Bender nodded and said: “I'm Tom Bender, Captain, Texas Rangers.”
Botchey Miller's face took on a puzzled look and the two men at the table closed their magazines and looked around.
Miller said: “Ranger, hunh? Well, what's it all about?”
“Nothing much,” Bender drawled; “only you're out of a job. This joint is closing.”
Miller's lips worked in and out like a fish breathing and Bender took a step closer to the table where the two men were sitting. One of them was dark and wore a blue suit and a small black bow tie. He was scowling and biting his lower lip. The other man was younger and had a pleasant face. Bender asked him what his name was and he said Eddie Price.
Bender asked the dark man the same question but he leered and tried to get hardboiled.
“Ah, hell, tough guy,” he said. “What's coming off here?”
“I asked you a question,” Bender said evenly.
The man guffawed and looked at Botchey. “Say, Botchey,” he called, “these Rangers are sure big tough babies, ain't they?” Miller laughed because he didn't know what else to do.
Bender flattened a great hand against the dark man's mouth and nearly slapped him out of the chair. He scrambled up, his eyes blazing, and made a move to his hip pocket. Bender laid his .38 Police Positive across his hip and the yellow light glinted along the barrel.