I backed down the steps. Rothwell, in anticipation of my arrival had lifted his head off the rail and looked at me, grey face shining with sweat, eyes eager and unnaturally bright.
“Come on up and get it, newsboy.” He brought his hand up showing a flick knife. “I'll cut you up, good. Believe me, it'd be a pleasure.”
“Something else you learned at prep school?” I sneered.
“Lose the stick son, or I'll have to take it away from you,” said Hal, as he shouldered me out of the way moving up the creaking stairs like a slow surge of the tide. Rothwell got up now on the balls of his feet, drawing himself up to a crouch position, coiled to strike.
“Hiding behind the cops now, Simpson,” he hissed. My body stiffened. Hackles went up on the back of my neck.
“Easy Joe. I've got him. There's not goi
