She figures it's railroad fare for her not to."
"This ain't got anything to do with Eddie?"
"Show me how."
"Where's this Agnes at?"
"Nothing doing."
"You tell me, little man.
Here, or in the back room where the boys pitch dimes against the wall."
"She's my girl now, Casino.
I don't put my girl in the middle for anybody."
A silence followed.
I listened to the rain lashing the windows.
The smell of cigarette smoke came through the crack of the door.
I wanted to cough.
I bit hard on a handkerchief.
The purring voice said, still gentle:
"From what I hear this blonde broad was just a shill for Geiger.
I'll talk it over with Eddie.
How much you tap the peeper for?"
"Two centuries."
"Get it?"
Harry Jones laughed again.
"I'm seeing him tomorrow.
I have hopes."
"Where's Agnes?"
"Listen — "
"Where's Agnes?"
Silence.
"Look at it, little man."
I didn't move.
I wasn't wearing a gun.
I didn't have to see through the crack of the door to know that a gun was what the purring voice was inviting Harry Jones to look at.
But I didn't think Mr. Canino would do anything with his gun beyond showing it.
I waited.
"I'm looking at it," Harry Jones said, his voice squeezed tight as if it could hardly get past his teeth.
"And I don't see anything I didn't see before.
Go ahead and blast and see what it gets you."
"A Chicago overcoat is what it would get you, little man."
Silence.
"Where's Agnes?"
Harry Jones sighed.
"Okey," he said wearily. "She's in an apartment house at 28 Court Street, up on Bunker Hill.
Apartment 301.
I guess I'm yellow all right.
Why should I front for that twist?"
"No reason.
You got good sense.
You and me'll go out and talk to her. All I want is to find out is she dummying up on you, kid.
If it's the way you say it is, everything is jakeloo.
You can put the bite on the peeper and be on your way.
No hard feelings?"