Duffy said, “Sure, my feet are wet. I could do with a shot of Scotch.”
Gilroy led the way down the passage, and walked into the bar. The first thing that caught his eye was the thin man. He was lying on his back, his hands and legs sprawling, and his face a mask of blood.
The little guy said sharply, “Reach.”
Gilroy and Duffy raised their hands. Shep dropped on his knee, drew his Luger and fired at the little guy all in one movement.
Joe, stepping behind the door, tapped Shep with the butt of his gun as he fired. Shep gave a little cough and fell on his hands and knees. He looked like a stricken elephant.
Duffy said between his teeth, “Don’t touch him again.”
Joe looked at him in wonder, then he grinned. “My, ain’t you a pip?” he said admiringly.
The little guy said apologetically, “Take it easy. Don’t move. I’d hate to pop this heater, but I gotta do it if you crowd me.”
Gilroy said, hardly moving his rubbery lips: “What you want?”
“We want the pip,” Joe said. “Ain’t he hung a rap on Clive? Well, sure we want the pip. I wanta bounce him a little, don’t I?” He looked triumphantly at the little guy. Then he walked over to Duffy, grinning from ear to ear. He feinted with his left, and hit Duffy on his ear, with a tremendous swinging punch that started from his ankles.