Duffy nodded; he stepped past Joe carefully, who grinned at him, then he walked to the front door and down the steps.
Olga looked at him and said, “So it didn’t work.”
Duffy engaged the gear and drove the Buick down the block. He began to swear softly under his breath, without moving his lips. Olga laced her fingers round her knees and stared ahead.
Duffy swung, the Buick into Seventh Avenue and went with the traffic. He cut right at Longacre Square and drove into Central Park. When he reached the lake, he stalled the engine and stopped.
Olga said, “Don’t get mad.”
For a moment he said nothing, then he took off his hat and tossed it at the back of the car. “Those birds certainly got me going,” he said. A grim little smile came to his mouth, and she liked him a lot better.
“Tell me,” she said.
He screwed round in his seat, so that he was facing her, and took her gloved hands in his. “This is going to get tough,” he said. “You’d better skip before the war starts.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Suppose you cut out the hysterics and tell me.”
Duffy said, “Morgan wants the list. I’m to hand it over tonight or else…”