“He wants to know who told us to blow in,” MacGraw said, speaking out of the side of his mouth. “Shall we tell him?”
Hartsell came into the room. There was a cold, bleak look on his thin face, his deep-set eyes were stony.
“Yeah, tell him.”
MacGraw closed the french windows without taking his eyes off me.
“A little bird told us,” he said, and winked. “There’s always a little bird to tell us the things we want to know. And the little bird also told us you were with Stevens tonight.”
I sweated gently. Maybe it was because it was a hot night. Maybe I didn’t like the look of these two. Maybe I was remembering what Brandon had said about a beating up in a dark alley.
“That’s right,” I said. “I was with him.”
“Now that’s what I call being smart,” MacGraw said, and beamed. “Wonder Boy tells the truth for a change.” He poked a thick finger in my direction. “Why didn’t you stick around? The prowl boys would have liked to have talked to you.”
“There was nothing I could tell them,” I said. “I gave the desk sergeant a description of the car and the men. That let me out, and besides, I had enough for one night so I blew.”
MacGraw sat down in one of the armchairs, felt in his inside pocket and hooked out a cigar. He bit off the end, spat the shred of tobacco messily against my wall and lit up.