“Think about your own troubles,”’ his voice was cold. “I’ll think about mine.”
“You bet,” Shep said hastily. “I didn’t mean a thing.”
Gilroy broke in, “Did English say anything about dough, “when he talked to you?”
Duffy shook his head, then remembering that Gilroy couldn’t see him, he said, “No.”
The Buick ran along the kerb, slowed, and came to a stop outside the Bronx.
Schultz said, “Hop out. I’ll take her over to the garage.”
They climbed out and hurried down the basement steps, the rain beating down on them.
Gilroy unlocked the door and they entered quickly. The passage was dark. Gilroy swore softly. “Where the hell’s Jock got to”?” he said, speaking of the thin man. “He ought to be still up.”
“Maybe he’s got himself drunk,” Shep said. “I gave him ten bucks out of my split.”
Gilroy groped around and switched on the light. “You come and have a drink?” he said to Duffy.