"Up! Hands up," and Irish voice said from behind me.
I put them up, letting the forty-five dangle from a finger. That was fast work for the bulls.
Sergeant Pat Mahoney walked around me, one eye on me, one eye on the thug at my feet. The big Smith forty-four in his big Irish mitt steadied on me, then drooped. "Slade? Why the devil do ye be shooting up me town?"
"I didn't have a lot of choice. Not and stay this side of the daisies."
"What've you gotten into this time?"
I leathered my rod while I told him about Brazelton, and a little about the girl, Claire. I didn't mention her specialty at the school. No need to complicate things, just yet.
"So these mugs jumped you? What happened to the girl?"
"That's what I was just gonna try and figure out, but some flatfooted mick snuck up behind me and—"
"Snuck, is it? Deaf as an adder. Funny, really, for a lad whose livin' is listenin'. Oh, well. We might as well have a word with this beauty." He walked over to the thug writhing on the ground. Somewhere in the few paces, the .44 disappeared. By the time he was crouched over the joker, a weighted oaken truncheon was slapping rhythmically into his palm. "All right, boyo. Who do you be? What do ye be doing here?"
"I wanna press charges, officer! That—"
"Now, now, that just won't do." The words were gentle. The tap on the knee with the truncheon looked gentle, but probably didn't feel it. "Why were ye up here? Why'd you make a run at the fool behind me?"
"Him?"
"Or was it the girl you were tryin' for?" I asked.
"Pipe down, Slade. This is a police matter, now. Now, boyo…"
"Where'd she go, did you see?" I wasn't good at second fiddle. Not
"Deaf as an adder, didn't I say it? Pipe down, I say."
The man on the ground laughed up at us. "You won't find her, soon."
"Whaddya mean by that?" The harness bull and I asked at once.
"Nothin'," he muttered. Maybe realizing he'd said more than he should.
"Tell me, boyo." Another tap. On the other knee, now.
He just chuckled.
"You're gonna have to hit harder than that, Mahoney. Or let me…"
"I'll bop you, Slade.
"If you're gonna kneecap the bastard, those little love taps aren't the way to do it." I still had the little thirty-two in my pocket. I pulled it, and pressed the muzzle to the goon's knee. "You know what the best thing about a small caliber pistol is, Pat?"
"What's that?"
"The mess they make. A big gun, the slug just punches through. With a little one, they bounce. Hit a joint, they bounce so much they never heal right." I ground the muzzle in, just between the kneecap and the shinbone.
"Put that away, Slade. You'll only embarrass yourself."
I started to pull the trigger. I let them both see the hammer easing back.
"Wait!"
"What?"
"I'll tell you what I can. Its not a lot, though. Just don't do… that."
I let the hammer down easy. Just the way I would if the gun were still loaded. "All right. Talk."
"We was to snatch the girl. The car…" he pointed to an empty stretch of curb.
I wracked my brain. Had there been a car there? What was it? I wasn't sure.
"What car?"
"1921 Hudson. I was supposed to tackle the girl, put her inside."
"Supposed to? Who ordered it?"
The bozo clammed up when it came to naming names.
"And ye were doin' so well," Mahoney said sadly. He raised his stick for a real swing this time.
"All right! It's Kavanaugh."
"Who's Kavanaugh?" I asked.
"What's Kavanaugh want with this girl?" Mahoney must have been a step ahead. I thought I knew Philly's underworld pretty well, but…
"He didn't tell me that! Just 'go get her.'