It Finishes
CHAPTER IX
DUFFY STEPPED INTO ROSS’S garage and looked round the dim shed. Ross came out of the little office at the far end of the shed. He was big and fat, with a glistening rubbery face. He plodded over the oily concrete, waving a short thick arm.
“Don’t tell me,” he wheezed when he saw Duffy. “Let me guess.”
Duffy drew his lips off his teeth in a mirthless grin. “Ain’t seen you for years,” he said.
“I bet you’re in a jam.”
Duffy shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “It ain’t anything like that. I want to spend some dough with you.”
Ross put his broad hand on Duffy’s arm. “Well, well,” he began, leading Duffy to the office. “I’ve got a bottle in there that’ll suit you.”
Duffy sat down in a basket chair and looked round the small box-like room. Ross nearly filled it.
“Gettin’ mighty hot, ain’t it?” Ross said, bringing out a black bottle from his desk cupboard. He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his shirt-sleeve and pushed it over to Duffy. “You be careful of that liquor,” he went on, “that’s Tiger’s sweat okay.”