'He s not so tough, Arthur, I told you. He s soft inside, like marshmallow.'
Someone knocked on the door. 'Yeah?' Delia said. A man with a pale skin and a small black mustache opened the door. 'Hello, Frenchy,' Delia said. 'Meet my friend, Arthur. Frenchy Duval.'
Frenchy looked worried. 'Look, Delia,' he said, ignoring Crane. 'This joint is just startin to make money.'
'So what?' Delia said.
'So we don t want any shootings. It ll give us a bad name.'
'Who s going to do any shooting?'
'If Slats should…'
'He won t,' Delia said.
'It ll ruin us if he comes, though,' Frenchy said. Delia laughed huskily. 'You can t scare Arthur that way, Frenchy.'
'Yes, he can,' said Crane.
Delia ignored him. 'Scram, Frenchy,' she said.
Frenchy closed the door.
Crane said, 'I think I ll be going.'
'Yellow?'
'You bet.'
He got up. In some way his glass had been filled with whisky. He dosed it with laudanum, and downed the drink. 'Good-by.' The liquor hurt his throat.
Delia was looking at the empty glass. 'Man! You drink just like Richard used to.'
'Richard March?'
'Who d you think?'
'You were never out with him?'
'You wouldn t want me to sap you, would you, Arthur?'
'No.'
'Then don t get wise.'
'I m not wise. I just know Richard liked another girl.'
'Yeah?'
'Yeah. Carmel March.'
Delia Young s reaction to this was excellent.'Where d you hear about her?'
'Oh, around.'
'It was around, was it?' She drained her glass. 'Gee! That s awful stuff.' She tossed the glass into a corner of the room. The shattered pieces made a tinkling noise on the floor, and the dregs left a stain on the wall. 'Well, let me tell you somethin about her.'
'Go ahead.'
'Richard didn t go with her because he wanted to.'
'No?'
'He was afraid of her.'
Crane made what he hoped was a knowing leer. 'Maybe that s what he told you.'
'Maybe he did, Arthur. But he told the truth.'
Crane had difficulty keeping her face in focus.
'I wanted to have her bumped for him, but he wouldn t go for that,' Delia said. 'I could of had it done in a minute. But he said he d handle it.'
'I guess he didn t, though.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, he s dead, isn t he?'
'Sure, but…' Her hand, just above his elbow, pinched his flesh. 'Say! You re not tryin to tell me she…'
'Somebody knocked him off.'
For thirty seconds Delia was immobile and then, when she spoke, her voice was hardly more than a husky whisper. 'How do you know?'
'Somebody hosed carbon monoxide into his car while he was in it.'
Her hand hurt his arm. 'Could she…'
'I don t know.' He watched her face. 'There was a smell of gardenias on his body. Her perfume.'
Her eyes were wide and purple.
'Of course, Slats might have done it,' he said.
She took her hand from his arm; scowled in thought. 'It must be her… Slat s would ve said something if… Say! How do you happen to know so much about this, Arthur?'
'I get around.'
'I m asking you a question,' she said grimly. Crane smiled at her.
'I m going to have to sap you, wise guy.'
Her eyes were coldly angry, but under the black silk pajamas her breast moved with her quick breathing. She drew a little away from him.
'I wouldn t,' he said.
Suddenly her attention left him. She was listening to something. She smiled. 'Okay,' she said.
'That s fine.' He started around her to the door. 'Good-by.'
Her attitude was strange. 'Don t go away mad.' She was smiling, but only with her mouth. She still seemed to be listening to something. 'Have one more drink.' She took hold of his arm.
'I have to go.'
There was a noise of feet in the hall. Her face was suddenly savagely triumphant. She came close to Crane. 'Darling,' she said.
He was thinking, what the hell? when the door opened. 'What s this?' said a man.
He was in a tuxedo and he looked like an ex-prizefighter. He had wide shoulders, a barrel chest, a wasp waist. He was about six feet five and he weighed over two hundred pounds. He had blue-white eyes and a long pock-marked face.
'Slats!' Delia s voice was filled with terror.
The man walked into the room. Back of him came Frenchy Duval and Lefty and two other men. The man walked up to Delia, pulled her away from Crane. He turned toward Crane.
Delia pushed herself between them. 'Don t kill him, Slats,' she cried. 'Don t, please.'
It was an act. Crane knew it was an act. It was a beautiful act. But what was it about?
Slats pulled Delia away again. She fought him. In the scuffle Slats hit Crane hard in the face with his elbow.
'I wouldn t do that,' Crane said.
Slats swung his shoulders, sent Delia onto the davenport. At the same time his elbow caught Crane s face again. He said to Delia, 'Two-time me, will you?'
Crane hit him below his right ear, at the junction of neck and jawbone. Pain shot through his hand and he knew he had broken a knuckle. Slats Donovan looked at him with surprise, as though he hadn t seen him before. The blow hadn t even jarred him.
One of the men had gold teeth. He asked, 'Should we bump him, Slats?' He was the bartender from downstairs.
Slats hunched his shoulders, and Crane got ready to duck. Then Slats said, 'Hell, I just had a manicure.'
He jerked his head at the others. 'Keep him… I may want to talk to him.' He picked up Delia Young and carried her into the other room.
The four men advanced on Crane. The man with the gold teeth had a pistol. Crane said, 'Never mind. I ll go with you.'
'Sure you will, pal,' said the man. 'Sure you will.'
CHAPTER X
