“I’ve got a job for you,” Seigel said curtly. “You and Pete are to handle it: the works, understand? Pete will do the hitting, you’ll take care of the wheel. Get Pete, and stick to your end of the phone until you hear from me. I’ll let you have the address as soon as I get it.”
“Hey! Don’t we case the joint first?” Moe’s voice sounded startled.
“You won’t have time. The job’s got to be done within a half-hour of you getting the address; after that the cops move in. It’s important; no slipping up, Moe. I’m holding you responsible; understand?”
“Sure,” Moe said.
“Make it a pick job: no noise and quick. I’ll call you any time from now on, so stick close,” and Seigel dropped the receiver back on its hook. He walked quickly along the passage to his office and pushed open the door.
Maurer and Gollowitz were still in the room. Dolores, Maurer’s wife, had joined them.
Seigel looked at her, feeling his blood quicken; something that always happened to him whenever he saw her.
Dolores was his idea of a woman. No other woman he had ever known excited him as she did. He knew she was as beyond his reach as the snow-capped heights of Everest, but that didn’t stop him thinking about her, conjuring up dreams of her and lying awake at nights sweating for her.
She had married Maurer for his money and his power. Seigel knew that, and he knew also she was paying a high price for the position she held.
Maurer by now was sated with women. He had only to lift a finger for any girl to throw herself at him. His control of the movie unions, the night spots along the Californian coast and the big theatres gave him power over the big movie stars as well as the little stars. Even June Arnot, with her fabulous wealth, had thrown herself at him. To him, Dolores was just one more woman, and he treated her as such.