Glorie shook her head. “I told you I haven’t got a place.”
Fenner smiled. “We’ll go where you keep your clothes. That evening dress looks sort of out of place at this time.”
Glorie hesitated, then she said, “Listen, I honestly don’t want to be mixed up with Carlos. Will you please excuse me?”
Fenner pushed her into the car. “It’s too late, baby,” he said unpleasantly. “I can’t have anyone shootin’ you up whenever they want to. You’ve got to stick by me for a while.”
She heaved a sigh. “Okay. I’ve got a little place off Sponge Pier.”
Fenner nodded to Bugsey. “Sponge Pier, fast,” he said.
Bugsey climbed into the car and Fenner followed him. He sat close to Glorie, keeping his grips upright between his legs. “There’s goin’ to be an awful lot of fun in this joint pretty soon,” he said. “Maybe I’ll get somewhere or maybe I won’t, but whatever happens to me, Carlos’ll go first.”
Glorie said, “You quite hate that guy, don’t you?”
Fenner looked ahead. His eyes were very cold. “You bet,” he said curtly.
About a half mile past Sponge Pier, hidden by a thick cluster of palm trees, was a small bungalow. Bugsey ran the car through the small landscape garden and parked it outside the door. A wide piazza screened by green sun-blinds encircled the house, and every window had green wooden sun-shutters.