For a moment the brothers looked at each other in sad consultation. Then, as though having reached a decision by telepathy, they simultaneously quitted the side of the car and stood back a pace. Marc threw the car into gear and prepared to leave. However, just as he was pressing down on the accelerator the whole street suddenly boomed with the sound of gunfire. The car jarred forward, then settled into a lop-sided stop. The Blemishes grinned happily on their handiwork; they had air-conditioned both tires on the right side.
Attracted by the sound, one of the officers in front of the Wynant started forward, but Cecil waved him back.
"Just a blowout!" he called. He pointed to the crippled car. "We'll see that he gets fixed up."
The officer nodded and went back to his chores with the Wynant guests.
"Why, you little...!" Marc grated.
"Holy smoke!" Toffee broke in, staring steadily at the two brothers. "Those kids are using real bullets and everything!"
"That's what we've been trying to tell you," Cecil said mildly. "We're just as mean as we can be."
"You certainly are," Toffee agreed. "You're just about the most awful little grubs I've ever run into."
"Sugary phrases aren't going to get you anywhere," Gerald said virtuously. "Now get out of that car and come with us."