The two men looked at each other. Mendetta, fat, well dressed, but terrified; and Raven, cold, thin and shabby.
Raven said, “I can’t stay here all night.”
Already Mendetta’s brain was formulating a scheme. His signature on a bit of paper would mean nothing.
He would give the signal as soon as Raven had left to have him killed. My God! He’d been a fool not to have got rid of him before. He reached out and pulled the pad towards him. With a hand that no longer trembled he wrote, handing his share of the 22nd Club over to Raven. He signed it with a flourish.
“Give me until tomorrow,” he said, throwing the pad across the table. “I’ll get out by tomorrow.”
Raven stretched out his hand and took the pad; he glanced at the writing and then put the pad in his pocket.
“You don’t have to go, Tootsie,” he said quietly. “You’ll be better off here.”
Mendetta suddenly went cold. He got slowly to his feet. “Listen, Raven,” he said feverishly, “this is on the level. I’ve done what you wanted” He broke off as he saw the vicious gleam in Raven’s eye. With a whimper of terror, Mendetta turned and ran blindly across the room and began to pound on Jean’s door. “Don’t let him kill me… Jean! Stop him! Stop him! Jean, you wouldn’t let him kill”
Moving softly, Raven stepped behind him and shot him through the head. The gun only made a little hissing sound.
Mendetta was opening the door as he fell. The door swung open violently and he sprawled into the room.