But right now the situation belonged to the men with guns—the Whosis Kid, Maurois and Big Chin.
The Kid spoke first. He had a whining voice that came disagreeably through his thick nose.
“This don’t look nothing like Chi to me, but, anyways, we’re all here.”
“Chicago!” Maurois exclaimed. “You did not go to Chicago!”
The Kid sneered at him.
“Did you? Did she? What would I be going there for? You think me and her run out on you, don’t you? Well, we would of if she hadn’t put the two X’s to me the same as she done to you, and the same as the three of us done to the boob.”
“That may be,” the Frenchman replied; “but you do not expect me to believe that you and Inés are not friends? Didn’t I see you leaving here this afternoon?”
“You seen me, all right,” the Kid agreed; “but if my rod hadn’t of got snagged in my flogger you wouldn’t have seen nothing else. But I ain’t got nothing against you now. I thought you and her had ditched me, just as you think me and her done you. I know different now, from what I heard while I was getting in here. She twisted the pair of us, Frenchy, just like we twisted the boob. Ain’t you got it yet?”
Maurois shook his head slowly.
What put an edge to this conversation was that both men were talking over their guns.
“Listen,” the Kid asked impatiently. “We was to meet up in Chi for a three-way split, wasn’t we?”