“He’s all right,” Gollowitz said carefully. “He slipped up on Weiner, but I’ve never had any trouble with him before.”
Ferrari nodded.
“One slip would ruin even a very good man where I come from,” he said, and walked slowly over to the door. “Still, it’s your affair.”
He went out and along the passage to the bar. He felt like a drink. He seldom drank, but after a successful killing he usually allowed himself one small whisky.
As he entered the bar he saw Dolores come in through the opposite entrance. He paused for a moment, his sunken eyes taking in her lithe, sensual beauty, then he crossed over and joined her.
She was leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, and she didn’t notice Ferrari as he came up behind her. But his presence was like the presence of a snake, and she sensed him, as one senses danger, and she looked quickly round.
As she looked into the still, lifeless eyes, a chill of fear went through her.
“What are you drinking?” Ferrari asked, his head just appearing over the top of the bar. “Let me join you. Beautiful women should never be alone.”
She not only sensed the danger in him, but she also sensed his power. With any other man of his appearance she would have crushed him, but she knew at once this man couldn’t be crushed.
“I want a martini,” she said, looking away from him. “You are a stranger here, aren’t you?”