CHAPTER 17The driver had to help me get him into his apartment. We put him on the studio couch and the driver went away. I took off my jacket and the holster and gun I had been wearing under it, draped the coat over the holster and sat down in a chair to wait until he could communicate.
I fell asleep and woke, chilled. I went to the kitchen, drew a glass of hot water and drank it. The kitchen was disorderly, with a pile of dirty dishes on the sinkboard, a towel on the floor. I picked up the towel and left the dishes. I walked around, swinging my arms to get the circulation going, and Dillon began to stir. But he didn’t quite make it and I sat down again.
There was the sound of a key in the apartment door. I sat where I was. The door opened and Frankie, Dillon’s friend, came in. He was we
