“I’ve got nothing now,” he said, “but I can get it. You don’t want to throw yourself away on a little rat like Ernie. Name something and you shall have it.”
“Oh, shut up!” Cora snapped. “You’re nothing but a cheap bluffer. You live in dreams. I want more than dreams, and I’m going to have more than dreams.”
The Luger dug into George’s hip. It gave him extraordinary confidence in himself. Thoughts crowded into his desperate frustrated mind. He had killed a man! Nothing else that he could do could be worse than that. Even if he killed another man, it wouldn’t be worse than the first killing. Once a gangster kills there is no stopping him. He had read that som ewhere, and it was true. Sooner or later Crispin’s body would be found. Bodies were always found. Then the hunt would be on. If the police didn’t get him, then Emily and Max and the two Greeks would. Well, until then he was going to live his life to the full. He was going to have Cora. He wasn’t enduring this black, ghastly frustration any longer. If he had to buy her, then he’d buy her, no matter what the cost.
He reached out suddenly and caught hold of Cora’s arm. He jerked her down beside him on the settee. The silk wrap parted, and he had a momentary glimpse of her that tipped the scales of his sanity. He caught her to him and held her, his great strength crushing her, frightening her.
“What do you want?” he said, her hair against his face. “I mean it. There’s nothing I can’t get for you.”
“Let me go!” she said. “Will you let me go!”
He released her and sat back.
“Well?” he said. “What do you want?”
Cora could scarcely believe this was the same man. The hard face, the wild, desperate eyes, chilled her. But she was quick to see that she must call this ridiculous bluff. In his present state of mind, she felt he was dangerous. He might do anything unless she provided an outlet for his pent-up, violent repression.
“I want a complete outfit,” she said. “And I want it now. Give me that, if you can, you cheap bluffer.”