Points of color appeared upon Frost’s cheeks. He glared at Fallon and asked, “What d’ye mean, hey?”
“Ain’t them ears pinned on your head?” was Nickie’s retort. “It looks like we’re trusted with bars all over the joint an’ even on the cellar winders, hah? It looks like we’re trusted when the bars ain’t even enough, so you hadda padlock all the shutters too. Yeah, that stuff goes for Sweeny.”
“That’s Dev—Barker’s idea—not mine—get me? Anyway, I ain’t got no time to argue. We’ll hash it over when I get back,” Frost snapped.
He turned, went upstairs and Nickie proceeded with the making of coffee. Skippy got a package of bacon from the cupboard and silently set about the task of frying it. Words wouldn’t come—he could do nothing but listen and wait. For what, he didn’t know.
When Shorty and Biff came downstairs and back to the kitchen they were their usual smiling selves. Nickie looked from his coffee pot to them and Skippy’s eyes traveled back and forth from their round faces to the briskly frying bacon.
“Frost tell you he’s beatin’ it with you guys this morning?” Nickie asked.
“Sure,” Biff smiled.
“And you ain’t nervous or nothin’, hah?” Nickie asked, amazed that Biff could smile.
“Nah. The queecker we go, the queecker comes the time we sneak home.”
“We theenk maybe we tell dees Frost we rather not go to Peetsburgh or Maine or what it ees he wants to take us,” Shorty spoke up. “We theenk we ask heem to take us home so we can say hello, then we go Delafield. Maybe they lop off time for us too ’cause we come back, eh?”