“Okay, don’t you worry about us,” Duffy said, picking up the rum and pouring it into the shaker.
“I hope not, boss,” the barman took another long look and went back to his counter.
“Poor old George,” Sam sighed, “he’s forgotten us since he’s moved in with the Big Shots. Listen Bill, make that a strong one. I guess I’m just about all in. If you notice a funny smell in a minute, go away, I shall’ve died on you.”
Carefully Duffy added the absinthe, squeezed a lime and spooned in some sugar. He chased some crushed ice round with the tongs before getting a grip, then he sealed the shaker and went to work.
McGuire lit a cigarette and pushed his hat on to the bridge of his nose. He looked at Duffy carefully while he handled the shaker. Duffy met his eye and grinned. “Go on, I know what you’re going to say.”
“It ain’t true, is it?”.
Duffy nodded his head and poured the shaker’s contents into the two glasses. McGuire took his in his hand and rested his nose on the rim of the glass.
“Mi Gawd!” he said, “you mean old Sourpuss has tossed you out?”
“Yeah, just like that.”
Sam sat back and groaned. “What the hell—?”