Steve Cronin recognized the name of Brodie. He realized that he was with two of the most stalwart workers in Nick Savoli’s mob of killers.
Brodie was the man who had driven the car in which Savoli had escaped the gunfire of a rival gang chief — a man who had been killed afterward as a reward for his attempt on Savoli’s life. “Machine-gun” McGinnis was reputed to have fired the fatal shots that had brought down two of Savoli’s enemies while they were walking along Michigan Boulevard.
“Here’s Brodie now,” whispered McGinnis.
Steve Cronin turned toward the door through which he had entered the rear seat, and thought he detected a motion of the curtains. Then he heard a noise on the other side, and looked to see Brodie entering the driver’s seat. He could not distinguish the man’s features in the darkness.
“Funny thing,” said Cronin, half aloud. “I thought he was getting in back with us.”
He looked around to make sure that he had not been deceived. A pile of robes lay on the other side of the back seat, and as Cronin reached in that direction, his hand encountered cold metal — the barrel of a machine gun.
“Stay over on this side,” warned McGinnis. “I’ve got the typewriter ready, there, under the blankets. Don’t touch it until we need it.”
“Ready?” asked Brodie.
“Go ahead,” replied McGinnis. “You know where we’re going. Over by Birch’s drug store.”
The touring car rolled slowly from the garage, and as it reached the street, McGinnis drew Cronin to the floor beside him.