were one white dick! You’re not tricking me?”
“Straight up,” I assured her. “Paddy meant a lot to you?”
She nodded dully, pulling herself together, sinking back in a sort of stupor.
“The way’s open to even up for him,” I suggested.
“You mean—?”
“Talk.”
She stared at me blankly for a long while, as if she was trying to get some meaning out of what I had said. I read the answer in her eyes before she put it in words.
“I wish to God I could! But I’m Paper-box-John Cardigan’s daughter. It isn’t in me to turn anybody up. You’re on the wrong side. I can’t go over. I wish I could. But there’s too much Cardigan in me. I’ll be hoping every minute that you nail them, and nail them dead right, but—”
“Your sentiments are noble, or words to that effect,” I sneered at her. “Who do you think you are—Joan of Arc? Would your brother Frank be in stir now if his partner, Johnny the Plumber, hadn’t put the finger on him for the Great Falls bulls? Come to life, dearie! You’re a thief among thieves, and those who don’t double-cross get crossed. Who rubbed your Paddy the Mex out? Pals! But you mustn’t slap back at ’em because it wouldn’t be clubby. My God!”
My speech only thickened the sullenness in her face.
“I’m going to slap back,” she said, “but I can’t, can’t split. I can’t, I tell you. If you were a gun, I’d—Anyway, what help I get will be on my side of the game. Let it go at that, won’t you? I know how you feel about it,