Right now he wasn’t worrying about that. He had other things to worry him. He had got Rose Hanson on his mind. Usually, Slug was particularly callous with women. When he wanted one, he’d find one, take her and then forget her. He generally got what he wanted without any trouble. Chiefly because he was careful whom he chose. There were still a lot of dumb blondes who fell for a fighter, but apart from their physical use, Slug just didn’t give them a second thought. Now Rose Hanson had blown along and things were different. Slug didn’t realize it, but he had got Rose in his system in a bad way. He had made his usual overture to her, saying: “Listen, honey, you and me could get places. How about settlin’ down in bed together?” which generally proved effective. Rose had looked through him and had given him the air. She didn’t even give him the pleasure of embarrassing her as some of the more prudent ones had done. She simply ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken, and that certainly had done things to Slug.
He had first met her at the Ciro Dance Hall, which stood at the corner of Forty-third and Western Avenue. She was dancing with a tall, thin guy who looked as if he’d got a lot of dough. Slug considered starting trouble, then decided that it would only get himself in bad with Rose. All the same, his fingers itched to get a grip on this thin guy’s neck, and the temptation had been so strong that he had left the hall and gone home.
He thought he could forget about Rose, but he found that she was continually coming into his daily existence. He saw her several times on the street and once in a snack-bar having lunch. The tall, thin guy was with her and Slug saw them come out together.
Every time he saw Rose, his desire for her mounted until he decided that something had got to be done about it. He found out with considerable difficulty where she worked. She was a manicurist at a smart little barber’s saloon run by a guy named Brownrigg. Slug decided that he’d go and have a manicure. It cost him a lot to get himself in the saloon. He was sweating visibly to think that his companions might see him undergoing sissy treatment to his broken fists. However, he walked in and nodded ferociously at Brownrigg, who was a little guy, with a lot of black wavy hair and a pencilled moustache.
“You gotta dame here who fixes nails, ain’t you?” Slug asked, taking off his cap and mopping his face.
Brownrigg opened his eyes. “Sure, Mr. Moynihan. Come right in and sit down.”
Slug looked at him suspiciously. “How the hell do you know I’m Moynihan?” he asked.
Brownrigg smiled. “I follow your fights,” he said. “You’re goin’ to get somewhere one of these days. I know a champ when I see one.”
Slug grunted and sat down. “Yeah?” he said. “Well, hustle this dame along. I ain’t got all day.”
Brownrigg went behind a curtain at the end of the saloon and then came back after a few minutes. “Miss Hanson’s just comin’,” he said. “Would you like a hair-cut or a shave as well?”