Riggs is Here | Page 7

a taste of it too. Tryin' to chisel in! That's a
laugh."
"You'd kill me?" Tommy didn't get an answer to that, but there wasn't
any need for one. Setter was keeping to the back streets, heading south
and out of the city. His arm, his right arm with the gun, trembled a little
bit from the sheer tension as he held the automatic ready to fire at the
slightest move from Tommy.
They passed the intersection at Valencia Avenue and Sixteenth Street.
Tommy's eyes moved from the street ahead to the rear-sight mirror
above the windshield. The car had two--one for the driver, one for the
passenger. In his he saw a car following them. It was running without
lights about a block behind, and he saw it when it crossed the
intersection.
"George," he said quietly. "You can't get away with this. In that car
that's following us--"

Setter's eyes whipped up to his rear mirror. For one instant, when he
first saw the car, his attention wavered; and the gun against Tommy's
ribs drew away a fraction of an inch.
Tommy slammed his elbow back, hard. It caught Setter's wrist, pushed
the gun into the upholstery. The gun went off, its slug digging into the
seat. When Tommy had his hand around it, it cracked out a second time
as Setter swung a blow at him with his left, and the sleeve kicking back
with the recoil tore skin and flesh out of Tommy's palm.
Gripping the automatic with his bleeding hand and with his head pulled
down against his chest, he battered his right into Setter's stomach,
driving it with the strength of his compact shoulders. He felt the car
swerve wildly, jolt up over the curb, and still he kept slugging. Setter
yelled once, a strangled sound as the wind was hammered out of him.
The car crashed into a store window, hurled Tommy against the dash.
When he struggled up off the floor, Setter was bent over the steering
wheel, gasping, choking, both arms locked around his stomach.
The gun was still gripped in Tommy's hand. He swung it twice--short,
chopping blows to Setter's head. Setter collapsed sideways, toppled
against him.
Tommy stayed there, crouched down on the seat. The other car had
stopped, and he heard footsteps running across the pavement. A second
later, the door on his side of the car was yanked open.
It was Dipper. Over his broken nose, his eyes were narrow, alert. He
was gripping a bulldog revolver.
Tommy didn't wait to see more. He swung his foot up from the floor
boards. His toe slammed into Dipper's chin, whipped his head back.
Then Tommy jammed his other foot into the guy's belly. Dipper shot
backward, spilled onto the glass-littered sidewalk.
Tommy pulled himself out of the car. Dipper was out, unmoving on his
back, but somebody else came around the back of the roadster. It was

Billie, the woman who had been drinking with Setter. She was coming
fast, and the street light glittered from the chromium-plated automatic
in her slim hand.
Tommy dove at her. He slapped the pistol to one side, pistoned his fist
to her chin.
Tommy was talking into the green call box, half a block from the
wrecked car. Lieutenant Barnelley of the homicide squad was on the
other end of the phone. Tommy was telling him:
"Sure! I got the whole crowd that tuck up the warehouse. One of the
guys, George Setter, had the gun that killed Pop Dillon. And I got the
furs."
Barnelley said: "O. K." The radio cops loaded the three unconscious
forms into the back of their prowl car and left Tommy there on the
corner.
When Barnelley picked him up, he was grinning in spite of his torn
hand and bruises. "I really cracked a mob for you boys tonight. The
furs are out at 193 Melbourne. Maybe you'd better get out there in a
hurry before something happens to them."
Barnelley grinned as he shot the car down the street. "You ought to get
your job with Carey after this." When Tommy just grunted at that, he
went on: "Only you don't have to worry about anything happening to
those furs. They're fake--rabbit and squirrel."
"What!"
"That's right," Barnelley told him. "Carey had a tip that the stuff was
going to be lifted, so he sneaked the good fur out of the warehouse
early tonight and planted it in his garage. The stuff he left in its place
was just a lot of fancy junk."
"He... he what?"

Barnelley laughed softly. "Not that you didn't do a good job, but we
were ready to crack down on Setter tomorrow. We knew all about him,
though we thought he was working alone. Carey figured him quite a
while