“You like working girls over, don’t you?” Bannion said again, he knew now what he was going to do; he would kill Stone. He knew it was stupid, knew it would ruin everything, but he was helpless in the grip of his rage.
Debby watched the two men smiling, her chin cupped in the palm of her hand, one gold sandalled foot swinging slowly. She had never seen anyone treat Max this way before, and she found it exciting and oddly satisfying.
The bouncer behind Stone looked at Bannion uncertainly, remembered certain things he’d heard about him, and backed slowly out of the picture.
Stone saw something in Bannion’s face that cut off the angry blustering words coming up in his throat. He knew Bannion was ready to kill him; this wasn’t just mouth-work, this was murder. Stone was suddenly cold and empty; it had happened so swiftly, so inevitably, he had no time to get ready for it. It was like a bomb going off in your face. He laughed, unaware that he was laughing, but hearing the shrill sound of it high above him in the air. His hands rose of their own volition, and his thick fingers fluttered up there in the curious, strained noise of his laughter.
“Hell, Dave, take it easy,” he said. “Take it easy. I’m sorry, Dave, I’m sorry, I didn’t know... The words strung out meaninglessly.
Bannion got himself under control. It was a struggle that left him pale and shaken. “Get out of here, Stone,” he said. “Fast. While you’re still alive.”
Stone brought his hands down slowly. He glanced around the room, quickly, uncertainly, seeing nothing, and then turned and strode out the door. Bannion looked back at Jones who stood motionless in the rear of the room. “You, too,” he said.
Jones walked quickly up the bar, avoiding Bannion’s eyes, and hurried out after Stone. Bannion stood alone, rubbing his forehead, unaware of the sudden nervous laughter in the room, the excited bursts of conversation, the renewed clink of glasses. He glanced down at the manager who was at his side. “I owe you for about half a bottle of rye,” he said.
“No, no, forget it,” the manager said, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“You’ll be accused of buying me a drink.”
The manager smiled tightly. “Always joking, eh?”
“You can relax. I’m leaving,” Bannion said.
The manager came with him to the door and put a hand on his arm. “Dave, I’m proud to buy you a drink,” he said, in a low’ hurried voice. “Believe that. You know I gotta take what comes in through the door, and — some of it stinks.”
“Well, thanks,” Bannion said, after a slight pause. “Tell you what; buy that college boy a drink, too. Tell him I said his heart’s in the right place.”
“Sure, Dave, sure.”
Bannion walked down the block, his shoulders hunched against the wind. It was three-thirty in the morning. Market Street was empty except for a sailor wandering toward a subway entrance with his arm around a girl. Wind stirred refuse in the gutters, cigarette stubs, newspapers, numbers slips, and the bell of St. John’s was tolling the milkman’s mass.
He heard footsteps behind him, the fast clicking of high heels, and he stopped shortly and turned around. The girl was a smiling, happy-looking blonde, coming toward him with long, quick, graceful strides. She was pretty, the way dolls are pretty, and wore a mink over a black cocktail dress.
“Darn, you walk fast,” she said.
“Well, not too fast, obviously,” Bannion said. “What’s on your mind?”
“I just thought I’d like to talk to you,” Debby said. “I’m Debby Ward. I’m Max Stone’s girl, by the way, although you wouldn’t know it the way he left me back there like an overcoat or something he forgot.”
“I know who you are,” Bannion said.
“Well, fine, we know each other then,” Debby said. “The bartender told me who you were. Your name is Bannion. A mick, aren’t you?” She slipped her arm through Bannion’s. “You want to walk along a while?”
“I’m going home,” Bannion said.
“Where’s home?”
“A hotel room.”
“Darn, I was hoping we could have a drink.”
“What’s your interest in me, Debby?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know. I liked the way you looked, that’s all.”
They walked along together in silence for a block, and Bannion said, “We could have that drink in my room. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“You make up your mind in a hurry, don’t you?”
“Uh huh,” Debby said, and smiled...
Bannion made two drinks, rye with water, and handed one to Debby. She had made herself comfortable on the bed, a pillow punched up behind her back, her slim, dancer’s legs stretched out before her and crossed at the ankles. Bannion sat in a straight-backed chair and studied his drink.
“How is it being Max Stone’s girl?” he said. “Fun.”
“Sure. What have you got against him?”
“I just don’t like him.”
She laughed. “That’s silly. You can’t get anywhere in this town not liking Max.”
“I’m not trying to get anywhere, Debby. Do you know Larry Smith?”
“Sure I know Larry. He was at Max’s tonight. And Mike Lagana.” She sipped her drink. “Business must be terrible. Mike never shows up unless something’s wrong.”
“Well, what’s wrong?”
She shrugged. “Search me.”
“That might be fun,” Bannion said, and she laughed.
“What was on their collective minds?”
She smiled at him. “You’re trying to pump me. That’s okay, but honest to God I don’t know a thing. What’s more I don’t want to know a thing. When the boys talk business I go out and get my legs waxed, or something.”
“What did you come up here for, Debby?”
She looked at him and shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to needle Max. I don’t like men leaving me in barrooms.”
“You’re going to teach him a lesson, eh?”
She colored slightly. “That isn’t all of it, Bannion. I wasn’t kidding when I said I liked the way you looked. At him, I meant. It’s funny, but sometimes I feel just the way you looked tonight. He’s a good guy, but ” She shrugged and smiled. “I’m not kicking. That’s the way it is with every guy and gal, I suppose. You put up with the bad, take the good.”
“And the good is pretty good?”
“I like it,” Debby said. “Why shouldn’t I?” She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got all the clothes I want, I have a nice life, plenty of travel, nightclubs, excitement. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s okay if you like the guy.”
“He’s all right.”
“And if you don’t care where the money comes from,” Bannion said.
“Oh, stop it,” Debby said, with a little laugh. She drew up her legs and locked her hands around her silken knees. “So Max is a gambler. Is that a crime? I know people who do lots worse and are in church every Sunday looking respectable as judges. And why should I care where he gets his money? The main thing is to have it. It isn’t easy to get hold of, believe me. Nobody ever gave me anything until I met Max. I worked for what I got, I can tell you. I worked for my living. Living. That’s putting it very fancy. Did you think I was some heiress before I met him, for God’s sake?”
Bannion shrugged. “I didn’t think about you at all.”
“Well, there’s a pretty speech for you,” Debby said, sighing. “You’re about as sentimental as a pair of handcuffs, I’ll bet. Didn’t you ever tell a girl nice things, Bannion? You know, hair like the west wind, eyes you could drown yourself in, skin like velvet. No?”
Bannion looked down at his drink. “Yes, I remember some things like that,” he said slowly. He was silent a moment. Then he said, “Shall I call you a cab, Debby?”