Hot Bullets for Love. Gentry Nyland
pulled on the slicker. Shermond got up eagerly.
“Not going to leave us?” Richard’s voice was mocking.
Naomi answered for Shermond. “You know how Charles is, Dick,” she reminded him. “He doesn’t drink and he’s a working man. It’s getting late,” she added, and to Joe, “Keep the home fires burning, Father Brown.”
Joe went to the door with them and heard the car start. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past twelve. They had been in the place much longer than he had thought. He wondered if Shermond would take Naomi back to the Raleigh house now that she and Dick appeared to have made up.
He returned to the table and picked up his drink. It would be the last for the evening. Dick and Milly were dancing again. Joe lifted his glass to the couple and swallowed its contents in one gulp. What a job this had turned out to be. Well he had been paid in advance. If the job ended tomorrow he would still be ahead. He would see Parker Raleigh in the morning and tell him how the plan had backfired before it had time to get a good start.
He sat still with his elbows resting on the table and his chin in his hands. Richard and Milly, swaying to the rhythm of the music, merged into one. Then there were two couples. Two Richards and two Millies and two juke boxes. The door came up at a forty-five-degree angle, but the couple danced on. Suddenly Joe felt very sick. He made an effort to call out, but before sound came his elbows slipped from the table’s edge with a crash that spilled the remaining cocktails. Richard and Milly stopped dancing and looked at the detective. Richard said, “A great watch-dog our pal turned out to be. Passed out on a half-dozen drinks.” He shook his head. “I’d hate like hell to be in a spot and have to depend on him to get me out.”
He took Milly by the arm and manipulated the mustache.
“Let’s get out of here. This monkey’s out for the night. I’ve got to see the boys at three o’clock.”
Milly lifted Joe’s head and let it fall with a plump.
“He sure is out. Aren’t we going to take him with us?”
Dick grunted. “What do you think, baby?” He was guiding her to the door. “This is where we unload a bad man from the West. West Orange. From now on this Jersey hill-billy is on his own.”
Milly giggled. It was the first in several hours. At the door Richard went into a whispered conversation with the bartender. The Syrian nodded and pocketed a bill. He followed the couple to the door and stood there until the roar of the car was lost in the speed of the gale. Then he began closing up for the night.
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