She smiled cynically.
‘I dare say you’d have been better off,’ she said, turning away. ‘And you don’t owe me anything.’
‘What’s your name?’ he said, wiping his damp face with the back of his hand.
‘Anita Jackson,’ she said. ‘You’d better try and get some sleep.’
‘I’m Verne Baird,’ he told her. ‘Those punks think I kil ed a copper.’
She looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
‘You’d better get some sleep,’ she said after a long pause.
‘You’re a knock-out,’ he said, shut ing his eyes. ‘What did the cops do to you to make you hate them like this?’
‘That’s not your business,’ she returned curtly.
‘I guess that’s right. Give me an hour, and I’ll get out.’ He touched his side and winced. ‘I owe you something.’