A moment later the cab leaped away from the curb.
As they joined the heavy stream of pleasure-bound traffic, Jeanne-Marie felt an instant of intense panic. Lucky had admitted it: Lucky's smooth line inside the Black Flamingo, his suave man-of-the-world attitude had been the real decoy. And Jeanne-Marie had fallen for it. But smooth line and man-of-the-world attitude, she knew now, hid a desperate fugitive who would stop at nothing.
Lucky wasn't watching her now. His eyes were glued to the rear window of the cab, watching the traffic behind them; looking for signs of pursuit.
"How about a break, Mac?" the driver asked. "I could let you off at a bus stop or a subway or something. I could—"
"You could keep on driving out to the expressway and keep going north on the expressway until I tell you different."
But at that moment the cab braked slowly to a stop for a red light. On the far side of the street, on the curb, Jeanne-Marie spied a policeman. Watching the cab-driver's face, she knew he had seen the uniformed patrolman too. A muscle throbbed in his jaw and Jeanne-Marie knew suddenly he was going to try something.
A word, she thought. One word between them could mean so much. Because if she could help him, if she could occupy Lucky's attention at the precise moment the cab driver tried to signal the policeman....
But Lucky must have seen it too. He leaned forward and slashed the automatic across the driver's neck, barrel-first, the sights raking the flesh and leaving a twin track of blood. The driver shook his head from side to side, like a fighter who has taken too much punishment. He opened his mouth to yell but Lucky's arm went around his throat.
"Don't," Lucky said. "I've killed a man already tonight. I can kill you too and it wouldn't make any difference. Just drive."