Kells stared at Borg vacantly. “So I’m going up an’ tell Rose about Beery — about Beery’s wife.”
Granquist opened the door suddenly, got out on the sidewalk on the other side of the car. She held her arms stiff at her sides and her hands were clenched; she was trembling violently. She walked up the sidewalk about thirty feet — walked as if she were making a tremendous effort to walk slowly. Then she turned and leaned against a telephone pole and looked back at the car.
Kells watched her; he could not see her face in the darkness, only the dim outline of her body. He turned slowly to Borg.
“You can wait here,” he said. “Or maybe you’d better wait down at the first corner this side of Ansel’s. And stay with the car — both of you.”
Borg said: “All right.”
Kells walked up to Granquist. He stood looking down at her a little while, asked: “What’s the matter, baby?”
Her voice, when she finally answered, was elaborately sarcastic. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” Then her tone changed abruptly — she put one trembling hand on his arm. “Gerry — don’t do this,” she said. “Let it go — please this time...”
He was smiling a little. He shook his head slightly.
She took her hand from his arm and her voice was suddenly acid, metallic. “You — and your pride! Your long chances — your little tin-horn revenge!” She laughed shrilly, hysterically. “You’ve seen too many gangster pictures — that’s what’s wrong with you...”
Kells was staring at her expressionlessly. He turned abruptly, strode back toward the car.