“Let ’em stay, they can go with the bus,” Duffy said quietly.
Ross looked at him, pursed his fat mouth, then shrugged. He put the guns back. “Under the seat there’s four hundred rounds.”
Duffy said, “For the love of Mike.”
Ross grinned. “I ain’t had time to shift the stuff. It’s been in there some time.”
“It’s a fine job. Anything else?”
Ross climbed out of the car again. “The radiator grill is bullet-proof. The engine is protected with plate. The rear window rises from the bottom, so you can operate a gun if you wanted to. And the tyres are filled with puncture-healing liquid which fills any holes immediately if a slug finds its way there. That cab is certainly a swell job for trouble.”
Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess it’s right up my street. What you want for her, Ross?”
Ross scratched his bald head. “What you got, buddy?” he asked. “You done things for me in the past…”
Duffy said, “I’ll give you thirty bucks a week for her.”
Ross shook his head. “Too much,” he said. “I’ll take twenty.”