Your brain's got flat tires, and its motor doesn't fire, and its clutch is broken.

The only thing about it that still works is the horn.

You've got a hell of a horn, Gavegan, and it never stops blowing." A tug was nearing the dock, and by its light Larry saw the terrific swing that the enraged detective started.

Larry swayed slightly aside, and as Gavegan lunged by, Larry's right fist drove into Gavegan's chin--drove with all the power of his dislike and all the strength of five years in a Y.M.C.A.

gymnasium and a year in a prison boiler-room.
Gavegan went down and out.
Larry gazed a moment at the dim, sprawling figure, then turned and made his way off the pier and again to the door of the pawnshop.