Kells said: “Let’s go and see if Mister MacAlmon is in.”
He and Faber got out of the car and they all went up the street and into the Villa Dora.
Mister MacAlmon was in. He stood in the middle of his high-ceilinged living room with his hands in the air.
Kells said: “I’m sorry about this. I haven’t anything against you or Hesse — if Hesse is in with you? But I’ve got plenty against Crotti and plenty against your whole bloody combination. I’ve been double-crossed to death. I’m goddamned tired of it — an’ I need the dough.”
MacAlmon was almost as tall as Kells. His thick brown hair was combed straight back from a high narrow forehead, and his eyes were dark, sharp.
He said: “This is plain robbery. How far do you think you’re going to get with it?”
“Don’t be silly.” Kells looked at the stack of currency on the table. “I’ll have the federal narcotic squad on their way out here in two minutes — and I’ll see that you’re here when they get here. Then all they’ll have to do is wait for the stuff to come in. When you’re pinched on a dope deal that’s this big, see who you can get to listen to a squawk about money.”
Borg was leaning against the outer door spinning the blunt revolver around his forefinger. Faber had waited outside.
Kells went to the telephone on a low round table, picked it up. “I’ve never called ‘copper’ on anybody in my life,” he said. “But here it is...” He spun the dial.
MacAlmon put his hand down. He said: “Wait a minute.” He sat down in a big chair and leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He looked at Kells and his face was flushed and he tried very hard to smile. “Wait a minute.”