Cora sipped her whisky. Her eyebrows lifted.
“I had a little fun,” she said quietly. “Crispin’s share is on ice at the moment, isn’t it, George?”
George grunted. He had no idea why she was talking like this. To him it seemed dangerous. If they were going to get their own back on Crispin, why tell this sordid little man about it? Suppose he warned Crispin?
“Well, well.” Little Ernie studied George, who was scowling down at the floor. He thought George looked a pretty tough hombre.
“He put me over a table and flogged me with a cane,” Cora said calmly. “It hurt like hell… it still hurts like hell.”
Little Ernie’s eyes bulged. “Gawd!” he exclaimed. “’E must lave been barmy to do a thing like that to you.”
Cora nodded. “George thinks so, too. In fact, George got quite annoyed about it. The Greeks had to cool him with razors. Now, of course, George is really mad. Aren’t you, George!”
“Yes,” George said uncomfortably.
He tried to show how angry he was by scowling at little Ernie and tightening his mouth. He had no idea how menacing he looked. He never took into account his great bulk, nor the fact that when he frowned his big, fleshy face was misleadingly hard and coarse. The strips of plaster also added to the effect. It was impressive enough to make Little Ernie whistle again.
“Well, for crying out loud,” he said, “what’s going to ’appen?”