“Listen, Cain,” Davis said, when we reached the car. “You ain’t really going to call on Bat, are you?”
“Why not? We want Brodey, don’t we?”
“Listen, Bat’ll tear your ears off. He’s a bad hombre. You’re not going to scare him.”
“I can try,” I said, getting into the car.
“My pal,” Davis said, but he got in too.
5
Sansotta’s gambling joint was at the far end of the coast road, leading out of Paradise Palms. It was a squat building, three storeys high; a broad verandah, on which stood tables and chairs, circled the building. Beyond, two large glass doors gave on to the main hall.
Although it was after one o’clock, the place was still lit up. A number of people sat on the verandah, and dancing was going on in the hall.
Davis parked his car on the opposite side of the road, reached for the bottle, swished it round, drained it. He threw the bottle at the sandy beach.
“My need’s greater than yours, pal,” he said.