Myra could see two men wandering down the street. She had to get inside quick. Still keeping a smile on her face, she said, “Why, Fan, that ain’t the way to talk. I gotta message for you.” She opened her bag casually. Fanquist watched her, a puzzled look on her face. She wondered what the hell all this was leading to.
Myra took the gun out of her bag and showed it to Fanquist. “Get inside quick, you bow-legged street pushover,” she said with a rush.
Fanquist’s eyes opened very wide, and she went white under her rouge. She took a step back, and Myra stepped in and shut the door.
A big living-room opened out from the hall, and Myra drove Fanquist in there. The room was expensively furnished.
Myra said between her teeth, “So this is the love-nest, is it?”
Fanquist stammered, “You’re going to be sorry for this…. Wait until he hears about it.”
“Sit down, you bitch,” Myra said. “I’ve got a lot to talk to you about.”
Fanquist said harshly, “You ain’t throwin’ a scare into me. You better get out an’ get out quick.”
“Sit down,” Myra repeated. She held one hand behind her back, jerking the rubber club down from her sleeve.
Fanquist was getting her nerve back all right. She sneered. “That rod ain’t gettin’ you anywhere…. Get out!”