More Deadly Than The Male

"I'll say 'e 'as," Little Ernie said, undisguised admiration in his eyes. "Well, well. What'll you 'ave? He rubbed a dirty finger under his nose and then wiped his finger on his trouser leg.

"We've got drinks, thank you," George said, a little stiffly. He didn't like this man He didn't like the way he was eyeing Cora, a lewd look in his small green eyes.

Little Ernie rapped on the bar with a coin. "Hurry up," he shouted. "I ain't got all day. Gimme a double Scotch." He turned to Cora. "Sure you won't 'ave one?"

"All right," she said, leaning her hack against the counter. She propped herself on her elbows and thrust her chest at him. "Give George one, too. You're lousy with money, aren't you?" '

Little Ernie winked. "I get by," he said, and raising his voice he shouted, "Make it three doubles, Clara, and out of the boss' bottle!" He looked at Cora again, then he glanced at George. "Fine gel, ain't she?" he said. "What a dairy! You could make pounds outta 'er if you knew 'ow to 'andle 'er."

"Shut your dirty trap," Cora said, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter. "George's not like you." She reached round and picked up her glass. "How's Eva? Still buying your suits?"

Little Ernie's cruel face darkened. "You don't 'ave to shout all over the shop, do you?" he said, glancing uneasily over his shoulder. "Old Crockett was down the street not five minutes ago. She's all right. She's a good girl. Work! Gawd love me, I've never known a girl to work like it!"

Cora sneered. "That's her trouble, Ernie. She does like it."

George was listening to this conversation and not understanding a word of it. He wished Little Ernie would go away. He was so repulsive that he embarrassed George.

"Believe she does," Little Ernie agreed thoughtfully. "You're a smart gel, Cora. Pity you don't get wise. I could fix you up in no time. Think of it! A flat of your own, 'undred smackers a week, and a dawg if you wanted one."

The barmaid planked down the three double whiskies, and Little Ernie parted with a pound.

"Gimme twenty Players and keep the change, ducks," he said. He turned back to Cora. "Well, I suppose you know what's good for you," he went on. "Only if you ever change your mind, give us a ring." He picked up his whisky. "Well, 'ere's to better days." He drank half the whisky, sighed and rested his small foot on the brass rail. "What 'ave you been doing to yourself?" he said, eyeing Cora. "You look or] right; a proper knockout."

"My new valet," Cora said, nodding at George. "He washed my pretty clothes and gave me a shampoo."

Little Ernie stared at George blankly

George turned scarlet under the hitter, green eyes.

"Well, well," Little Ernie said. "Fancy that." He picked his nose and moved restlessly. "Hmm, well, well." He seemed at a loss for words.

"He's not a cissy," Cora said, glancing at George as if he were a stranger. "He's a tough guy, and when I say tough, I mean tough. He was Frank Kelly's gunman."

Little Ernie put down his glass. "Is that so?" He stared at George with interest.

George wished that Cora hadn't brought that up again. He shuffled his feet and fiddled with his tie. "Have another Scotch?" he said, in a desperate attempt to be at his ease.

" 'Ave one yourself," Little Ernie said. "It's on me." He snapped his fingers at the barmaid. "Same again, Clara, and don't drown 'em." He looked at Cora questioningly, but she only gave him hack a jeering smile. "Kelly's gunman, eh? Hmm, what are you doing over 'ere?"

"Mind your own business," Cora snapped, before George could think of anything to say. "He's one of us now."

The green eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

"That's right. Three thugs once took him in a wood. They had ideas about him He walked out on his feet and alone," Cora said, her eyes, cold and hard, on George's bewildered face. "But he's modest. He doesn't talk about it." She fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her hip pocket. "He's quite a guy."

Little Ernie lit her cigarette and then produced two cigars. He offered one to George, who took it, not because he wanted it, but because he was so embarrassed that he wasn't quite certain what he was doing.

"Seems a quiet type of bloke, doesn't he?" Little Ernie went on regarding George.

"He's quiet all right," Cora returned. "Aren't you, George?"

George mumbled something. He didn't know what all this was about, but he did feel a sense of pride at the respectful way Little Ernie was regarding him

"Syd said you'd be here. I thought he was joining us. What's he up to?" Little Ernie asked suddenly.

"He's busy," Cora said.

Little Ernie handed round the whiskies again. "Oh, well," he said, "I expect 'e is, but 'e said 'e'd be 'ere. Seen Crispin lately?" he went on casually, after a pause: too casually.

George started, slopping his whisky He felt Little Ernie's eyes on him

Cora nodded. Her expression didn't change. There was a jeering, confident expression in her eyes that obviously impressed Little Ernie.

"I saw him last night: so did George."