The Avenger. Matthew Blood
against the wall moved his head a fraction of an inch in her direction and spoke past the matchstick between his teeth. “Some nice stuff there, Chief. You want me and Al to unbuckle that belt?”
Derr said dispassionately, “She’s sixteen years old, you fool.”
“Hell of a build for sixteen.” Charlie straightened up and yawned. “Way she yammered at Al and me in the car ’fore we slapped that sponge in her mouth, she figgered we’d grabbed her for some sport and wasn’t fighting too hard to get away.”
Hake Derr moved forward two steps and looked down at the girl speculatively. Behind him, Al slunk into the room, retching and holding one hand over his mouth, talking around it fast and placatingly to the man who had just knocked half his teeth out:
“Charlie’s honest-to-God right, boss.” The words were slurred and slobbery in his eagerness to re-establish good will with Derr. “I swear she ripped that dress open herself to give us an eyeful. Lotsa these here society dames are like that,” he went on sagely. “I recollect one that usta chase Fatso Golan ’round the room and try to grab—”
“Shut up,” Derr said wearily over his shoulder. “Both you lame brains listen close. It was bad enough the way you messed this job by jumping the gun, but by God, if either one of you lays a finger on her while I’m gone, I’ll fix you so you’ll never do it again in all your lives. Get that?”
Charlie spat out the matchstick and said aggrievedly, “Hell, Boss. We was just thinkin’—”
Derr said coldly, “Don’t wear out what’s left of your brains by trying to think. This girl’s worth plenty, and she’s going to be delivered back home just like she was when you grabbed her.” He paused thoughtfully. “Either of you ever hear the name Morgan Wayne?”
“Sure,” Al said thickly from behind his palm. “Ginzo from out west, Chi or somewheres, they say’s casing around to move in on the racket. Been nosing around getting leads and talking to some of the boys.”
“From L.A.,” said Charlie positively. “I got it straight from Peewee Lampell. He’s a big shot out there, but with stuff getting tight from over the border, he figures on hornin’ in here.”
“No matter,” said Hake Derr curtly, “where he’s from or how he figures. He’s already horned in just this much too far.” He held his right hand up for both men to see, with thumb and forefinger widely extended. His round eyes seemed to protrude farther from the blandly boyish features and his voice became guttural as he stared directly in front of him at nothing and was pleased by the image his mind cast there.
“I’m headed for a messy kill,” he said, and both men shrank away from the distilled vitriol that dripped from his thick lips. “You know what I mean. The way I like it.” He paused and licked his lips and an anticipatory shudder traversed his heavy body. You didn’t look at his boyish face now. You looked at his eyes and you heard his voice. “You boys wait for me here and keep the girl quiet till I get back. Lay one finger on her and you know what you’ll get.”
He turned away slowly and went toward the door. Al drew aside to let him go by. Both men were silent until they heard the front door slam shut. Then Al said in an awed voice, “It was the Gingham Gal, Charlie. She’s fingered this Wayne character, sure as hell.”
Charlie shrugged. He said, “Hake’s been set to drink blood ever since we heard tell this Wayne creep was nosin’ around.” He looked down regretfully at the bound body of the girl on the bed and muttered, “Damn if I don’t feel sorry for her right now. I swear she’s been givin’ me the come-on ever since we tossed her there.” He stepped closer to the bed and cocked his head on one side. He pursed his thin lips and grinned down at her exposed breast.
“Hey!” said Al thickly. “You heard what Hake said if you laid a finger on her.”
“But this won’t be no finger,” said Charlie.
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