“I’m ridin’,” he said briefly. “Get goin’.”
The little guy twisted round in his seat, so that he faced Hienie. “Don’t let’s have any trouble; I may be a little guy, but I’m tough. Beat it, before I start somethin’.”
Hienie could handle this sort of talk. He reached behind him and pulled his gun. He showed it to the little guy. “I don’t have to be tough,” he said.
The little guy’s eyes popped. “Jeeze!”
“That’s it,” Hienie said, putting the gun away. “Let’s go.”
The little guy engaged the gears. “I’m going to lose my job,” he said regretfully.
Hienie leant back against the well-cushioned seat. “You ain’t losin’ nothin’,” he said. “You get me to Jefferson and you’ll make yourself somethin’.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Hienie said: “You ain’t worryin’ about the rod, are you, pal?”
The little guy gave him a quick glance. “Sure, I ain’t,” he said hastily.
“You’re O.K. with me,” Hienie assured him, “it’s just the way I’ve got when guys get tough. I just gotta pull a rod. Maybe it’s goin’ to get me into a little trouble one day.”