Toffee nodded approvingly. "It only seems the sort of thing any good citizen would do," she said.
The gunman stared at her. "Too bad a good looking dame like you has to be so wacky."
"We all have our little flaws," Toffee said chattily. "That's life."
"Aren't you even worried?"
Toffee shook her head. "I've always wanted to learn to drive," she said, smiling.
"Oh, my God!" the thug moaned. "Maybe, it's best; you're sure to kill yourself sooner or later anyway."
"Of course," Toffee said, patting his hand. "I don't want you to blame yourself. Just consider you're doing a public service."
Meanwhile, a lanky figure had emerged warily from the warehouse and was lurking, in a twitchy sort of way, in the dimness of the alley. Obscured in shadow, Marc had watched Toffee get into the green sedan, the thug instructing her in the art of driving. He glanced anxiously down the street, praying for a police car.
A small coupe, with a man and woman inside, pulled up to the curb at the end of the block, and the man got out and disappeared into the telegraph office on the corner. But that was all.