Duffy got slowly out of his chair. “You’re nutty,” he said evenly, and began to walk towards her.
She waited until he was within two yards of her, then she pulled the trigger. Her lips were off her teeth and little white specks of foam touched her mouth. The automatic went click—click—click. Then Duffy put his hand on the automatic and jerked it out of her hand. “I took the clip out before you showed up,” he said quietly, then he smacked her across her face with his open palm as hard as he could hit her. She bounced against the wall, slid down, and rolled on her side. She began to scream in a thin reedy tone that sent hot wires into Duffy’s brain.
From the organ loft, a tight voice said, “Pipe down, he ain’t hurt you. It was just a slap.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE LITTLE GUY SAID, “How the hell does one get down from this nest?”
Duffy looked at him, then he looked at Clive, and then he looked at Joe. Clive and Joe were carelessly holding guns. Duffy said, “You jump.” He went over to the sideboard and began to pour himself a drink.
Annabel sat up, pressed herself against the wall, and stared up at the three in the loft.
The little guy swung his short legs over the balcony and let himself drop. He landed on his shoulders with a thud. He sat up carefully and cursed. Then he said, “You come down, Clive; but Joe, you watch these birds and pop ’em if they get tough. You heard that, didn’t you, Joe? I said pop ’em if they get tough.”
Joe leant over the balcony and looked down. He looked a little tired. “Yeah,” he said, “I heard you. I’m watching okay.”
Clive scrambled over the balcony, making black marks with the toes of his shoes on the wall.