"I gotta eat, buddy."
Parr drew himself erect. "A phone! Take me to a phone!"
The taxi ground to a stop in a service station.
Nervously, Parr began to phone airports. Three quarters of his mind was on his pursuers.
On the third try he got promise of an immediate private plane.
"Have it ready!" he ordered. Then, dropping the receiver he ran from the station to the cab.
He jockeyed for nearly thirty minutes for position.
Then he commanded the driver to abandon the intricate inter-weaving and head directly for the airport in Santa Monica.
Shortly, the two other cars swung in line, down Wilshire.