He turned on his heel, and walked toward the entrance to the gambling den. Steve Cronin thrust his hand to his pocket and gripped the handle of an automatic. Then he thought better, and restrained himself.
Monk Thurman entered the gambling den unmolested. He saw Joe le Blanc and Harry Vincent in one corner, and nodded his head in greeting. Then he observed the Homicide Twins, and walked over to them.
“So you’re the fellows that moved out the other night, eh?” he said. “Lucky for you I was around here. When you have any more trouble, just give me a call. You’ll find me here.”
He handed a card to Anelmo. The Sicilian glowered as he received it.
“Who’s the tough guy you got outside?” questioned Monk. “Cronin? Is that his name? He was going to pull a gat on me.
“Well, that makes three of them out to get me. I hear that Schultz and Spirak are tailing me. Maybe I’ll have to call on you two to help me out. Maybe — not!”
HE turned away, apparently indifferent to the anger that appeared on the faces of the hot-blooded Sicilians. Then he spied Frank Marmosa, and shook hands with the proprietor of the gambling den.
“Smart guy, eh?” hissed Genara, to Anelmo.
The other man responded in Italian. The two carried on a low-voiced conversation.
“Do you remember what I said last night?” asked Anelmo.