“I don’t know what t’ hell to make of it, kid,” he spoke importantly over the cigarette he was rolling. “There’s sumpin’ makin’ down there, an’ that’s a fact. Things ain’t been anyways quiet since the Japs began buyin’ stores in the Chink streets, an’ maybe that’s got sumpin’ to do with it. But there ain’t no strange Chinks in town—not a damn one! I got a hunch your men have gone down to L.A. , but I expec’ t’ know f’r certain tonight. I got a Chink ribbed up t’ get the dope; ’f I was you, I’d put a watch on the boats at San Pedro. Maybe those fellas’ll swap papers wit’ a coupla Chink sailors that’d like t’ stay here.”
“And there are no strangers in town?”
“Not any.”
“Dummy,” I said bitterly, “you’re a liar, and you’re a boob, and I’ve been playing you for a sucker. You were in on that killing, and so were your friends, and I’m going to throw you in the can, and your friends on top of you!”
I put my gun in sight, close to his scared-grey face.
“Keep yourself still while I do my phoning!”
Reaching for the telephone with my free hand, I kept one eye on the Dummy.
It wasn’t enough. My gun was too close to him.
He yanked it out of my hand. I jumped for him.
The gun turned in his fingers. I grabbed it—too late. It went off, its muzzle less than a foot from where I’m thickest. Fire stung my body.
Clutching the gun with both hands I folded down to the floor. Dummy went away from there, leaving the door open behind him.