Duffy mashed the cigarette into the tray. “Meaning what?”
“We’ve got ways….”
“Be your age. You can’t scare me. Do you think anything you can do to me would pry me loose from something I want? If you want to have that book, talk terms.”
Gleason let the barrel of the Luger fall a shade. It pointed at Duffy’s waistcoat.
“How much?” he said.
Annabel said. “You mad?”
Gleason frowned at her. “Let me handle this.”
Duffy studied his finger-nails. “What’s it worth to you?” he said at last.
Gleason showed his teeth in a little grin. “I’d pay five hundred dollars for it,” he said casually.
Duffy got to his feet slowly. “Okay,” he said, “if that’s all you rate it, why bother?”