“He was. He was Fenner’s best spot in the Police Department until Rose started selling him big ideas.” Kastner’s little face was growing very white.
Kells said: “There’ll be a doctor here in a minute — I sent the launch ashore for one.” Then he walked to a port and looked out at the paling sky. He spoke without turning: “Reilly’s the Lou that Rose and O’Donnell were waiting for at the hotel...”
“And he’s the Lou they were waiting for on the boat — so they could let you have it resisting arrest — make it legal.”
Kells went over to the desk. Fay was abstractedly playing with a small penknife; the woman still sat with her face between her hands.
Kells turned his head toward Kastner, asked very casually: “Who popped you?”
Kastner smiled a little. He said: “I don’t remember.”
The woman laughed. She put her hands on the table and threw her head back and laughed very loudly. Kastner looked at her and there was something inexpressibly cold and savage in his eyes.
Kells bent over the desk and took up a pen and wrote a few words on a piece of paper. He took the paper and the pen over to Kastner, said: “It’ll make things a lot simpler if you sign this.”
The little man glanced at the paper and his eyes were suddenly dull, empty. He said: “Nuts.” He grinned at Kells, and then his face tightened and he died.
Kells and Fay sat at a table in Fay’s apartment in Long Beach. The woman, Granquist, was asleep in a big chair. It was about eight-thirty, and outside it was gray and hot.