“Someone say ‘Boo!’ to you?” Hoskiss asked, grinning.
I sat up, wiped my face, shook my head.
“There’s a middle-aged sportsman out there on his own,” I explained. “He’s banging away without even sighting. Maybe I’d better go out and get things organized. This is no way to wage war.”
“Don’t be so bloodthirsty,” Hoskiss said, frowning. “Me and the girl friend find it exciting, don’t we, Tutz?”
The red-head said it was too exciting. The language in which she expressed this opinion startled us.
“I can’t imagine where you girls pick up such talk,” Hoskiss said, pained. “When I was your age–—”
The red-head told him to go boil his head, and she added a couple of other suggestions in case the first one didn’t appeal to him.
It was funny to see a tough guy like Hoskiss turn pink.
Without warning a machine-gun began firing. Bullets smashed through the wooden shutters. A row of bottles above our heads flew into pieces. Liquor and glass showered down on us. The red-head was soused with gin. Whisky poured over Hoskiss’s trouser ends. A piece of flying glass cut my cheek, but I kept dry.
“She’ll taste interesting now if you kiss her,” I said to Hoskiss.