Rourke’s long legs brought him to the door hastily. “What is the score, Will?” He stopped in the doorway and whistled shrilly, sniffing the cognac-laden air and grimacing. “You certainly didn’t lose any time after getting rid of Phyl.”
“Shesh nish gal,” Shayne protested. “’Shnot what you think.”
“By God, this breaks it,” Gentry roared angrily. “I’ve stood up for you in a lot of tough places, Mike, but it was because I thought you had a streak of decency in you. I thought marrying a girl like Phyllis would bring it out. Damn it, I even encouraged her to marry you.” He thumped a big fist into his beefy palm and turned away. “And you can’t wait for her to get on the train before you have another woman in your bed.”
“Don’ be shore at me,” Shayne pleaded, his voice catching in his throat. “You know I love Phyl better’n anything. What she don’ know won’t hurt ’er”
Gentry stopped in the outer doorway and turned, planting both hands on his hips.
“Get this straight, Mike,” he rumbled. “If you’re not too drunk for it to sink in. I hate the guts of a man who two-times a swell wife like Phyllis. Your morals aren’t my affair, but from now on don’t look for any favors from me. I won’t tell her, if that’s what you’re afraid of, but I’ll never be able to look that girl in the eye again. God damn it, you lug, that girl loves you. The next time you meet a skunk get down on your belly and shake hands. You both smell the same to me.”
He went out, slamming the door behind him with a bang.
Shayne stood very still, staring at the closed door. He took one step forward to follow Gentry, but checked himself. His back was turned to Rourke and the reporter couldn’t see his face. In a stifled voice, Shayne said, “I suppose you feel the same way, Tim?”
“Sort of,” Rourke admitted wearily. “I don’t know your wife as well as Gentry does, but hell! You know what all the boys think about her. Nobody thought anything about it when you had a different floosie in your bed every night before you married Phyl, but this is different. It stinks.” Rourke lit a cigarette, and Shayne dropped heavily into the chair at the desk.
“It just goes to show,” Rourke went on, “what damn fools we all are when we pretend to be so tough. You and Phyllis were a symbol of some Goddamned thing or other around this man’s town. While you stayed straight it proved to all of us that the love of a decent girl meant something — and that was good for us. Every man needs to believe that down inside.” Rourke was talking to himself now, arguing aloud a premise which his cynicism rejected.