The boy shook his head.
Her patience snapped. “Listen, John,” she said, “if you don’t want it—get out. I’ve got a livin’ to make. You can’t come in here usin’ up my time like this.”
“My dough’s all right, ain’t it?” the boy said, squeezing up a little spark of vicious anger. “It pays for me to stay here, don’t it?”
Therese pulled on her dress and smoothed it over her big soft hips. “That dough’s about used up. What do you expect—an’ all night run?”
Someone rapped on the door. The boy slid across to Therese. He put one slender hand on her arm and his grip nearly made her cry out. His dead black eyes frightened her. “I’m not to be found here,” he said in her ear. “Look, I’ve got a gun.” He showed her the heavy Luger. “You’ll go with me.”
Therese was scared. She knew she had got herself mixed up in politics, and her mouth went suddenly dry. She said, “Get under the bed.”
The boy dropped on his hands and knees. He slid out of her sight. The knock sounded again on the door. She walked over and jerked it open.
The soldier looked at her with interest.
She flashed him a smile. “Why, honey, you just caught me. I was on my way.”
The soldier shifted uneasily. He was a family man and whores scared him. “You got a man in here?”