At that moment an open topped black jeep came accelerating out from under the balcony. Phil saw there were three people in it, though for a moment he couldn't tell who. But Mitzie darted toward the car, calling out excitedly, "Carstairs!" The car came on. "You're wonderful!" Mitzie called. But then suddenly the car came forward faster and straight toward her, and she had to dive out of the way to keep from being hit.
The car started to swing around in a great loop. Mitzie picked herself up from the harsh floor.
"Or this!" Billig hissed at Phil, and he ripped the figurine apart at the waist, while one thumb made a smashed flatness of the tiny breasts. "Now please tell me where's this Dr. Romadka."
"I don't know!" Phil yelled, struggling to get away from Jack, who maddeningly whispered in his ear, "That's right, don't spill a word."
"I'll remind you," Billig continued swiftly, taking something else from under his coat, "that it's much worse for her—or for anyone—to be hurt by people she idolizes than by people she hates. So tell me about the green cat. Look here, this is an ortho. I can cut down that car any moment you tell me."
But Phil, like all the others, was watching Mitzie. Having picked herself up, she didn't move. She simply stayed there, facing the oncoming car. When it was so close that for an instant Phil saw Mitzie's dark head against its chrome muzzle, it veered and missed her by a breath. Mitzie stood motionless as a statue, though her short skirt whipped out.
Then she turned at the waist and watched the retreating jeep.
"Chicken!" she jeered, loudly.
For an instant everyone on the balcony was very still. Then there was a dull banging, and Phil realized that Moe Brimstine was pounding the railing, and saying, "I tell you, that girl's good."
"Yes, she is," Billig buzzed at him curtly. Brimstine stopped his applause, looking ashamed.