I yelled: “To hell with them, Mardi! You stay where you are. Yell out of the window...!”
Gus hit me across the mouth with the back of his hand. His bony knuckle cut my lip and I staggered across the room, getting my balance.
The fat guy knocked on the door again. “Wait a minute, sister,” he called. “Don't you start anythin' until I'm through. Then you can make up your mind. I know you're in there, so you don't have to be cagy. You can hear me okay?”
“I can hear you.” Mardi's voice was pretty steady.
“If you don't come out right now, I'm going to get tough with your boy friend. When I say tough, I mean tough, get it? I'll give you ten seconds, an' if you ain't out by then I'm goin' to give him the works.”
I dodged Gus's rush and yelled, “It's a bluff... yell out of the window... don't open——”
Again Gus's fist smashed into my face and this time I went over. I was quick enough to jerk my head away from the kick he aimed at me.
Mardi opened the door and came out.
The fat guy and Gus stood motionless staring at her. I saw Gus's eyes open and he pursed his mouth.
She stood framed in the doorway, one hand hanging by her side and the other holding the door handle. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide, but she held her head up and she wasn't looking scared.
“What do you want?” she said, her voice steady and cold.
I felt mighty proud of the way she faced up to these two thugs. The fat guy came forward, his face beaming, but his eyes very mean.
“Well! Well! Ain't she a peach?” he said, standing in front of her. 'We're all goin' for a little ride. Get your wrap, will you? An' make it fast.”
I struggled to my feet. “Listen,” I said, keeping an eye on Gus, who was beginning to sidle towards me, “you won't get anywhere on a gag like this. Drop it, will you?”
The fat guy glanced at Gus. “If that punk opens his trap any more, shut it for him and shut it for good.”
Gus drew a rubber truncheon from his back pocket. He balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “Sure,” he said, and grinned.
Mardi came over to me, but the fat guy stepped between us. “We don't want to get tough,” he said, “but we will if you don't behave.”
She looked at me and I gave her a pale grin. I was feeling bad about all this. Then she squared her shoulders and picked up her wrap.
The fat guy stepped to her side. “That's fine,” he said. “Now we go downstairs, if you start anythin', Gus'll wash up the punk. Hear that, Gus?”
Gus said, “Sure.” He threw my overcoat cape-wise over my shoulders and jerked his head. We all went out into the corridor and went silently down into the street. There was a big closed car standing outside the house. The streets were deserted and the pale dawn was coming up over the roofs. It would be over an hour before any one would be around on the streets.
Gus shoved me in the back of the car and the fat guy got in next. Mardi followed. We three sat in a row. Gus went to the front and climbed under the wheel. He switched on the ignition and engaged the gears. The car shot away from the kerb at a high speed.
The fat guy said to Mardi: “You ain't got to get scared. I'd be sortta soft with a honey like you if you were nice.”
“Listen, greaseball,” I put in. “Suppose you skip your stuff. It gives me a pain.”
His face suddenly set. “I'm getting mighty tired of you,” he said. “You're goin' to run into plenty of grief before long.”
I wondered what chance I had if I jumped him. I thought I could sock him in his puss with my two hands and while he was getting his breath I might do some more damage.
He was no fool. I guess he saw I was getting ready to start something, so he dug his gun into me. “Pipe down,” he said curtly.
The big car flashed through the empty streets with hardly a roll. In the faint light from the dashboard I could make out the outline of Gus's head. He kept his eyes on the road and drove hard.
“Where the hell do you think you're takin' us?” I asked for something to say.
The fat guy said, “Did you hear that, Gus? He wants to know where we're goin'.”
Gus shrugged, but didn't say anything.
I wanted to keep the fat guy's mind off Mardi, so I kept talking. “What's your name?” I asked. “I get kind of embarrassed callin you 'greaseball'.”
He turned a little. I could see he was getting mad. “You won't get anywhere with that stuff,” he said evenly. “Suppose you keep your trap shut; I'm gettin' tired of hearing your yappin'.”
Mardi hadn't said a word the whole time. I couldn't see much of her, and when I leant forward the fat guy gave me a hard one in the chest with his elbow.
I thought when the time came for a show-down, I was certainly going to give this punk the works.
I suddenly recognised the sound of a ship's siren. So we were going back to Wensdy Wharf again. Sure enough, in a few minutes, the car turned into the wharf and pulled up outside the same house.
