Gleason was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I can’t bring cash; I’ll make it a certified cheque.”
“Cash,” Duffy’s voice was hard. “I’m feeding at the ‘Red Ribbon’ tonight around eight-thirty. If you ain’t there by the time I’m through, the deal’s off. And it’s gotta be cash.” He dropped the receiver back and went upstairs.
Olga was kneeling before a large cabin trunk. The floor was strewn with her clothes.
Duffy said, “For God’s sake…”
She turned her head and smiled at him. “Come and help,” she said.
He looked at the small clock on the mantelshelf. From where he stood he could just make out the tiny hands. It was six-thirty. He put his hands under her elbows and brought her to her feet.
“Listen, baby,” he said patiently, “this is going to be a quick journey. Leave all this junk. Just pack a bag. I’ll buy you the world when we’re out of this.”
She made a little face. “They’re so lovely.” She turned and looked at the things lying about.
“Come on,” he urged, “time’s moving.”
Together, they packed two large grips. Then Duffy went downstairs. He went into the kitchen and found a full bottle of Scotch. Taking two glasses, he went upstairs again. Putting the bottle on the small table by the bed he said, “Let’s have a drink.”