“What about the mob?”
“Some of ‘em got out right after us; but the coppers nabbed them. Ben and I got away because we came first. We ducked the cops when they saw us, and they came running over just in time to nab the rest of the crowd.”
“The whole mob?”
“All that got out” — Ernie laughed hoarsely — “but that ain’t all of ‘em. Some of ‘em got trapped, and ain’t ever going to get out!”
“That means some of my mob, too,” interposed Hargins. “It’s going to be a job squaring this with Bart Hennesy, I’ll tell you that! He didn’t like the idea in the first place; he’ll like it less, now.
“Say — how about that dough that I’ve got coming to me?” He looked at Ernie; then at Durgan. “How about it?”
“How about it?” answered Ernie jeeringly. “Fat chance you have of getting it! It was to be paid after the job” — he looked toward Durgan for approval — “and the job ain’t been done!”
“No?” Big Ben thrust out his jaw. “Well, it ain’t my fault the job went sour, and if you guys don’t want a run-in with Bart Hennesy, you’d better come clean.”
“Pay him the money!” ordered Durgan. “Not here! Somewheres else. And get going now, you guys! I’ve got plenty to worry about without you being here!”
THERE was a knock at the door. Mike Wharton came in as Ernie and Ben were leaving. The garage manager’s face was solemn. He was anxious to talk with Durgan, but he kept his patience until the others were gone.