O’Brien drank half the highball, lit a cigarette and took the receiver.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“A report’s just come in that’s going to start something,” Motley said, his voice shaking with excitement. “Johnny Dorman’s been shot dead.”
O’Brien stiffened; his face changed colour.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he snarled.
“One of my men was on the waterfront keeping a lookout for this guy Holland. He spotted him with Johnny Dorman…”
“With Johnny? He’s lying!” O’Brien broke in violently. “He couldn’t have been with Johnny…” He stopped abruptly, realizing what he was saying.
“He was with Dorman,” Motley said. “There’s no mistake about it. My man started to question Holland, and Dorman shot him.”
Certain that Tux had carried out his orders and had wiped out Johnny, O’Brien wondered if Motley was drunk, but he realized he had to be careful. He couldn’t tell Motley he knew Johnny was in a barrel of cement at the bottom of the river.
“The two of them bolted,” Motley went on, “but they were seen by Adams who happened to be in the neighbourhood. He took a shot at Johnny and hit him in the arm. They got away and holed up in a house off the waterfront. Adams had the place surrounded. Holland got away over the roofs. He was spotted, and Adams sent men up after him. They ran into Tux and Solly who were up there.”