GOSHAWK said, “I found out about the dame over the way. Her name’s Marie Leroy. She’s flat broke an’
wants to go to Hollywood. Thinks she’s a dancer. She’s an orphan, and can’t get a job. At the end of the week she’ll be told to dust.”
Raven lit a cigarette. His fireplace was littered with stubs. “What’s she goin’ to do?”
Goshawk shrugged. “I’ll tell you what she won’t do,” he said with a sly smile. “She won’t decorate no guy’s bed. That kind of a dame is a so−far−and−no−mother dame.”
Raven sneered. “That’s what you think,” he said. “Given the opportunity, the time, and if you kid ’em enough, it’s a cinch with any dame.”
“Yeah?” Goshawk shook his head. “You ain’t thinkin’ of havin’ a try, are you? I shouldn’t have thought your mind was on dames. You’ve got your hands full, ain’t you?”
Raven ignored him. He got up from the rickety armchair. “I want you to get me a pair of tinted eye−glasses,” he said, “an’ some bleachin’ stuff for my hair.”
Goshawk’s eyes narrowed. “Thinkin’ of pullin’ outta here?”
“Nope. Just makin’ myself look different.”
“Okay, I’ll get ’em,” and he went out.