The Wop’s face was close to Billy Kane’s, and the Wop’s face was suddenly pinched and white. He touched his lips with his tongue. And then, as suddenly, the blood flushed back, and he thrust out his under jaw truculently.
“They would, eh—the dirty swabs!” he snarled. “Who are they? I’ll make ’em crawl for this!”
Billy Kane smiled grimly.
“No, I guess not!” he said softly. “You’re very much better out of it. But I promise you they’ll not get away with it if you’ll do what you are told now.”
The Wop knuckled his forehead in a perplexed way.
“What do you want me to do?” There was a lingering sullen note in the Wop’s voice.
“Just this,” said Billy Kane quietly. “I want you to get out from under. You’re not looking for another five years in Sing Sing, are you?”
The Wop flinched. He drew his knuckles again across his eyes.
“No,” he said hoarsely.
Billy Kane nodded.