«Out,» he said impassively.
The blond man grinned and put his hands in the pockets of his dark gray suit. The big man didn’t look at him.
De Ruse glanced across the layout at the croupier and said: «I’ll take back my six grand and call it a day.»
«Out,» the big man said wearily, jabbing his elbow into De Ruse’s side.
The bald-headed croupier smiled politely.
«You,» the big man said to De Ruse, «ain’t goin’ to get tough, are you?»
De Ruse looked at him with sarcastic surprise.
«Well, well, the bouncer,» he said softly. «Take him, Nicky.»
The blond man took his right hand out of his pocket and swung it. The sap looked black and shiny under the bright lights. It hit the big man on the back of the head with a soft thud. The big man clawed at De Ruse, who stepped away from him quickly and took a gun out from under his arm. The big man clawed at the edge of the roulette table and fell heavily on the floor.
Francine Ley stood up and made a strangled sound in her throat.
The blond man skipped sidewise, whirled and looked at the bartender. The bartender put his hands on top of the bar. The three men who had been playing roulette looked very interested, but they didn’t move.
De Ruse said: «The middle button on his right sleeve, Nicky. I think it’s copper.»
«Yeah.» The blond man drifted around the end of the table putting the sap back in his pocket. He went close to the croupier and took hold of the middle of three buttons on his right cuff, jerked it hard. At the second jerk it came away and a thin wire followed it out of the sleeve.
«Correct,» the blond man said casually, letting the croupier’s arm drop.
«I’ll take my six grand now,» De Ruse said. «Then we’ll go talk to your boss.»
The croupier nodded slowly and reached for the rack of chips beside the roulette table.
The big man on the floor didn’t move. The blond man put his right hand behind his hip and took a .45 automatic out from inside his waistband at the back.
He swung it in his hand, smiling pleasantly around the room.
EIGHT
They went along a balcony that looked down over the dining room and the dance floor. The lisp of hot jazz came up to them from the lithe, swaying bodies of a high-yaller band. With the lisp of jazz came the smell of food and cigarette smoke and perspiration. The balcony was high and the scene down below had a patterned look, like an overhead camera shot.
The bald-headed croupier opened a door in the corner of the balcony and went through without looking back. The blond man De Ruse had called Nicky went after him. Then De Ruse and Francine Ley.
There was a short hall with a frosted light in the ceiling. The door at the end of that looked like painted metal. The croupier put a plump finger on the small push button at the side, rang it in a certain way. There was a buzzing noise like the sound of an electric door release. The croupier pushed on the edge and opened it.
Inside was a cheerful room, half den and half office. There was a grate fire and a green leather davenport at right angles to it, facing the door. A man sitting on the davenport put a newspaper down and looked up and his face suddenly got livid. He was a small man with a tight round head, a tight round dark face. He had little lightless black eyes like buttons of jet.
There was a big flat desk in the middle of the room and a very tall man stood at the end of it with a cocktail shaker in his hands. His head turned slowly and he looked over his shoulder at the four people who came into the room while his hands continued to agitate the cocktail shaker in gentle rhythm. He had a cavernous face with sunken eyes, loose grayish skin, and close-cropped reddish hair without shine or parting. A thin crisscross scar like a German Mensur scar showed on his left cheek.
The tall man put the cocktail shaker down and turned his body around and stared at the croupier. The man on the davenport didn’t move. There was a crouched tensity in his not moving.
The croupier said: «I think it’s a stick-up. But I couldn’t help myself. They sapped Big George.»
The blond man smiled gaily and took his .45 out of his pocket. He pointed it at the floor.
«He thinks it’s a stick-up,» he said. «Wouldn’t that positively slay you?»
De Ruse shut the heavy door. Francine Ley moved away from him, towards the side of the room away from the fire. He didn’t look at her. The man on the davenport looked at her, looked at everybody.
De Ruse said quietly: «The tall one is Zapparty. The little one is Mops Parisi.»
The blond man stepped to one side, leaving the croupier alone in the middle of the room. The .45 covered the man on the davenport.
«Sure, I’m Zapparty,» the tall man said. He looked at De Ruse curiously for a moment.
Then he turned his back and picked the cocktail shaker up again, took out the plug and filled a shallow glass. He drained the glass, wiped his lips with a sheer lawn handkerchief and tucked the handkerchief back into his breast pocket very carefully, so that three points showed.
De Ruse smiled his thin metallic smile and touched one end of his left eyebrow with his forefinger. His right hand was in his jacket pocket.
«Nicky and I put on a little act,» he said. «That was so the boys outside would have something to talk about if the going got too noisy when we came in to see you.»
«It sounds interesting,» Zapparty agreed. «What did you want to see me about?»
«About that gas car you take people for rides in,» De Ruse said.
The man on the davenport made a very sudden movement and his hand jumped off his leg as if something had stung it. The blond man said: «No … or yes, if you’d rather, Mister Parisi. It’s all a matter of taste.»
Parisi became motionless again. His hand dropped back to his short thick thigh.
Zapparty widened his deep eyes a little. «Gas car?» His tone was of mild puzzlement.
De Ruse went forward into the middle of the room near the croupier. He stood balanced on the balls of his feet. His gray eyes had a sleepy glitter but his face was drawn and tired, not young.
He said: «Maybe somebody just tossed it in your lap, Zapparty, but I don’t think so. I’m talking about the blue Lincoln, License 5A6, with the tank of Nevada gas in front. You know, Zapparty, the stuff they use on killers in our state.»
Zapparty swallowed and his large Adam’s apple moved in and out. He puffed his lips, then drew them back against his teeth, then puffed them again.
The man on the davenport laughed out loud, seemed to be enjoying himself.
A voice that came from no one in the room said sharply: «Just drop that gat, blondie. The rest of you grab air.»
De Ruse looked up towards an opened panel in the wall beyond the desk. A gun showed in the opening, and a hand, but no body or face. Light from the room lit up the hand and the gun.
The gun seemed to point directly at Francine Ley. De Ruse said: «Okey,» quickly, and lifted his hands, empty.
The blond man said: «That’ll be Big George — all rested and ready to go.» He opened his hand and let the .45 thud to the floor in front of him.
Parisi stood up very swiftly from the davenport and took a gun from under his arm. Zapparty took a revolver out of the desk drawer, leveled it. He spoke towards the paneclass="underline" «Get out, and stay out.»
The panel clicked shut. Zapparty jerked his head at the bald-headed croupier, who had not seemed to move a muscle since he came into the room.
«Back on the job, Louis. Keep the chin up.»
The croupier nodded and turned and went out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
Francine Ley laughed foolishly. Her hand went up and pulled the collar of her wrap close around her throat, as if it was cold in the room. But there were no windows and it was very warm, from the fire.