They moved along the waterfront, idly watching the shipping. Fenner paused suddenly. He regarded a large luxury motor-launch that was lying off the short jetty. He said, “Swell boat.”
Bugsey screwed up his eyes. “Yeah,” he said wistfully. “I’d like a tub like that.”
Fenner looked at him curiously. “What in hell would you do with it, anyway?” he asked.
Bugsey heaved a sigh. “Me? I’d get a flock of dames an’ I’d take ’em out in that tub. When I got in the middle of the Strait every one of ’em would have to jump through the hoop or swim home. That’s what I’d do.”
Fenner wasn’t listening to him, he was staring at a girl who had come up from the big cabin. She was a red-gold blonde with a high-breasted body, long legs, and long, narrow feet. She wore white trousers, red sandals and a red high-necked jersey. Fenner felt a little prickle of excitement. He knew who she was. He could see the points of likeness. He had come upon Marian Daley’s sister.
Bugsey noticed her too. He whistled softly. “What a frill!” he said.
Fenner said, “Know who she is?”
“Me? Don’t make me laugh. Think I’d be standin’ here if I did?” Bugsey looked at her wistfully. Then he said, “Think the breastworks are the McCoy, or is it a French trick?”
Fenner didn’t hear him. He saw the name on the boat, Nancy W, and he wandered on. “Havin’ you around cramps my style,” he said. “Alone, I’d’ve made that dame.”
Bugsey sneered. “You wouldn’t’ve got to first base. A frill like that’s class She’s got no time for hoods.”