The blonde sat behind the wheel with a sullen look on her face. "What is this?" she asked. "A stickup?"
"Don't be vulgar," I replied. "We are here to take charge of my uncle. This weird slaughter must cease!"
Joy was by my side now, but Bag Ears hung back as though somewhat worried about the possible consequences of our act.
I heard him muttering: "What if he can just shoot the stuff in your eye maybe? What if a guy doesn't have to swallow it—?"
Joy's gayety was again coming to the surface. Her eyes were bright and I was struck by the fact that she seemed to thrive on this sort of thing. "Hello, Blondy," she said. "Get out from behind—"
The blonde's eyes threw sparks. "Who you think you're talking to, you lard—"
"Not Truman," Joy said. "Now get—"
I seized Joy's wrist. "Angel! He's gone! Uncle Peter isn't here!" I stared at Joy in horror. "Do you suppose he inadvertently chewed some of his own gum?"
Joy did not reply. She shouldered me aside, opened the car door and surprised me by getting a very scientific grip on Cora.