The little guy giggled. “You’d like Clive once you got to know him,” he said.
Duffy still stood motionless. “Suppose you put that heater away,” he said evenly. “This ain’t the time for pop-guns.”
The little guy shoved the gun into his shoulder-holster. “I get nervous sometimes,” he said, waving his hands apologetically.
A door at the end of the hall opened and Morgan came out. He called, “Come in here.”
Duffy walked the length of the hall slowly. Then he entered the room. Morgan was standing just inside. Across the room, Joe leant against the wall, chasing holes in his teeth with a wooden pick.
Duffy nodded at Morgan.
Joe said, “Why, for the love of Mike, here’s the pip back again.”
Morgan half raised his hand, stopping Joe. He said, “Have you brought the photos after all, Mr. Duffy?”
Duffy said, “Clear your thugs out, I want to talk to you.”
“Shall I pat him around?” Joe asked. “He likes it, and can he take it?”