Gus drew a rubber truncheon from his back pocket. He balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “Sure,” he said, and grinned.
Mardi came over to me, but the fat guy stepped between us. “We don’t want to get tough,” he said, “but we will if you don’t behave.”
She looked at me and I gave her a pale grin. I was feeling bad about all this. Then she squared her shoulders and picked up her wrap.
The fat guy stepped to her side. “That’s fine,” he said. “Now we go downstairs, if you start anythin’, Gus’ll wash up the punk. Hear that, Gus?”
Gus said, “Sure.” He threw my overcoat cape-wise over my shoulders and jerked his head. We all went out into the corridor and went silently down into the street. There was a big closed car standing outside the house. The streets were deserted and the pale dawn was coming up over the roofs. It would be over an hour before any one would be around on the streets.
Gus shoved me in the back of the car and the fat guy got in next. Mardi followed. We three sat in a row. Gus went to the front and climbed under the wheel. He switched on the ignition and engaged the gears. The car shot away from the kerb at a high speed.
The fat guy said to Mardi: “You ain’t got to get scared. I’d be sortta soft with a honey like you if you were nice.”
“Listen, greaseball,” I put in. “Suppose you skip your stuff. It gives me a pain.”
His face suddenly set. “I’m getting mighty tired of you,” he said. “You’re goin’ to run into plenty of grief before long.”
I wondered what chance I had if I jumped him. I thought I could sock him in his puss with my two hands and while he was getting his breath I might do some more damage.