The double glass doors swung open, and four men walked in. Two of them carried Thompson sub-machine-guns, the other two had Colt automatics in their hands. Four dark-skinned Wops: one of them was my pal with the dirty shirt cuffs. The two with the Thompsons fanned out and stood either side of the room where they had a clear field of fire.
The Wop with the dirty cuffs and a little dago with red-rimmed eyes marched across the room towards my table.
Stevens gave a kind of strangled grunt and started to his feet, but I grabbed him and shoved him back on his chair.
“Take it easy,” I hissed at him.
“All right, hold it!” one of the Wops with the Thompson said. His voice cut through the silent room like a bullet through a ton of ice-cream. “Sit still, and keep your yaps shut or we’ll put the blast on the lot of you!”
Everyone sat or stood as still as death. The scene looked like a stage set in a waxworks show. There was a bartender with his hand frozen on the soda pump, his eyes goggling. One of the elderly men’s fingers rested on his Queen as he was moving it to checkmate his friend. His face was tight with horror. The thin, pinched-looking girl sat with her eyes tight closed and her hands across her mouth. The Bobbysoxer leaned forward, her pretty, painted mouth hanging open and a shrill scream in her eyes.
As the Wop passed her, the scream popped out of her mouth. It made a shrill, jarring sound in the silent room, and cursing, the Wop hit her savagely with his gun barrel across her cute, silly little hat. He hit very hard, and the barrel made an ugly sound as it thudded on the straw of the hat, crushing it into her skull. She fell out of the chair, and blood began to run from her ears, making a puddle on the floor. The kid with her turned the colour of a fish’s belly and began to retch.
“Quiet, everybody!” the guy with the Thompson said, raising his voice.
I could see by the look of these Wops that if anyone made a move they would start shooting. They were ruthless, murderous and trigger-happy. All they wanted was an excuse. There was nothing I could do about it. Even if I had a gun I wouldn’t have started anything. A gun against two Thompsons is as useless as a toothpick against a foil, and I wouldn’t have been the only one to have got shot up.
The two Wops arrived at my table.