“The point is,” Kerrigan said, “it’s a very rough neighborhood and it’s especially bad for a woman.”
Channing inclined his head and gave Kerrigan a side glance. “Maybe you’re just sitting here and pulling my leg.”
Kerrigan didn’t reply.
“Something bothers you,” Channing said. “You’re not chatting with me just to pass the time.” He leaned forward, and his gaze was intent. “What’s really on your mind?”
“Nothing special,” Kerrigan said.
Channing drank more whisky. He kept the glass in his hand and stared at it. “Maybe you’re a mugger. Maybe you’re building up to some clever dodge. Like getting me alone somewhere and knocking my brains out and taking my wallet.”
“Could be,” Kerrigan agreed. “In a neighborhood like this, you never know who you’re dealing with. It’s always smart to be careful.”
Channing laughed softly. “My friend, let me tell you something. I don’t give a damn what happens to me.”
Kerrigan watched him as he finished the whisky in the glass and lifted the bottle to pour some more. The glass was filled again and Channing had it almost half empty when there was the sound of a door opening and Kerrigan looked up and saw the woman coming into Dugan’s Den.
She was walking toward the table. She moved slowly, casually, with a certain poise that blended with her face and body. She had a very beautiful face and her figure was slender and elegant. She had long wavy hair and greenish eyes. Her height was around five-four and she appeared to be in her middle twenties.