“I think that will do,” Myra said, looking pleased. “She’s not nearly so attractive, is she?” Right now the red-head looked like something that’d got lost in a river.
“You’re right,” I said, wondering if I was losing my mind. Myra flicked her fingers and the rain stopped.
The cops and Clancy began mopping themselves with their handkerchiefs. The red-head lay on the floor and drummed hysterically with her heels.
“If there’s any more talk about wagons,” Myra said coldly, “it’ll begin raining again.”
“Do what you like, lady,” Clancy said brokenly. “I ain’t making trouble.”
Myra resumed her suspended position. “Push me through the streets,” she said to me. “All the way to police headquarters. Then we’ll have lots of witnesses, won’t we?”
As I began to push her to the door again, Sam Bogle entered the shop.
One look was enough to see that Sam had been hitting the bottle. He didn’t look at any of us except Myra.
“Don’t think you’re getting away with it,” he said. “Doc was a pal of mine and no jury can kill a pal of mine and get away with it.”
We were all so startled that no one moved. Myra lowered her feet to the floor and faced him.