“And waste time explaining to a lot of cops.”
“No,” Mason said, deftly dodging a truck, “you can’t explain to these birds. This is one thing you can’t explain.”
“Chief, what are you going to do about it?”
“Darned if I know,” he admitted, with a grin, “but it’s a swell ride, isn’t it, Della?”
“Listen, Chief, you can be as goofy as you want, but count me out.”
He risked flashing her a swift glance. “Kidding?” he asked.
“No, I mean it.”
“Getting chicken, Della?”
“You can call it that if you want,” she said indignantly. “I’m going to get out.”
“How? I can’t stop now.”