
The cabby swung around on his seat. “You want I should wait, boss?” He was a wizened little man with a short stub of cigarette burning perilously close to his lips.
Liddell shook his head. He brought a roll of bills out of his pocket, peeled one off, stuck it through the window.
The cabby shrugged. “It’s your head if you like to wear it with bumps on it.”
Liddell looked up at him. “What’s that mean?”
“Just a friendly tip. Without you got one waiting, it’s easier to pick up Natalie Wood than to pick up a hack around here at this hour. You know how many muggings they rack up here in this precinct in
