“Where is Monk Thurman?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got to get out.”
The Homicide Twins hurried to the street. Only a few minutes had transpired since the shooting. No one had yet arrived on the scene. Genara drew Anelmo into a side alley, and they moved along quietly but hastily.
“No one must know of this,” insisted Genara. “That is, no one must know that we were mixed in it.”
“We owed it to them,” replied Anelmo.
“That’s good enough. But we’re in wrong with the big shot now, on account of that trouble at Marmosa’s.”
“Maybe he’ll be glad to hear about this.”
“What! After he’s been trying to patch up with Larrigan? We’ll be in wrong if this is hung on us. Let them think that Thurman did it. That may give us an excuse to get him later on, after Larrigan squawks to Savoli.”
Anelmo nodded his agreement, and the two men continued to hurry from the vicinity of the apartment house where they had laid in ambush awaiting the return of Monk Thurman and whoever might be with him.
Both Genara and Anelmo had believed that they were fighting the New York gunman, for the entrance of Schultz and Spirak had been almost simultaneous.