Rico closed his eyes. He had visions of Olin cornering him. He saw the room at headquarters with its one blinding light, and the big coppers crowding around him with their blackjacks. He started out of his chair, sweat running down his face.
‘Where can I go?’ he yammered, catching hold of Baird’s coat front. ‘What about the club? What the hell am I going to do?’
Baird threw him off.
‘You can come with me to Red River Basin. That’s where I’m going,’ he said. ‘Have you forgot en?
There’s half a mil ion or more to be picked up there, and it’s where Olin can’t get at us. What do you care about this lousy club if you can get your hands on money like that?’
Rico gulped and gaped at Baird.
‘It’l turn out to be another of your bright ideas,’ he whined. ‘How do I know I shan’t be in a worse jam?’
‘You couldn’t be in a worse jam,’ Baird said brutal y. ‘Get moving. Collect all the dough you can lay hands on, and make it fast.’
Rico staggered out of the room, and Baird heard him calling to Luigi. Shrugging his shoulders, Baird sat down and helped himself to another whisky. The only regret he felt for leaving town was that he wouldn’t get the chance of seeing Anita again. He had found out where she worked, and most nights he parked his car near the restaurant to watch her come out when the restaurant closed. Sometimes he followed her home, and spent a half an hour watching the light in her window, seeing her pass and repass as she moved about the room, preparing for bed. He made no attempt to speak to her, and he was careful that she shouldn’t see him. He told himself again and again he was get ing soft in the head, and he was wasting his time, but the fascination of seeing her from a distance was irresistible to him.
Rico returned ten minutes later. He carried a suitcase which he placed on the table.