Baird saw a flash of flame in the driving mirror; at the same instant there came a crash of breaking glass. Glass splinters flew inside the car like shrapnel.
Rico cried out as he ducked down on the floor of the car. Automatically Baird’s foot trod down hard on the gas pedal. The big Buick surged forward, and he whipped it around the bend in the causeway.
He sent the big car hurtling along the narrow road. He could feel blood running down the side of his neck from a cut from a glass splinter, and he swore softly.
‘What is it?’ Rico quavered from the floor of the car. ‘Who shot at us?’
‘How the hell do I know?’ Baird snarled.
But he was quick to realise what this meant. Someone had been close by when he had shot that damned spying red-head. A car like Rico’s could easily be identified. If whoever it was cal ed the cops, and they found the body before the current took it away, Rico would be on the spot. Baird hadn’t any illusions about Rico keeping his trap shut. Any tough cop could make Rico sing like a canary, and Rico would try to pin the whole weight of the killing on Baird.
He kicked Rico hard in the ribs.
‘Get up!’ he said furiously. ‘See what the damage is!’
Rico pulled himself off the floor and looked back at the gaping hole in the rear window. With relief he saw there was no car following them, and he sank down on the bench seat beside Baird, groaning.
‘Aw, shut up!’ Baird snarled. ‘It must have been one of those shamuses who’s been following me.