drink without being seen or disturbed. The other side of the room was given up to a long S-shaped bar that glittered with mirrors and lighted advertising signs.
Pete Weiner sat in the last booth at the far end of the room where he could
watch the swing doors of the saloon. A bottle of Scotch and a glass stood before him and an ash-tray piled high with butts indicated the time he had been in the booth.
Pete felt cold, frightened and sick. Already he was regretting what he had done. In Frances's company he had been brave enough, but now he was on his own, a slow chill of terror was creeping over him.
He knew the word would have gone out by now, and the streets would be death traps. But what was he to do? He was short of money, and he thought longingly of the five hundred dollars he had in his room. He dared not go back there to collect the money. His room would be the first place they would go to, and one of them would be waiting for him at this very moment.
He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his trousers pocket and checked them. He had fifteen dollars and a few cents. He hadn't even a car. The railroad depot would be watched. If only he knew of some place where he could hole up for a few days! Without money he was helpless.
He shifted his mind away from his immediate troubles and thought of Frances. He had gone after her when she had run away from him, but he had quickly lost himself in the maze, and lost her, too. He had run on and on blindly until suddenly he had found himself at the exit. He had had no intention of getting out. He had wanted to kill Moe, but instead he had found himself out among a vast crowd that instantly hemmed him in as they gaped at the arriving police who swarmed up the walls of the maze and spread out, guns in hand.
Pete had heard the shooting, and had stood in the crowd, waiting, sure Moe had killed Frances. It wasn't until he had seen an ambulance arrive and watched Moe's dead body loaded on board and had seen Frances carried to a waiting police car that he had thought of his own safety.
He got away from the amusement park as quickly as he could, and knowing how quickly the mob swung into action, he had taken refuge in Sam's saloon.
The odds were he had only a few hours longer to live. The moment he showed himself on the streets he would be done for. He knew the technique well enough. A fast-moving car would pass him, and he would go down under a hail of bullets.
He lit a cigarette, drank a little of the whisky and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand. He couldn't stay in the saloon all day. If only he could find somewhere to hide until darkness came! It was just possible, under the cloak of darkness, he might get out of town, but in broad daylight with this accursed birth-mark to give him away, he wouldn't last ten minutes before they were on to him.
A shadow fell across the table, and he felt his heart leap in his chest. His right hand remained as if paralysed on the table, although his mind was frantically willing it to flash to his gun. He looked up.
A young girl, corn-coloured hair piled high on top of her head, wearing a red sweater and a white skirt, smiled down at him.
'Hello, bright eyes,' she said, leaning forward, her hands on the table and her breasts heavy against the thin casing of her sweater. 'Want a little company?'
He stared at her, trying to recover from the shock. What was the matter with him? He hadn't even seen her approach. Suppose it had been Dutch or one of the mob? He would have been dead by now without even having a chance to hit back.
'I have a place just around the corner,' the girl went on. 'We could have fun.' She smiled, showing small white teeth, but her eyes were hard and calculating as she looked down at him.
Pete realized the advantages of going with her. Once in her place he could hold a gun on her and wait until darkness came. But dare he leave the saloon? What did she mean: just round the corner? It might be a few yards or it might be a few hundred yards. These girls said anything to get you to go with them.
'Where's your place?' he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
'Just across the street, darling,' she said. 'Just at the corner. Will you come?'
'Well, all right,' he said, and stood up. He went over to the bar and paid for his drinks.
The barman gave him a long hard stare. There was something in the way the barman eyed him that frightened Pete. He walked quickly down the long room with the girl who held his arm.
'You seem nervous, honey,' the girl said, smiling at him. 'Don't tell me I'm your first?'
He didn't bother to answer as he stepped into the hot sunshine, feeling suddenly naked and horribly vulnerable on the bright, noisy waterfront.
'Where do we go?' he asked anxiously, his eyes searching the crowded scene, hunting for a familiar face.
'Just down here,' the girl said. She walked at his side with small mincing steps, balancing herself unsteadily on her three-inch heels. 'You'll like it. I've got a radio. If you make it worth my while I'll dance for you. Most of my friends like to watch me dance.'
She was leading him away from the waterfront towards a narrow dark street of tall sordid-looking houses.
He hurried her along, looking back from time to time over his shoulder, ready to break into a run at the slightest suspicious movement.
'Here we are,' the girl said, pausing outside a house at the corner of the street. 'I said it wasn't far, didn't I?'
She climbed the steps, opened her handbag and took out her latch key.
He followed her into a dimly lit, shabby hall, and as he shut the front door he drew in a tight gasping breath of relief. He had made it! He was at least safe now until dark. He had no qualms about handling the girl. She wouldn't start anything when he showed her his gun.
She began to climb the stairs, and he followed closely. When they reached the second-floor landing, she stopped outside a door facing the head of the stairs.
