She drawled: “Hello, Gerry.”
Cullen said: “Go back upstairs and put on your clothes, slut!” He said it very loudly.
Kells laughed, said: “Call Doc Janis — will you, Willie?” He limped to the door, looked down at his torn, muddy, bloodstained clothes. “And loan me a coat. Willie — or I’ll get wet.”
A black touring car with the side curtains drawn was parked in the reserved space in front of the Knickerbocker. Kells had been about to park across the street; he slowed down, blinked at it. The engine was running and there was a man at the wheel. It was a Cadillac.
He stepped on the throttle, careened around the corner, parked in front of the library. He jumped out and took the revolver out of the side pocket, slipped it into the pocket of Cullen’s big coat; he turned up the deep Collar and hurried painfully back across the street, down an alley to a service entrance of the hotel.
The boy in the elevator said: “Well, I guess I was right — I guess it’s going to rain all night.”
Kells said: “Uh huh.”
“Tch tch tch.” The boy shook his head sadly.
“Has Mister Fenner had any visitors since I left?”
“No, sir — I don’t think so. Not many people in and out tonight. There was three gentlemen went up to nine little while ago. They was drunk, I guess.” He slid the door open. Ten, sir.