"I
like straight talk, man to man. Now, what's your game?"
"Business."
"All right then," said Greenfield, with a frown, "but you can't touch
me--now. There's an extradition treaty coming, but then there'd have to
be a retroactive clause to do you any good." He paused, studying the
expression on the Inspector's face. "There's enough of the likes of me
here to see that don't occur. Say, Bub?"
"Well?"
"You deal a square pack, don't you?"
"That's my reputation, Bucky."
"Give me your word you'll play me square."
Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily. Greenfield,
with pursed lips, studied every movement.
"No kidnapping tricks?"
Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against
his fork and fell to eating.
"Well, Bub?"
"What?"
"No fancy kidnapping?"
"I'm promising nothing, Bucky."
There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered. Suddenly he shot
out his hand, saying with a nod: "You're a white man, Bub, and I never
heard a word against that." He filled a glass and shoved it toward
Frawley.
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