“Your split is twenty per cent of everything.” Crotti crushed his cigar out, leaned back and regarded Kells benignly. “Everything — the whole take.”
Kells was watching Crotti. He moved his eyes without moving his head, looked at Granquist. “That ought to pay for a lot of telephone calls,” he said.
“Then it’s a deal.”
“No.”
Crotti looked as if he’d found a cockroach in his soup. He said incredulously: “You mean it isn’t enough?”
“Too much.”
“Then why not?”
Kells said: “Because I don’t like it. Because I never worked for anybody in my life and I’m too old to start. Because I don’t like the racket, anyway — I was aced in. It’s full of tinhorns and two-bit politicians and double-crossers — the whole damned business gives me a severe pain in the backside.” He paused, glanced at Granquist.
“Rose and Fenner both tried to frame me,” he went on. “That made me mad and I fought back. I was lucky — I took advantage of a couple breaks and got myself into a spot where I could have some fun.”
He stood up. “Now you want to spoil my fun.”