27‘Give me the money.’
The motor of the grey Plymouth throbbed under her voice and the rain pounded above it. The violet light at the top of Bullocks green-tinged tower was far above us, serene and withdrawn from the dark, dripping city. Her black-gloved hand reached out and I put the bills in it. She bent over to count them under the dim light of the dash. A bag clicked open, clicked shut. She let a spent breath die on her lips. She leaned towards me.
‘I’m leaving, copper. I’m on my way. This is a get-away stake and God how I need it. What happened to Harry?’
‘I told you he ran away. Canino got wise to him somehow. Forget Harry. I’ve paid and I want my information.’
‘You’ll get it. Joe and I were out riding Foothill Boulevard Sunday before last. It was late and the lights coming up an
