George Fraser smiled. “I said,” he returned, in his clipped, cold voice.
Dillinger made a growling noise deep in his throat and his hand flashed to his hip pocket.
Capone, sitting next to him, grabbed frantically at his wrist. His fat face was blue-white with fear. “Do you want to commit suicide?” he yelled. “You don’t stand a chance with Fraser!”
Dillinger, swearing under his breath, tried to break Capone’s grip, and the table rocked as the two men wrestled. A bottle of whisky toppled and smashed to pieces on the floor.
“Let him alone, Al,” George Fraser called. “If he wants to play it that way, you’d better give him some air.”
Capone shot a terrified look at George Fraser. The pale, set face and the eyes that were now like chips o f ice completely unnerved him. He nearly fell over himself to get away from Dillinger.
“Look out!” he cried. “He’s going to shoot!”
The other three at the table kicked their chairs away and jumped clear, while some of the men who had been standing in the shadows threw themselves on the floor.
Dillinger, alone at the table, sat motionless, glaring at George Fraser.
“Okay, Johnny,” George Fraser said mockingly, “go for your gun. What are you waiting for?”