‘Get out!’ he said. ‘Take that bracelet with you! I wouldn’t touch it if you gave it to me!’
Baird’s hand shot out and gripped Rico’s shirt front. He hauled him out of his chair, dragged him across the desk, sweeping papers, the cigarette-box, the rack of fountain pens and the telephone to the floor. He stood up, lifting Rico off his feet. Rico hung in Baird’s grip like a sawdust doll, staring with protruding eyes at Baird’s expressionless face.
‘I said five Cs,’ Baird said softly.
He slapped Rico’s face with his left hand. He slapped it four times, very hard, knocking Rico’s head from one side to the other. The sound of the slaps was like the bursting of a paper bag. Then he let go of Rico, who staggered against his desk, his knees buckling.
‘Snap it up,’ Baird said, ‘or you’l get some more.’
Rico staggered to his desk and sat down. His hand went to his cheek, which had puffed up and had turned the colour of port wine. He opened a drawer, took out a bundle of bills and counted out five of them. With a shaking hand he pushed the bills across the desk.
Baird picked them up, tossed the bracelet into Rico’s lap and pocketed the bills.
‘Why do you have to do it the hard way?’ he asked. ‘When I want anything, I damn well get it. You should know that by now.’
Rico didn’t say anything. His fingers caressed his burning face, but he picked up the bracelet and dropped it into his pocket.
‘I’ll let you know where I get to,’ Baird went on as if nothing had happened. ‘I’ll be back in a week if she doesn’t croak. I’ve another little job lined up that might be something. If you hear of anything that’d fit me, keep it on ice until you hear from me? Okay?’