“Ain’t figgerin’ yet. Gotta find out more. Gotta find that girl. Gotta find him. Ef they’re both gone, they’re gone together. You all didn’t think fer a little minute that guy told a straight story, did you? You all didn’t believe he’d give up a business that was rollin’ in the money hand over fist jest fer what he called conscience, did ya? Just because he thought it wasn’t a nice, pretty little business? Not on your bottom dollar he didn’t.”
“Mebbe he got cold feet,” suggested Cottar.
“Cold feet? That guy get cold feet? Nope, you don’t know him. Nothin’ couldn’t ever make him get cold feet. I know that guy. I seen him in France. He’d walked right outta the dugout just after his bunk had been shot away an’ smoke a cigarette as cool as if he was takin’ a ride in a pleasure park. Nothin’ didn’t never faze him. He’d just eat up danger. He thrived on it. No, sir, the only thing he’d ever fall fer was a skirt, an’ it’s a skirt that’s done it this time fer sure ur I don’t know nothin’. No siree, he’s got that last cache all salted down somewheres, good and rich you bet, an’ he’s throwed us off’n the track an’ thinks we can’t find out where he got it from ner where he’s sold it to, but we’ll show him we’re too smart fer him. I ain’t got red hair fer nothin’. I wouldn’t ha thought he’d a lied to me, we was like brothers, we was; in France, I took him back to the base when he got his, an’ he brang me a drink when I had the fever an’ was left on the field with the little love messages comin’ over constant from the enemy all around me, he just walked out calm as you please, just like he always is, an’ said, ‘Tough luck, kid, but we’ll pull you outta here—’”
“Cut that!” said Bill sharply, “We ain’t hearin’ any soft soap. We come here to get fair play an’ justice. He’s a sharper he is! He’s a slick robber! He promised us a big deal when we went into this here dangerous business, an’ he’s went back on his word. He let us take all the risks, an’ he hung round in the bushes. An’ then here he comes along after he gets the business goin’ fine to suit him an’ pays us a couppla hundreds apiece an’ says he’s done. That he’s decided to leave off. Now—Tyke, you there, you just might ez well understand what I’m sayin’, we ain’t takin’ no soldier boy blarney about this guy at all. He’s turned yaller, an’ took all the dough! Bought us off with a trifle, an’ skipped the country! Left us here to face the music while he skips out with a dame an’ spends his thousands. No, sir, I ain’t no fool. Drink o’ water ain’t in it. Get him a knockout. That’s what he needs, an’ we’re here to do it, d’ya hear, Tyke?”
“Oh, shure, I’m with ya boys, I was only tellin’ ya, he ain’t no bloomin’ coward, an’ don’t ya reckon on that. He’ll take his medicine with a smile if we ever catch him to feed it to him, an’ don’t you ferget it.”
“Well, I’m a goin’ to knock that there bloomin’ smile off his pretty face,” declared Bill. “Get me?”
“Here too!” declared Tyke lustily. “But we gotta find the skirt.”
“We gotta make one more try fer the boodle,” declared Bill, “an’ that we’re goin’ to do t’night. I been figgerin’ we ain’t looked carefully down at that first place we went, out near the point ya know. There’s a spot down behind some hazels—” he lowered his voice and looked around the room at the hazy groups around the tables and finished his sentence in a whisper.
A door opened across the room, a face shone with a white pallor through the blue haze of smoke, and a low, sibilant voice uttered a single sentence:
“Cop’s comin’.”