He said, “Get in that car and drive ahead of me to the police station. Don’t try to make any funny moves, or I’ll drill you. You’re under arrest.”
I said, “All right. We’ll go to headquarters. Now listen to this. The hotel porter in Oakview saw you carrying me down the corridor. Don’t think I’m so dumb. Before I left Oakview, I called the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They took fingerprints from the inside of my doorknob and the steering-wheel of the car. They don’t know yet who those prints belong to. I can tell them.”
I saw that I’d jolted him. He stood stock-still. He let go of my collar, and his eyes bored into mine. “You run a damn good bluff,” he said. “You made a nice one about having a gun. You’re lucky it didn’t get you killed.”
I said, “That wasn’t a bluff. That was a psychological experiment. I thought you were yellow. I wanted to find out. You are.”
His face darkened, and he doubled his fist, but thought better of it as I stood my ground. He said, “I’m going to give you one more chance. You’re out of your jurisdiction. Keep on your own dunghill and you won’t have any trouble. Start messing around in Santa Carlotta and you’ll be just a number in a great big house doing a longtime stretch.”
I said, “Not by the time I get done telling my story, I won’t.”
He shoved me into the agency car. “Go on, wise guy,” he said. “Get started. Right back towards Los Angeles. The next time you come within the city limits, I’ll throw the book at you. Savvy?”
“All done?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, and turned around to swagger back to the police car. He backed out, swung the car in a turn in the middle of the block when he hit the street, and drove away.
I blew blood out of my nose on to my handkerchief, drove up even with the office where the attendant was making a great show of being busy. I adjusted my tie and said, “On second thought, I think I’ll take that receipt.”