Perp with a Name
And a tiny dust cloud popped up right beside me. “Chet! Get down!” Something in the sound of Bernie’s voice made me lie down right away. “No, boy, back under cover!” I was a little confused. Bernie rolled out past me, fired the .38 Special up at the rocky cliff side. Then came another cry of pain, and another rifle spinning down from above. We looked up, saw two men scrambling along a trail at the very top. One was bald; the other had short white hair that shone in the sun. He looked vaguely familiar, but the two men reached the top and vanished before a name came to me.
Bernie rose. “The white-haired guy,” he said. “Was that Freddie Dancer?”
Uh-oh. I remembered Freddie Dancer.
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