Faber nodded, drank. He put down his glass and stood up. “Villa Dora — that’s below Sunset Boulevard, isn’t it?”
Beery said: “Yes — between Sunset and Fountain.”
Kells was looking out the window. “They’ll probably come in between two this afternoon and nine tonight. You’d better get something to eat before you go out.”
Faber said: “Okay.” He put on his hat and said, “So long,” and went out.
Beery smiled at Kells. “Are you going mysterious on me?”
“Those three cases are full of cocaine” — Kells was looking at Granquist — “according to my steer. A hundred and fifteen thousand dollars’ worth — and there’s a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars in cash waiting for them some place in the Villa Dora. It’s Crotti’s stuff and I have a hunch Max Hesse is on the buying end. I don’t want the junk — I want the dough.”
Beery stood up. He said: “Gerry — you’re losing your mind. When you buck Crotti you’re bucking a machine. They’ll have a dozen guns trained on that deal — every angle figured—”
Granquist interrupted: “He’s right. Gerry — you can’t...”
“What do you think about it?” Kells was staring morosely at Borg.
Borg put a black ten on a red Jack. “It’d be a nice lick,” he said.