Duffy took from his pocket the thin sheaf of notes and put it on the table. Then from his side coat pocket he took the ten grand he had lifted off Gus, and laid it on top of the other money. Gilroy watched him fascinated.
“Thirty-five grand enough?” Duffy asked.
Gilroy eased his collar with a thin black finger. “It helps,” he said slowly. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Duffy scooped up the money and put it back in his pocket. “It fell in my lap,” he said. “What say? You on?”
Gilroy sat down, poured out more drinks and lit a cigarette. “Let’s talk about it. What’s your idea?”
Duffy came over and sat down too. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just want to run this Morgan louse out, and his gang with him.”
Gilroy screwed up his eyes, then said, “Why?”
Duffy’s mouth set. “He thinks I can’t do it. He’s told me so. Well, I’m going to show the palooka he’s bucking the wrong horse.”
Gilroy nodded. “That’s the way it goes, is it?”
Duffy said, “Yeah, that’s it.”