Pug didn’t say anything. His eyes were on my face. He reached out with his right hand, caught the girl by the collar of her jacket, and sent her spinning across the sidewalk.
I swung for his jaw.
I don’t know whether it was the poor light or whether he was too mad to see what I was doing, or sufficiently disdainful not to care. He didn’t try to block or dodge. My blow caught him on the chin. Unconsciously I’d remembered something of what Louie had told me about throwing my body muscles into a blow. I hit him so hard I thought my arm was broken.
It didn’t even jar his head back on his neck. It was as though I’d swung on the side of a concrete building. He said, “You double-crossing, two-timing stool pigeon—” His fist crashed into my jaw.
It was his left. It jarred me back on my heels. I knew his right would be coming across. I tried to get out of the way and stumbled, off balance, which threw my shoulder up. His right caught me on my shoulder and sent me out across the sidewalk into the gutter.
The car swerved. Headlights blazed at us. I thought the machine was going to run over me. I got up and Pug was coming toward me, not hastily, just with a quiet deadliness of purpose.
The car was stopped now. I heard a door slam, steps behind me. A voice said, “No, you don’t.”
Pug didn’t pay any attention to the voice. His eyes were only on me.
I thought I saw an opening and lashed out.
The big bulk of a body moved past me. I heard the thudding impact of a fist against flesh, and then Pug and a big man were whirling around in a tangled circle. The big man’s shoulder hit against me and flung me off to one side. Before I could get back, Pug had broken free. I saw his shoulders-weave, then the broad back and huge shoulders of the big man interposed themselves between me and Pug.