“Not a chance,” he said. “I don’t care how wise he thinks he is. Nobody figures this racket as anything but independent. It ends with me — and I’m safe enough so long as I let it slide.”
He listened again, and a leering grin appeared upon his face. Evidently he was receiving good news.
“I’m in on it?” he said. “Everything the same as before, only I just got to lay low? Great! Yeah! I’ll keep Ernie ready. He’s the guy that tipped me off to what was coming. He’s wise!
“But listen. This bird Hargins, with the dock wallopers — Big Ben, they call him. He’s sore because he lost six guys out of his mob — What’s that — it’s good?”
For a moment, Killer Durgan seemed amazed; then, as more words came over the wire, his grin reappeared.
“I get you!” he said. “All ready for the big job, eh? Then we’ll have another racket on the list! O.K. Mum’s the word!”
He hung up the receiver and put the telephone away. He sat down in a big chair and pulled a cigar from his pocket.
Killer Durgan was pleased.
“A good racket gone blooey,” he said in a low voice. “A smart guy thinks he’s queered it. He’ll be watching, expecting me to try to pull it out of the fire.
“But I’m too wise! I’ve got to lay low — and I can do it nice, now. The lower I lay, the better it’ll be.