‘Yeah; this is business.’
She must have remembered I hadn’t been tight-fisted last time we met, and she stood aside.
‘Well, come on in. It’s not much of a place for visitors,’ she meant Myra.
We went into the room which was small and stuffy and skimpily furnished. A bed, a chest of drawers, a toilet basin and a threadbare rug were the only luxuries it could boast of.
‘I never got your name last time,’ I said, propping myself up against the wall.
‘Lola,’ the blonde said and sat on the bed. She wasn’t at ease with Myra in the room.
Myra rested her hips against the toilet-basin. She looked around the room with unconcealed curiosity. Lola watched her, waiting for some remark that didn’t come.
‘I’m after Betillo again,’ I said quietly. ‘Remember? The last time we met I’d been to see him with a club in my hand.’
‘What’s he done to you this time?’ Lola asked, looking interested. ‘I still hate that heel.’
‘Nothing to me personally, but to her boy friend.’ I said, waving a hand towards Myra. ‘Nick Perelli.’