‘Look, don’t let’s have any misunderstanding. We don’t want to kill this guy: we just want to make him talk.’
She gave me a look that sent a prickle up my spine.
‘Get him here, and I’ll make him talk.’
I stood up.
‘Well, come on. Let’s go.’
She pulled open a drawer and took out a .25, checked the clip and pushed the gun into her hip pocket. She finished her whisky, glanced at herself in the mirror.
‘Jeepers! I look a fright. I’m glad Nick isn’t here to see me.’
‘He’d be glad to see you however you look,’ I reminded her and went to the door.
She turned out the light, and together we walked down the garden path to the Buick.
‘Suppose we collect Barratt and make him talk,’ she said as she settled herself in the car beside me. Wouldn’t that save a little time?’