"Go inside and call the cops," Overman snapped at the girl. "This guy can't prove nothin'. Let the dame rant if she wants, they'll think she's nuts and I'll wind up with a separation. Snap to it, baby!"
"Don't worry," auburn-hair said, "I will." And she disappeared inside.
"Hugh, oh, Hugh," Jane said. "What will we do?"
"You'll just wait for the cops," Overman told them. He held the Luger on them steadily, watching them very closely.
Horner said, "I'm sorry, Overman. It isn't loaded."
Overman grinned at him, a wolfish grin. "Sure," he said, "that's why you held it on me all the way out here."
"But I knew, and you didn't. That makes a difference, doesn't it? Don't you see, it wouldn't be loaded. It's only a war souvenir. You're not supposed to keep war souvenirs loaded. Well, are you?"
Overman looked uncertainly at the weapon, then at Horner. He got a fingernail under the edge of the ammo clip in the butt and was about to spring it when he said, "You're bigger'n me. If it ain't loaded, why don't you—"
Horner cried, "I'm going to!" and leaped at Overman. The gun bucked between them, went off. Horner felt the heat of the slug's passage in the air, then was grappling with Overman. The smaller man brought his knee up and a wave of nausea engulfed Horner. He clung to Overman, waiting for it to pass, keeping the Luger out of reach by holding Overman's wrist up over his head.
Overman's knee blurred up again, but this time Horner pivoted and caught it on his thigh. He lashed out with his free hand, striking Overman with all his might across the face, open-handed. Overman staggered back, stunned. Horner followed through with a short left hook, and the fight was over.