“Oh, he thinks every dick in the country is after him. Just a bad conscience, Mike.”
“You’ve been told,” Bryant said thickly, “and it goes for Shayne, too. Keep out of my way.”
“Or you’ll sick a couple of panty-waists on us?” Shayne grinned. “That just scares hell out of us, Bryant.” He caught sight of Phyllis’s terrified eyes over the balustrade and hurried to her, tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow and said, “Scared, angel?”
“That Bryant man — he looks like a murderer, Michael. The way he looked at you,” she whispered frantically.
“He looked more like a little boy who’s had his candy taken away after we handled his gunmen.”
Casey chuckled behind them. “You went and spoiled my set-up, Mike,” he said when they were halfway down the stairs.
“What’s Two-Deck’s lay now?” Shayne asked.
“Running a wired clip joint out on the Hudson Parkway. Lots of floss outside and the same old jipperoo when you lay money on the line.”
“Running his own place?” Shayne mused. “That’s a forward step for him. How does that tie with the two of you popping up here in Central City?”
Casey stopped at the top of the stairs. A welter of sound blasted upward from the merrymakers in the lobby below.