“I’ve got nerve enough, all right,” declared Patsy. “But what do I get for this job?”
“Enough money to buy a corner lot on Broadway,” Magill forcibly assured him. “That’s all I want of you, too, and it’s all the risk you have to take.”
“When do I get the coin, and how much?”
“Ten thousand bucks, possibly more, within twenty-four hours.”
“After nailing the skirt?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m hooked,” said Patsy, as if abruptly deciding to accept the offer. “Spiel off what you want done and I’ll do it.”
“Shake!” said Magill, extending his hand. “I thought I read your mug correctly. My name is Mike Magill, sometimes called Turk Magill, and you’ll find me all right and always on the level.”
“If that goes, Mr. Magill, I’m your meat for any kind of a job,” said Patsy. “A quarter million, eh? Say, I’m afraid I’ll wake up. Hang it, I’d wade through blood for that. What am I to do?”
“We’ll need a touring car,” said Magill.