“A man about your build has been annoying women on the streets.”
He kept edging closer. Suddenly he jerked out his gun. I took my hand away from the lapel of my coat. He laughed and said, “I’ll just take your rod so you won’t get into trouble with it.”
He moved up another step and patted the side of my coat, then he laughed and said, “Just running a blazer, eh?”
He spun me around, made certain I had no gun, put his own gun away, and grabbed me by the necktie. “Do you know what we do with wise guys in this city?” he asked.
“Put them on the Vice Squad,” I said, “and let them push people around, then something happens, and they get called up in front of the grand jury.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said. “I’m not getting called up in front of any grand jury.”
He pushed the heel of his right hand against my nose, holding my tie with his left hand. He said, “I have a witness who saw that hit-and-run car making a getaway. The description fits this car. What are you going to do about it?” He was holding his hand up against my face, pushing my neck back.
I said, “Get your hand out of my face.” My voice sounded thick and muffled.
He laughed and pushed a little harder.
I swung my right. My arms were a good two inches shorter than his. The swing missed by just that much. He let go of my tie then, and cuffed me with his left. I tried to dodge, and he cuffed me with his right. Then he grabbed me by the coat collar and spun me around.