“Who’s this guy?” he demanded. He had a flat squashed face, and eyes like a Chinaman.
Maxison explained I was his new assistant, and where O’Neil, the other assistant, had got to.
Franklin scratched his head. “Well, I dunno,” he said. “I got instructions to let in only those people I know by sight. I’ve never seen this guy before. I guess I’d better call the sergeant.”
“Skip it,” one of the other cops said. “The sergeant’s at breakfast. You don’t want to make him mad for the rest of the day.”
“Will you hurry?” Maxison asked, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. “I have a job to do. I’m late already.”
Franklin stared at me with a worried frown. I leaned out of the car window, jerked my head at him. He came closer.
“Can’t you rustle up a crap game?” I asked, keeping my
voice low. “The old man can do the work. I got money to lose.”
He grinned suddenly, the frown went away. “To hell with that for an idea,” he said. “Here, get out of the buggy.”
I pulled the .38 from my waist-band as I pretended to fumble at the door. I shoved the gun to Maxison, who sat on it, his face turning a faint green.