Strictly For Cash Part 1
Strictly for Cash.
James Hadley Chase.
1948.
synopsis.
aStrictly for Casha is the story of how Johnny Farrar made his roll of money. He started out to make five thousand and ended up with a quarter of million. But he didn't get it by legitimate means. And as a result, he found himself in big trouble. From the moment the reins of the richest casino on the Florida coast fell into his hands, he was sucked into a whirlpool of suspense, intrigue, murder and ruthless ambush from which he was unable to tear himself free.
PART ONE.
DOUBLE-CROSS.
chapter one.
We hit Pelotta around nine-thirty at night, after a four-hour run from Kern City. Packed with stores, souvenir stands, cafs and filling stations, it was like any of the other small towns along the Florida coast.
The trucker, whose name was Sam Williams, pointed out the places of interest as we drove along the main street.
aThat's the Ocean Hotel,a he said, jerking his thumb at a gaudy affair of chromium, neon lights and bottle-green awnings that stood at the intersection that led across the town and to the sea. aPetelli owns every brick of it. Come to that, he owns pretty well the whole town. He own s the stadium too. That's it up there.a I peered through the windshield of the truck. Aloof on a hill, overlooking the town, was a circular concrete building, open to the sky in the centre, and roofed in on the rear stands. Above the roof were vast batteries of lights strung together on big steel frames, and which could be focused down on the ring.
aThere must be a pile of jack coming out of that joint,a Williams went on. He wiped his red, fleshy face with the back of his hand and spat out of the window. aPetelli promotes a fight programme there every Sat.u.r.day night.a He swung the truck to the right, away from the bright lights of the main street, and drove down a narrow road, flanked on either side by wooden buildings. At the far end I could see the waterfront: the ocean glittered in the moonlight like a sheet of silver paper.
aTom Roche's place is on the corner, facing the sea,a Williams said, slowing down. aI'm behind schedule or I'd come in with you. Tell him I sent you. He'll fix you a ride to Miami. If he won't play, talk to his wife: she's a good kid.a He pulled up, the nose of the truck facing the dimly lit waterfront. I opened the cabin door and slid to the ground.
aWell, thanks for the ride,a I said. aI hope we meet again.a aI'll look for you. So long, pal, and good luck.a I stepped back and watched the truck move off along the waterfront, then I turned and walked over to Roche's Caf.
It was a two-storey building made of salvaged lumber and painted white. The double swing-doors stood open, and music from a jukebox ground out into the night.
I mounted the three wooden steps and paused to look in. There were tables dotted around a fair-sized room, a counter on which stood three steaming urns, half a dozen wooden stools up at the counter, and a big electric fan in the ceiling that churned up the hot air.
Two men in singlets and dirty canvas trousers sat at a table by the door. Near the jukebox to the right of the counter at another table was a big, heavily built man in a white tropical suit and a yellow and red hand-painted tie. Seated opposite him a short, fat man in a brown suit and a panama hat gazed emptily into s.p.a.ce. A truck driver, in a leather windbreaker and breeches, sat on a stool at the counter, his head in his hands. Behind the counter a slim, white-faced girl, I guessed was Alice Roche, was putting two cups of coffee on a tray. At the far end of the counter, polishing an urn, was Tom Roche, a dark, skinny little guy with a hard, bitter mouth and a shock of wiry black hair.
For a few seconds I stood in the darkness, watching. No one noticed me.
I watched the girl take the cups of coffee across the room to the big man and his fat companion. She put the cups on the table, and as she did so the big man grinned up at her and his hand gripped her leg below the knee.
She stiffened, nearly dropped the cup, and tried to back away, but his thick fingers retained their grip while he continued to grin up at her. I expected her to slap him or scream, but she didn't do either. Instead, she looked hurriedly over her shoulder at Tom Roche who was concentrating on the urn and not noticing what was going on. The look on her face told me she was scared to make a scene because she'd be pulling Roche into something he wasn't big enough to handle, and I felt a sudden cold knot form inside my chest. But I didn't move. It would have been simple to have walked in there and socked the big fellow, but that wouldn't have taken care of Tom Roche's pride. No man likes another to protect his wife when he's there to do it himself.
She leaned down and tried to prise the big fellow's fingers off her leg, but she hadn't the strength.
His companion, the fat man in the brown suit, tapped him on the arm and whispered to him imploringly, nodding at Roche who was standing back to admire the shine on the urn.
The big fellow gave the fat man a shove with his free hand; the kind of shove you'd get from a steamroller if you walked into it without looking where you were going. It left the fat man gasping.
The hand slid up above the knee, and the girl in a kind of desperate frenzy hit the big fellow on the bridge of his nose with her clenched fist.
The big fellow cursed her. Then Roche looked their way, and his pale face went the colour of mutton fat. He took four lopsided strides that brought him out from behind the counter. He had on a surgical boot that built up his shortened right leg, but it still gave him a limp like he had stepped into a hole every time he took a stride with his right foot.
The big fellow let go of the girl and shoved her aside, sending her reeling across the room into the arms of the trucker who had slid off his stool and was gaping, without making any move to help.
Roche reached the table. The big fellow didn't bother to get up. He was grinning. Roche's right fist swung up and round towards the big fellow's head. The big fellow weaved inside the swing and Roche's fist hit s.p.a.ce. He lost balance and came forward, and the big fellow gave him a dig in the belly. Roche was flung across the room and thudded into the counter. He slid to the floor, and lay gasping.
The big fellow stood up.
aLet's get out of here,a he said to the fat man. aI'm sick of this joint.a He walked over to where Roche was struggling to get up. aTake a swing at me again, you little rat, and I'll smash you,a he said, and drew back his foot to kick Roche.
I was across the room in three strides and pulled him away from Roche. I spun him around and smacked his face, hard enough for the smack to sound like a .22 going off at close range.
That smack hurt, as I meant it to hurt, and water spurted out of his eyes as he staggered back.
aIf you must kick someone,a I said, akick me. I'm a better target.a If he hadn't been half-crazy with rage he wouldn't have thrown the punch he did. It was a roundhouse swing that started from his ankles and telegraphed itself all the way. The kind of punch you'd throw at someone who didn't know the first thing about fighting. The kind of punch that would have flattened an elephant if it had landed, but it didn't land.
I moved inside it and socked him with my special right hook that travelled about four inches and had my whole weight behind it. It exploded on his jaw with a devastating impact and he went down as if he'd been pole-axed. I didn't wait to see if he were going to get up. I knew he wouldn't. When they go down like that, they stay down.
I stepped back and looked at the fat man.
aGet this hunk of garbage out of here before I really go to town on him.a The fat man was staring at the big fellow, spread out on the floor, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. As he knelt beside him I went over to Roche and helped him to his feet. He was breathless, but he could stand, and he had still a lot of fight left in him. He made a move towards the big fellow as if he were set on hitting him again, but I held him back.
aHe's had enough,a I said. aYou don't want to break your hands on a lump like him. Take it easy.a The girl came over and put her arms round him. I left him to her and joined the two men in singlets and the trucker who were staring down at the big fellow.
The fat man was trying to bring him round without much success.
aBust his jaw,a the trucker said, and drew in an excited hiss of breath. aI've never seen a punch like it! Didn't travel an inch a" and socko! Well, the b.u.m certainly asked for it.a aGet him out of here,a I said. aCome on, boys, hoist him up and get him outside.a The fat man looked up. He had eyes like pools of beer, and from his expression I thought he was going to burst into tears.
aYou've broken my boy's jaw,a he said, aand he's fighting on Sat.u.r.day.a aI should have broken his neck,a I said. aGet him out of here before I change my mind and finish the job.a The big fellow opened his eyes, groaned and sat up. The lower part of his jaw sagged hideously, and an ugly red patch showed on his right cheek where I had slapped him.
The two guys in singlets hauled him to his feet and supported him. He went with them without looking at me, his head on his chest, his eyes glazed and his legs like rubber. The fat man brought up the rear. He looked as if he were following behind his mother's hea.r.s.e.
The trucker turned to gape at me as if I were the miracle boy come down from the sky on a cloud of fire.
aWell, for crying out loud!a he exclaimed. aDo you know who that was a" the guy you socked? That's Joe MacCready, the local champ. He's fighting the Miami Kid on Sat.u.r.day, and there's a load of dough spread on the fight. Take my tip, brother, and get out of town. When Petelli hears what you've done to MacCready, he'll blow his top. I'm not kidding. Petelli's as dangerous as a rattlesnake. Get your skates on and beat it!a
chapter two.
I pushed back my chair and reached for a cigarette, but Roche beat me to it. Everything was on the house this night. I had just climbed outside the best meal I had eaten in years, and while I ate Roche and his wife, Alice, kept me company. I liked them. They were the kind of folk I could get along with, and we were on first-name terms before I had finished the meal.
They had done most of the talking while I was eating, and now I knew it was my turn.
aMaybe you're wondering what I'm doing here,a I began, when Roche had lit my cigarette. aWell, I'm from Pittsburgh. My old man ran a caf bang opposite the Carnegie Steelworks. You'd have thought a caf situated outside the biggest steelworks in the world would have paid off, wouldn't you? But it didn't. Don't ask me why. I never got around to figuring it out myself. There was d.a.m.n-all when he died. A good thing or I might be still there. As it is I had to sell up to pay what he owed, and that left me without a home. So I thought I'd take a look at Florida, and boy am I glad I did.a Roche scratched the side of his jaw and squinted at me. aWhat's so special about Florida?a aEver been to Pittsburgh? Soot, dirt, noise and fog a" that's Pittsburgh. That's what's so special about Florida.a aMaybe you're right. I've lived here all my life. I get sick of the sun sometimes.a aBrother, you don't know when you're well off! I've had the finest three weeks of my life riding trucks this far. This country's terrific.a I leaned forward. aAnd that reminds me. I got a ride off a guy named Williams. He told me to come here. You know him?a aYeah: known him years.a aHe said you could fix me a ride to Miami. Can you do it?a aThat's easy. Josh Bates is on the Miami run. I keep his mail for him. He'll be in tomorrow morning. I'll fix it for you. So you're going to Miami?a aYou bet.a aHey, Alice,a Roche said, ahow about some more beer? Can't you see this fella's dying of thirst?a While she was in the kitchen getting the beer, he went on, aThat's the finest hook I've seen outside anything Dempsey threw. You in the game? I guess you must be. That late shift of yours and the way . . .a aI've been in it, but I'm through now. It's too much of a racket.a He eyed me over.
aWith that build and that hook you could be sensational. Who have you fought?a aI had three rounds with Joe Louis when he ran out of sparring partners during his Army exhibition tour. Nice guy, Joe. He said I had a good right hand.a aJoe said that?a Roche seemed impressed.
aThe best sc.r.a.p I ever had was when I deputized for Abe Linsky. I put Jack Weiner away in the second.a Roche gaped at me.
aYou mean a" Jack Weiner? The Californian champ ?a aThat's the fella. He wasn't champ then, but he was quite a sc.r.a.pper. I was lucky to hang one on his jaw. I guess he was a shade too confident.a aJeepers!a Roche said. aWell, that's something. What made you quit?a aI guess I like to keep my face the shape it is, besides, I've got other ideas.a aSounds like a waste of talent to me,a Roche said, shaking his head. aIf you could take Weiner . . .a aThat trucker told me to get out of town. He said Petelli would have something to say about MacCready.a aYou don't have to worry about Petelli. Solly Brant will tell him what happened. Besides, the Miami Kid is getting Petelli's backing. If it had been the Kid you hit, then you would have had to get out fast, but Petelli hasn't any time for MacCready.a aThis Solly Brant you just mentioned. Is he the fat guy with MacCready?a aThat's right. He owns MacCready, and I bet he wishes he didn't. He's not a bad fella, but what can you do with a b.u.m like MacCready?a Alice returned with two pints of beer.
Roche had insisted that I should stay the night at the caf, and I welcomed the suggestion. For the past three weeks I had been sleeping rough, and the thought of a night in a bed was tempting.
After we had talked a while, I pushed back my chair.
aIf it's okay with you I'd like to turn in now. I've been truck riding for eight hours, and I'm about asleep on my feet.a aGo ahead. Alice'll show you the room,a Roche said, and stood up. He offered his hand. aAnd thanks again for what you did.a aForget it,a I said, shaking hands. aThanks for the meal. It was great.a Alice took me upstairs to a small room that looked on to the waterfront.
aIf there's anything you want . . .a aNot a thing. That bed sure looks good.a aYou can take a bath if you want to. It's right next door.a aI'll do that. You know this is pretty nice of you.a aWe're very grateful for what you did, Johnny. That brute might have hurt Tom badly. He's not very strong.a aBut he's got a lot of guts. I guess you're pretty proud of him.a aOh, I am.a She put her hand on my arm, and her eyes were shining. aHe's been through some bad times, but he's always been good to me. But if you hadn't come in when you did . . .a aForget it. I was glad I was around.a aI just want you to know I think you're splendid,a she said, and went away, leaving me a little hot and fl.u.s.tered.
I took a bath, lying in the hot water for half an hour or so. I could hear them talking downstairs, and when I got into bed, Roche came up and put his head round the door.
aAll set?a he asked, edged his way in and stood at the foot of the bed looking at me.
I grinned at him.
aYou bet.a He shifted from one foot to the other, rubbed the end of his nose with the back of his hand while he stared seriously at me.
aAnything on your mind?a I asked, seeing he wanted to say something but seemed at a loss for words.
aI guess so. Me and Alice have been talking about you. I have a proposition to make you. How would you like to come in with us? We're doing pretty well, but we could do better. With you to help us, we could expand. I don't say there's a fortune to be picked up, but if it interests you I can show you the figures. I don't mean I'm offering you a job. I'm offering you a third share in the business. It could be a nice living. What do you say? Alice and me would like to have you.a I stared at him, scarcely believing I had heard aright.
aWhy, you're crazy!a I exclaimed, sitting up. aYou don't know a thing about me. You can't go offering me a third of your business just because I punched a fella in the jaw. What's the matter with you?a Roche sat on the edge of the bed.
aWe need help, Johnny. We need a guy like you. You know the trade, for one thing. Then you're big and can sc.r.a.p a" I can't. We get some tough characters in here, and there's not a lot I can do about it. We like you. We reckon you'd be worth every nickel you take out of the business.a He was probably right, but the job was no good to me. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I had to tell him.
aLook, Tom, let's get this straightened out,a I said. aDon't think I'm not grateful for the offer. I am, but it can't be done. Don't get me wrong about this, but frankly I've been in smalltime too long. All my life I've wanted money: not a few paltry dollars a" my old man had that and they got him nowhere a" but a roll of money you could choke a horse with. Maybe it's because my old man kept me so short when I was a kid. The only thing he ever paid for was my food. My clothes, movies, candy and all the other things kids spend dimes on I had to earn, and it meant earning them the hard way: working after school, running errands, delivering newspapers, cleaning windows, and never having any time to play. My old man reckoned it would make me value money, but he was wrong. It made me determined to get a pile somehow and have a glorious blow with it. I've got to make money. It's become a thing with me, and when I've got it I'm going on the biggest bender ever. I thought my chance had come when my old man died. I figured I'd be able to sell the caf and go a bust on the proceeds, but there were debts and there weren't any proceeds. Right now all I've got are the clothes I stand up in and forty dollars from my army gratuity. So I'm going to Miami where the dough is, and some of it's going to stick to me. Big dough, Tom, not little stuff. I have a feeling in my bones if I can get to Miami I'll hit the jackpot.a Roche sat listening, his face expressionless.
aWhy Miami, Johnny? Why not New York or any big city?a aSomething I heard,a I said. aI know it sounds c.o.c.keyed, but I met a guy who's been to Miami. He reckoned there was no place like it on earth. He said there were more millionaires to the square inch out there than any other place in the world, and they go there for a vacation, and they throw their money around like drunken sailors. If you're smart you can catch some of it. But don't get me wrong. I don't intend to work any racket or get into trouble. I'm going to collect this pile legitimate. There're all kinds of jobs going in Miami where you can pick up big dough. Know what this guy told me? He said lifeguards make up to two hundred bucks a week. He knew one of them who saved the life of a movie star, and they gave him a thousand bucks and a job in Hollywood. This guy himself was a chauffeur, and his boss kicked off and left him five grand. He'd only worked for him for three years. Think of that! I don't see why I shouldn't muscle in on that kind of luck. That's all it is. The money's there. It's just a matter of being on the spot when these guys throw it around.a Roche rubbed his knee while he looked thoughtfully at me.
aYour pal didn't tell you about the con men, the gamblers, the grafters, the wh.o.r.es and the mobsters who are all in there like a wolf-pack trying to separate your millionaires from their rolls, did he?a he asked quietly. aHe didn't mention the cops who hound a guy unless he's well dressed and keep him on the move? I've been to Miami, Johnny. Before I bust my leg I used to drive a truck from Pelotta to Miami every week. It's a fine town for millionaires, but if you're short of dough, it's tougher than a jungle full of wild animals. Take my tip and forget Miami. You're living in a pipe dream. Stay with us and you have a chance to make a reasonable living and you'll keep out of trouble. When a guy goes after the kind of dough you're talking about, sooner or later he's going to get into trouble. Use your head, Johnny. The only way you could break into big money is by fighting. I don't know how good you are, but if that punch is a sample, then I'd say . . .a aDon't say it,a I broke in. aI've quit fighting. I'm not finishing up half blind and my brains leaking blood. That's out. You say Miami is tough. This guy says it's a soft touch. I guess I'll go and find out for myself. Maybe I'm crazy, but I'm going. Sorry, Tom, but that's the way it is. And don't think I'm ungrateful.a Roche lifted his thin shoulders.
aOkay, if that's how you feel about it, then go to Miami. Have a look around. Then come back here. I can do with you. I'll give you three months before I look for someone else. Think about it, Johnny. A third share and a free hand, and only Alice and me to bother you. Think about it.a I didn't have to think about it.
aDon't wait for me, Tom,a I said. aYou fix yourself up. I won't be coming back.a
chapter three.
I had just finished breakfast when Roche put his head round the door.
aSolly Brant's outside. He's asking for you. Want to see him?a aWhy not, or shouldn't I?a Roche shrugged.
aPlease yourself. He wouldn't say what he wants.a aWell, shoot him in.a I pushed back my plate, and, as I reached for a cigarette, Brant came in. His panama hat was pushed to the back of his head. There were dark rings under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn't slept for days.
aI'm sorry your boy can't fight,a I said before he could open his mouth, abut he got what he deserved. It's no use corning moaning to me. It's something I can't do anything about.a aYeah, don't tell me, I know,a Brant said, and pulled up a chair. He sat down. aHe's a b.u.m, always was; always will be.a He rubbed his face with his hand and groaned. aThat punk's put years on my life. The trouble I've had with him.a He leaned forward and poked a fat finger at me. aWhere did you learn to punch like that?a aI've done a little fighting. If I'd known he had a gla.s.s jaw I'd have hit him some other place.a aHe ain't got a gla.s.s jaw. Guys have been hanging punches on his jaw for years, and up to now he's liked it. I've never seen a punch like that. It would have dented a tank.a He absently picked up a piece of toast and began to nibble at it. aBut never mind him. If I'd some other boy to fight the Kid I'd be waving flags to be rid of him. But I haven't another boy, and this is the first major fight I've collared in years. The take's seven-fifty, and that's a lot of beer to a guy like me.a He gnawed at the toast, then asked, aWho have you fought?a aOh, no, not me,a I said. aNever mind who I've fought. You're not getting me to fight for you. I quit the game years ago, and I'm not going back to it.a The small brown eyes roved hungrily over me.
aWith that build and that hook you're a natural. How long have you been out of the game?a aToo long. I'm not interested. If that's all you've got to talk about let's part while we're still friends.a aNow wait a minute. Roche tells me you put Weiner away in the second. Is that right?a aIt's no dollars in your pocket if I did.a aHeading for Miami aren't you?a He put down the toast and hitched forward his char aNow, listen, soon as I saw you I knew you were a killer. Use your head, Farrar. What do you think you're going to do in Miami dressed like that? How far do you think you'll get before some bull tosses you in the can? Even if you keep to the back streets you won't last ten minutes. If you haven't a good front, you're out in Miami.a aThat's my funeral: not yours.a aI know.a He took off his hat and peered inside it as if looking for something he had lost. aBut I'm not talking because I like the sound of my voice. How would you like to arrive in Miami in a tropical suit and all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs and driving your own car? Okay, it's not much of a car, but it goes. And how would you like to have five hundred bucks in your pocket to give you a start?a He was dangling a nice fat worm on a sharp hook before me, and I knew it, but I listened just the same. I knew I shouldn't make much of a showing in Miami in the clothes I had on, and this had been worrying me. A tropical suit, five hundred bucks and a car sounded about right to me.
aGo on talking,a I said. aIt won't hurt me to listen.a aThat's a fact,a he said, and grinned, showing six gold-capped teeth. aThat's my proposition. Deputize for MacCready, and that's what you'll get. How does it strike you?a aNot bad. What makes you think I rate that high?a aI don't know you do. If you've got anything beside that hook, then you can't be so bad. Suppose you come down to the gym and show me just what you can do?a I hesitated. In a couple of hours Josh Bates would be pulling out of Pelotta for Miami. I could either go with him and travel as a b.u.m or stick around here for four more days and Then travel in my own car with money in my pocket. But before I got the car and the money I had to fight a heavyweight I'd never seen or heard of, and I wasn't in anything like strict training. I might even land up with a broken jaw myself.
aJust how useful is this guy you want me to fight?a aNot bad,a Brant said. aHe's fast and pins his faith on a right cross.a He stood up. aBut you don't have to worry about him. I don't expect you to beat him. All I want you to do is to stay with him for a few rounds and make a show. The dough's all on him. But if he gets too hot for you you can always do an el foldo.a aThat's something I've never done, and don't intend to do.a aJust a suggestion,a he said blandly. aSuppose we go over to the gym. We can talk better after I've seen the way you shape.a We went over to the gym. It lay at the end of a dark, evil-smelling alley off Pelotta's main street. It wasn't much of a place: one big room, equipped with two training rings, punching bags, some dirty mats scattered over the floor, a row of changing booths and a few shower cabinets, most of which didn't work.
The place was deserted when we got there.
aWaller, Joe's sparring partner, will be along any minute now,a Brant said. aHe's a good trial horse and you can hit him as hard as you like. If you don't he'll hit you. Let's have three rounds with all the action you can cram into them.a He went over to a locker and handed out some kit. While I was changing Waller came in. He was a big, battered Negro with sullen, bloodshot eyes. He nodded briefly to Brant, gave me an indifferent glance and went into one of the booths to change.
When I had stripped off, Brant looked me over critically, and whistled.
aWell, you ain't carrying any fat. You look in pretty good shape to me.a aI'm all right,a I said, and ducked under the ropes. aBut if I'd known this was going to happen I'd have laid off smoking. It's my wind I've got to watch.a Waller climbed into the ring. He was built like a gorilla, but in spite of his size I noticed he was eyeing me thoughtfully.
aListen, Henry,a Brant said to him, alet's have a fight. I want to see how good this guy is. Don't pull your punches and keep after him.a The Negro grunted.
aAnd that goes for you, too, Farrar,a Brant went on. aWell, if you're ready. Okay? Then come out fighting and make a meal of it.a He touched the bell.
Waller came forward like a gigantic crab, his head hunched down into his heavy shoulders. We moved around the ring, feeling each other out. I got in a couple of quick jabs and swayed away from a vicious looping right he threw at me. I managed to pin him with another left. None of my punches had any steam in them. I wanted to test my timing. I knew it wasn't sharp. Every now and then Waller caught me with a dig that hurt. He kept shuffling away from me, making me come to him, and countering every time I landed on him. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and let fly a right that landed high up on the side of my head. I was rolling by the time it landed, but it was a good solid punch, and it shook me.
As he rushed in : let go a left: the first punch I'd thrown with any steam in it. He went back as if he had run into a brick wall. I could see the surprise on his face.
We moved around. He was more cautious now. That left had startled him. I got in two jabs and collected a dig in the body that made me grunt.
I was now having trouble with my breathing. You've got to be in strict training to take the heavy bangs I was taking and not worry about them. If I was going to keep out of trouble I'd have to stop him, and stop him quick.
He saw my wind was going and began to pile on the pressure. He was a difficult target to hit, and for the moment all I could do was to jab away at his face and head and hope for an opening. I smothered most of the punches he was throwing, but some of them landed and they hurt. I was glad when the bell went and I could flop on the stool and take a breather.
Brant sponged the blood from my nose, his fat face thoughtful.
aYou've been out of training too long,a he said. aYou're not timing your punches right. Better take it easy in the next round. Box him this time and keep away from him.a I didn't say anything. I had my own ideas what to do. I'd have to finish him in this round or I wasn't going to last.
Waller hadn't bothered to sit down. He lolled against the ropes, looking bored.
aOkay?a Brant asked as he reached for the gong-string. aYeah,a I said, and came out slowly.