The radio cop suppressed a sigh. It wasn’t pleasant to contemplate what would happen if Margolo discovered his identity.
As the car neared Jimmy’s, the men became silent. Cates could watch Margolo in the rear-vision mirror. The gangster’s swarthy face was grim; his thin lips were twisted in an ugly snarl.
“Slow,” he commanded.
Cates throttled the car to about ten miles an hour. Thoughtfully he stared at the lights in front of the cafe. Something was going to happen, but⸺
Cates soon found out. A man strolled from the cafe and called laughingly to another man inside. A second figure appeared in the doorway.
“Now!” gritted Margolo.
Four guns barked. The man in the doorway pitched forward, rolled to the sidewalk, and lay still.
Horror and rage stirred Dave Cates. All in a second he realized that he must carry this thing through until Margolo dismissed him—that if he made the slightest suspicious move the four guns would bark again.
Cates stepped upon the accelerator and the big car leaped away.
“Back to the house,” ordered Margolo, his voice as calm as if he had not killed a man. Then with a hard laugh: “McGuirk won’t do no more braggin’ now.”