Seven
As the cab pulled away I turned and looked through the rear window. Jerry Dell was on the sidewalk, propped up on one elbow. For a minute it looked as if he were going to pull his g*n. His right hand was already groping beneath his coat. Then he must have realized it was too dangerous. His hand slowly came into sight again and he got to his feet. He hurried to the sedan and they took off after us.
The driver must have been watching in his rearview mirror. “He’s following us,” he said nervously. “What is this, mister?”
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “They won’t do anything now. They’ve been following me since yesterday. They won’t do any more—now.”
“You’re sure, mister? I’ve got a wife and kids. Maybe we ought to stop the first cop we come to.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. Anyway, when
