Gurney walked into the sitting-room. Franks was sitting in an easy chair holding a child awkwardly, a bottle of milk suspended in his hand. Franks was a big, smoothfaced guy, young and free from the usual mashed features of a fighter.
The woman brushed past Gurney and ran over to Franks. She was badly scared. Franks pushed the baby into her arms, getting to his feet quickly. He was startled. His eyes showed it; they were a little wide, but he wasn’t losing his head. If there was going to be trouble, his confidence in his great flat muscles was unshakable.
“You can’t come in here like this,” he said to Gurney. “I see guys like you at the gym.”
Gurney grinned uneasily. He was a little nervous of Franks. “We’re in, buddy,” he said. “Get the dame outta here, we want to talk to you.”
Franks said, “Beth, take the kid.”
She went out without a word. She was only gone a second or so. She came back alone, and stood just behind Franks. Her eyes were big and scared. Franks said to her patiently, “Keep out of this, honey.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move. Dillon’s thin lips set in a sneer.
Franks was calming down. He said, “You sure startled me,” there was a foolish little smile on his big, rubbery lips, “bustin’ in like that. You’re crazy I might’ve pushed you boys around.”
Gurney said, “Don’t talk big, Franks, you’re in a spot.”
Franks’ eyes opened. He knotted his muscles. Gurney could see them swelling under his coat. “Not from you I ain’t,” he said. “What is it?”