The cops grilled Jack for two hours at the scene. In the back of an LAPD patrol car, his suit all bloody, he told them what he’d seen and done. From where he sat, he could watch the ambulance crew take the dead woman away, see the Studio 74 customers, none of which had any idea what had gone down outside the club, trickle out and disappear.
By the time they ran out of questions, it was after 2 AM and Studio 74 was just about empty. He headed in, and he could hardly believe it when they stopped him at the door. This one cop held up a hand and did his job. Jack’s job.
“Where d’you think you’re going?”
“Inside. See how the boss is doing,” said Jack.
“The boss? He’s a little tied up right now. You go on home, hotshot. Ain’t you had enough fun for one night?”
Crazy. Jack coulda snuffed it
