I manoeuvred them into a front room, made them sit down. The furniture was as heavy and as dull as the man’s face. The woman continued to eye me with interest.
I put my gun away to ease the atmosphere, peered out of the window.
Searchlights roamed the sky, car lights lit up the street, flat caps moved back and forth.
“I’ll stick around,” I said, sitting down so I could watch the two. “That reception committee still looks like business.” I lit a cigarette, then remembered my manners, offered the pack to the woman. She took one, giving me a long, curious stare as she did so.
“Jill!” the man spluttered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Why shouldn’t I smoke?” she asked in a tired voice.
He opened and shut his mouth, then scowled at her.
I struck a match and lit her cigarette. I had an idea at the back of my mind that I might have fun with her.
We sat around while the cops tramped up and down, poked into bushes and scared hell out of each other.
Maybe the red-faced man thought I was harmless without my gun in my hand, maybe his manhood nudged him. He suddenly bounded out of his chair and came at me like a charging rhino.