CHAPTER VIII
A Tip on Kid Cooper
I spent most of the afternoon writing my three days' reports on the Donald Willsson operation. Then I sat around, burned Fatimas, and thought about the Elihu Willsson operation until dinner time.
I went down to the hotel dining room and had just decided in favor of pounded rump steak with mushrooms when I heard myself being paged.
The boy took me to one of the lobby booths. Dinah Brand's lazy voice came out of the receiver:
"Max wants to see you. Can you drop in tonight?"
"Your place?"
"Yes."
I promised to drop in and returned to the dining room and my meal. When I had finished eating I went up to my room, fifth floor front. I unlocked the door and went in, snapping on the light.
A bullet kissed a hole in the door-frame close to my noodle.
More bullets made more holes in door, door-frame and wall, but by that time I had carried my noodle into a safe corner, one out of line with the window.
Across the street, I knew, was a four-story office building with a roof a little above the level of my window. The roof would be dark. My light was on.
