Dillinger rose slowly to his feet. He swept his chair out of the way and crouched.
“Bet you a hundred bucks I can put five slugs in your pumper before your rod shows,” George Fraser said, letting his hands hang loosely at his sides.
Dillinger cursed him, and then his arm moved with the speed of a striking snake. A heavy, snub-nosed automatic jumped as if by magic into George Fraser’s hand. The room rocked with the sound of gunfire.
Dillinger, his eyes wide and sightless, crashed to the floor and rolled over on his back.
“Take a look at him, Charlie,” George Fraser said, his eyes on the group of men huddled against the wall.
Charlie Lucky, after a moment’s hesitation, reached forward, pulled Dillinger’s coat back and ripped open his shirt.
“Five slugs, “he said, his voice cracking; “all in the same spot.”
“Good morning, Mr George,” Ella said, putting a cup of watery tea on the bamboo table by the bed. “Did I wake you?”
“Hmm?” George Fraser asked. He looked up with blank astonishment at Ella in her frowsy blue uniform and her ridiculous cap perched on the top of her mouse-coloured hair. “Good Lord! You gave me quite a turn. I didn’t hear you come in. I must’ve been dozing…”
“It’s ever such a lovely morning,” Ella went on, crossing the drab little room, and pulling up the blind. “The sun’s shining and there ain’t a cloud in the sky.”