o a duplicate of the little car that
had taken him to his room in the first place.

"Step right in, Chief," the little man said. "We're off."

Malone, overcoming an immediate distaste for the chummy little fellow,
climbed in and the car retreated down to the road. It started off
smoothly and they went back toward the lobby. The little man chatted
incessantly and Malone tried not to listen. But there was nothing else
to do except watch the gun-toting "guides" as the car passed them, and
the sight was making him nervous.

"You want anything--special," the driver said, giving Malone a blow in
the ribs that was apparently meant to be subtle, "you just ask for
Murray. Got it?"

"I've got it," Malone said wearily.

"You just pick up the little phone and you ask for Murray," the driver
said. "Maybe you want something a little out of the ordinary--get what
I mean?" Malone moved aside, but not fast enough, and Murray's stone
elbow caught him again. "Something special, extra-nice. For my
friends, pal. You want to be a friend of mine?"

Assurances that friendship with Murray was Malone's dearest ambition
in life managed to fend off further blows until the car pulled to a
stop in the lobby. "Cab's outside, Mr. Malone," Murray said. "You
remember me--hey?"

"I will never, never forget you," Malone said fervently, and got out
in a hurry. He found the cab and the driver, a heavy-set man with a
face that looked as if, somewhere along the line, it had run into a
Waring Blendor and barely escaped, swiveled around to look at him as
he got in.

"Where to, Mac?" he asked sourly.

Malone shrugged. "Center of town," he said. "A nice big newsstand."

The cabbie blinked. "A what?" he said.

"Newsstand," Malone said pleasantly. "All right with you?"

"Everybody's a little crazy, I guess," the cabbie said. "But why do I
always get the real nuts?" He started the cab with a savage jerk and
Malone was carried along the road at dizzying speed. They managed to
make ten blocks before the cab squealed to a stop. Malone peered out
and saw a nice selection of sawhorses piled up in the road, guarded by
two men with guns. The men were dressed in police uniforms and the
cabby, staring at them, uttered one brief and impolite word.

"What's going on?" Malone said.

"Roadblock," the cabbie said. "Thing's going to stay here until Hell
freezes over. Not that they need it. Hell, I passed it on the way in
but I figured they'd take it down pretty q