Henry continued to pace up and down, ferociously chewing his tattered cigar. “What do you know about Gerry Hamsley?” he barked suddenly.
Jay shrugged. “Oh, he’s a nice kid. He dances at Grantham’s joint. Gigolobut a better type of the usual breed.”
“Yeah?” Henry planted himself in front of Jay. “A better type, hey? Well, let me tell you that guy has started somethin’ that will mean my job and yours as well.”
Jay opened his eyes. “You don’t say,” he said. “What’s it all about?”
“The little swine tried to rape Poison’s wife last night.”
“What?” Jay sat up, his face startled, then he remembered Mrs. Poison and suddenly began to laugh. He lay limply in his chair and howled with laughter. Henry stood over him, his face black with fury.
“Shut up, you coarse−minded Mick!” he yelled. “There’s nothing to laugh about. Do you hear me? Shut up!”
Jay mopped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Chief, but damn it, you ain’t swallowin’ a yam like that? Gee! Is it likely?
She’s old enough to be his mother, an’ she’s as fat an’ as ugly as an elephant.”
Henry snarled, “Want me to phone Poison and tell him that? He’s been on to me. My God! You ought to have heard him. He’s in a terrible way.”