It hammered within him to tell her: that he had been escaping a demon,
that she had worn its shape for a single moment, and that now he wanted
to give peace to her. But there had been too many locks in him, for too
many years.
He took her hand. "Later," he said, wondering if he meant it. "This is
no time for a long, involved story."
"I'll stay home tomorrow," she said. "Will you call me as soon
as--anything happens? The first minute you're able to?"
"Of course."
She smiled then, reached up and ran her palm along his cheek.
"Arrivederci," she said. The door closed behind her.
It was so much more than he had awaited, that he never remembered going
down the stairs. He was driving over the bridge before the complete
bleakness of his purpose returned.
The hour was not yet midnight, but Berkeley was quiet. Kintyre parked
behind Yamamura's Volks and walked around the empty house to his
cottage. The detective let him in.
"Where are our friends?" asked Kintyre.
"Guido is in your bed, snoring," said Yamamura. "As clear a case of
nervous exhaustion as I ever saw. By the way, Jimmy's name is O'Hearn;
I went through his billfold. I borrowed some of that rope you've been
making grommets with and stashed him in the john."
He had stripped off his jacket, to show a noisy aloha shirt; his pipe
strove to be Vesuvius. "Are you very tired?" he asked.
"No. Keyed up, in fact."
"Have a drink. Apropos vices, the evidence against Guido is in the Bay.
I assumed we're not going to hand him over to the law."
"Not for one bit of foolishness," said Kintyre. "I doubt if he'll ever
touch dope running again. He's gotten a hefty scare."
"Jimmy will tattle, though."
"Our word against his. We're somewhat more respectable."
"You and Machiavelli! But, yeh. A check with the Chicago police--he's
from there, all right--would doubtless show he's got a record as
long as King Kong's arm. A pro killer doesn't come out of nowhere;
he starts with petty stuff and works his way up." Yamamura shook his
head. "And on the other hand, a lot of good men are doing time for one
slip regretted the moment it was over. Makes me wonder about our whole
concept of penology. That's why I'll help you cover for Guido."
Kintyre took down his bottle of Scotch and raised brows at Yamamura.
The detective shook his head. Kintyre poured for himself and sat down.
The other man prowled.
"We haven't much time," said Yamamura. "What do we tell the cops?"
"Perhaps nothing--yet," said Kintyre slowly.
"Huh? How do you mean?"
"They don't use the third degree around here. O'Hearn isn't going to
tell them a thing, and you know it. They'll have to check with Chicago,
the FBI, follow a dozen separate leads for days at least. And what do
his pals do meanwhile?"
Yamamura stopped in midstride. "If you have any half-cooked scheme of
beating the truth out of him, forget it," he said in a chill voice.
"Oh, no," said Kintyre. "But do you think we could get away with
holding him, unharmed, for maybe twenty-four hours?"
"It would be kidnaping."
"What was he trying to do to Guido?"