She was behind him, sobbing, trying to hold his arm.
“Gerry!” Her words, were blurred, broken. “Gerry — can’t you think of me a little — can’t you let this one thing go — for me? For us?”
He shook her hand off, spoke briefly to Borg: “An’ stay with the car this time — I’ll be wanting it in a hurry, when I want it.”
Borg said: “Oke. First corner this side of the joint.”
Kells went back to the, cab, got in, said: “Take me down to Gardner, about a half-block the other side of the Boulevard.
Fifty-eight grunted affirmatively and swung the cab around in the narrow street.
Kells glanced back through the rear window. Granquist was standing motionlessly in the middle of the street, silhouetted against the glow of a street light on the far corner.
It began raining harder, pounded on the roof of the cab. Fifty-eight started the windshield wiper and it swished rhythmically in a wide arc across the glass.
They stopped in the shelter of a big palm on Gardner and Kells got out.
Fifty-eight asked: “Can I help, Mister Kells?”