“Hamsley’s been digging Poison’s wife. He’s been playin’ her for a sucker for weeks. She’s spent a heap of jack on him.”
“That’s what he’s at the Club for, ain’t it?” Mendetta demanded impatiently. “Ain’t he givin’ you a cut?”
Grantham laughed bitterly. “It’s not that. The old siren fell for him, and he couldn’t take it. She took him out last night and tried to rape him. He ran away, the yellow punk.”
Mendetta’s fat face relaxed a little. “Well, what of it? You can’t hold the boy up for that. Hell! I’ve seen that dame. She’d turn anyone’s stomach.”
“That so? Well, know what she’s done? She’s squawked to Poison. Said Hamsley’s tried to rape her. How do you like that?”
“She’s crazy. Poison ain’t goin’ to believe a yarn like that.”
“No? Well, let me tell you he’s hoppin’ mad right at this moment. Maybe he doesn’t believe it, but she’s got herself in such a state, she does. That’s enough for Poison. She’s makin’ him get mad. Listen, Tootsie, this is serious. Poison’s goin’ to try an’ close us up.”
Mendetta sneered. “Let him,” he said. “What the hell do we care? They’ve got nothin’ on us. He can’t close us up.”
Grantham cleared his throat. “You don’t know Poison as well as I do. He’ll attack us in that rag of his. He might turn somethin’ up.”
Mendetta considered this. “Not as long as I’m alive,” he said at last. “I’ll go round an’ see that guy. We’ll give him Hamsley, but he’s got to lay off us.”