“No, but there’ll be an opportunity... Here, they’re slowing down for that traffic jam. Chief, let me out!”
Mason slammed on the brakes. His profile was granite-hard. “Okay, baby,” he said. “Write your own ticket.”
“I’d rather do that than take the one the cops will write,” she said, opening the door and jumping to the street just as the traffic jam ahead resolved itself, and Mason speeded up, following the siren of the police car.
They cut speed somewhat as they turned into the main artery. The officers ceased using the siren, worked their way through a traffic signal and parked in front of a reserved zone. Mason slid his car to a stop behind them.
“No sign of a fire here,” one of the officers said belligerently.
“It’s up in my office, I tell you, just a small fire. My God, you didn’t think the building was afire, did you?”
The officers exchanged glances and sized Mason up. “Okay, Jim,” the leader said, “you go up with this bird; I’ll stay here. If this thing is a stall, pinch him for reckless driving. We can take him to headquarters on that. Perry Mason, attorney-at-law, eh? — Well, brother, you’re like a lot of these wise guys. There’s a little law you don’t know.”
Mason shrugged his shoulders. A boyish, carefree grin was on his face. “Wasn’t that a swell ride?” he asked.
“Come on,” the officer announced, grabbing Mason’s elbow and half pushing him through the doorway and into the elevator.
Mason lit a nonchalant cigarette while the elevator deposited him at his floor. “Okay, buddy,” the officer said, “you find the fire.”