“I guess so,” Davis said, his eyes popping. “Sounds like Bat Thompson, Killeano’s strong man. He’s one of the tough boys from Detroit, and make no mistake, brother, he’s tough.”
“Know where we can find him?”
“I know where he hangs out,” Davis said. “But we don’t want to find him. He’s a guy best left alone.”
“Where does he hang out?”
“Sam Sansotta’s gambling joint.”
“Okay. Let’s see how tough he is.”
Davis sighed. “I knew you were going to say that. You’re a nice reckless sort of a punk for me to fall in with.”
“Get the police,” Miss Brodey said, crying.
“We’ll get everybody,” Davis said, patting her shoulder. “Now go to bed and wait. We’ll get your poppa back for you.”
We left her sitting on the settee, her eyes like great holes in a sheet.