“You don’t ever get another bindle,” he replied.
“Wait!” she admonished. “I wasn’t through with what I started to say a minute ago. You’ve been hitting it long enough, Wilson, to know what one of our kind will do to get it. You know that either you or I would sacrifice soul and body if there was no other way. We would lie, or steal, or—murder! Do you get that, Wilson—murder? There is just one thing that I won’t do, but that one thing is not murder, Wilson. Listen!” She lifted her face close to his and looked him straight in the eyes. “If you ever try to take it away from me, or keep it from me, Wilson, I shall kill you.”
Her tone was cold and unemotional, and because of that, perhaps, the threat seemed very real. The man paled.
“Aw, come!” he cried. “What’s the use of our scrapping? I was only kidding, anyway. Run along and take a shot—it’ll make you feel better.”
“Yes,” she said, “I need one; but don’t get it into your head that I was kidding. I wasn’t. I’d just as lief kill you as not—the only trouble is that killing’s too damned good for you, Wilson!”
She walked toward the bathroom door.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, pausing, “Allen called up this afternoon. He’s in town, and will be up after dinner. He wants his money.”
She entered the bathroom and closed the door. Crumb lighted another cigarette and threw himself into an easy chair, where he sat scowling at a temple dog on a Chinese rug.
The Japanese “schoolboy” opened a door and announced dinner, and a moment later Gaza joined Crumb in the little dining room. They both smoked throughout the meal, which they scarcely tasted. The girl was vivacious and apparently happy. She seemed to have forgotten the recent scene in the living room. She asked questions about the new picture.
“We’re going to commence shooting Monday,” he told her. Momentarily he waxed almost enthusiastic. “I’m going to have trouble with that boob author, though,” he said. “If they’d kick him off the lot, and give me a little more money, I’d make ’em the greatest picture ever screened!”