The blond man got to his feet. His face was white now with vicious rage. “Take care of this lout, Nick,” he said. “Get the girl away from him “
George thought, desperately, furiously, They won’t have her! They’ll have to kill me first. If I’d only got my gun! He put his hand behind him and pushed Cora against the wall; he stood in front of her, crouching a little, his left fist extended, his right slightly across his body. Vaguely he remembered seeing James Cagney stand like this, protecting his girl. Cagney had faced a room full of thugs and he’d licked the lot! George eyed the two hard little men, who kept just out of his reach, like two terriers waiting for an opening to jump in. The blond man was still behind his table: he was wiping his face with a napkin.
“You’d better be careful,” George said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”
The blond man suddenly laughed. “Fix the fat fool,” he said sharply. “Go for him!”
The Greek called Nick edged closer, and George swung wildly at him. His great fist smashed into empty air, as the Greek shifted his head.
Cora screamed and clutched at George, hampering him
Then suddenly long, thin blades flashed in the shaded light. The sight of the glittering steel shocked George’s courage into a frozen ball of terror.
Something flashed, and pain seared him.
They’ll kill me! he thought, and like a wounded, terrified bull, he lashed out frantically.
A red curtain of terror hung before George’s eyes. He heard Cora scream. Then he found himself on the floor, a rattling, groaning noise in his ears, and he realized that he was making the noise himself.