On the street, Harry staggered a few paces; then, seeing no one, straightened up and increased his stride. He turned down an alleyway and headed for the next street.
Reaching it, he hurried toward a spot where he could make a phone call.
As he reached another alley, he bumped into a man who was stepping toward the street.
“Hey, you!” The fellow seized Harry’s shoulder. “What’s your hurry?”
“Nothing,” mumbled Harry.
“No?” As the question was uttered, two other men appeared. “Well, it looks phony to me!
“We’re looking for stools around here tonight. Maybe you’re one. Let’s take a look at your mug!”
Harry thought quickly. These men were tough mobsters. A delay must be avoided. An encounter might prove disastrous.
He had reached the fringe of the bad lands. A quick dash would mean safety.
Without waiting to reply, Harry swung a clean, swift blow to the point of the man’s jaw. The fellow smacked against the pavement.