Duffy took forty dollars from his pocket-book and handed them over. “I’ll take her for a couple of weeks,” he said. “Fill her up, will you?”
Ross pushed the money into his trouser pocket. “She’s ready to go.”
Duffy opened the door and got in. “I’ll be seeing you, pal,” he said.
Ross put his fat face through the window frame. “Take it easy with the cannons,” he said anxiously. “They ain’t registered, but take it easy all the same.”
Duffy nodded at him and engaged the clutch. The Buick rolled out into the street. Duffy drove to his bank, cashed a cheque for a thousand dollars, checked his deposit and went back to the car again. With the thousand on him, and three thousand in the bank, he could last a little while, he thought.
Olga was waiting for him at “Stud’s Parlour", a quiet little bar just off East 154th Street. When he drove up, she ran out and he pushed open the off door for her. She got in, and he had to lean over her to slam the door shut. “That’s stiff,” she said.
“It’s steel,” he grinned, pulling away from the kerb. “"This tub’s from Chi. They know how to build ’em there.”
She was silent for half a block, then she said, “You expecting trouble?”
“Trouble’ll blow up sooner or later in a racket like this. I like to be prepared for it.” He pushed the Buick past a big truck, then he said, “You ain’t going to get scared?”
She shook her head. “I don’t scare easily.” She put her neat gloved hand to her throat. She was wearing a high-neck blouse. “Your friends were swell,” she said as an afterthought.