She began cursing me as soon as we had driven out into the highway. She kept on without a pause for a mile or so, then I got tired of it, told her to shut up.
“I’m not shutting up, you cheap grease monkey,” she said. “I’ll ruin you for this. You and your prissy mouth floozie. When I’m through with you, you’ll be sorry you were born.”
“Someone who doesn’t mind touching you ought to apply a hairbrush to your tail,” I said.
She gave a squeal of fury, flung herself at me and wrenched the wheel to the right. The car, travelling at forty miles an hour, slewed across the road. I stamped on the foot brake, lugged back the parking brake. The car stopped dead, and she was thrown forward. Her head slammed against the dash-board. She passed out.
The cop had skidded to a standstill. He got off his motorcycle, walked over to me.
“For the love of Mike,” he said crossly. “Can’t you drive, either?”
I told him what had happened, and be looked at the unconscious girl.
“Crazy as a bug,” he said. “I’ve heard tales about her. These movie stars give me a pain. This dame is always in a jam, but she buys her way out. This little outing’s going to cost her something. Well, come on, I ain’t got all day.”
We continued on our way to the station.