When I came out, they were waiting for me in the big Packard, a custom job with a low two-digit license plate which shouted that this was an important car and to keep out of its way. Kelly was behind the wheel and Rath stood outside, leaning against the door. When he saw me, he walked over to me.
The street was crowded, but the gripe and fury and hate boiled up inside me when I saw him and I reached for him.
He said sharply, “Hold it. You want the girls hurt?”
That stopped me. “What do you mean, you little pile of—”
“Watch it,” he said. I didn’t like the casual, confident way he was talking. He knew I could bend him till he broke, but he said, “We told you to beat it, Scott: You got no sense at all. Now listen. There’s a plane out at seven. You be on it. You don’t want nothing to happe
