"Aw, I bet he ain't so hot," answered Tony stubbornly.
"Well, maybe not," conceded Vyvyan, "but at least he can give a girl somp'm more substantial than kisses. . . . Whenever you get a flock o' dough, kid, an' a big car, why come around and then maybe I'll talk to you."
She laughed again and stepped out to the curb as a big shiny limousine drew up with a rush and stopped. Tony started after her. Then he paused as he recognized the man at the wheel of that car. It was Al Spingola! A heavy-set, swarthy man with hard, reckless dark eyes and a cruel mouth with thick, brutal lips, handsomely dressed in gray and with an enormous diamond glittering in his tie. As every one knew, the most important part of his dress lay snugly against his hip, a snubnosed blue steel revolver seldom seen, but when it was, sure to be heard and felt by somebody. Tony realized that for him to say another word to Vyvyan then would be certain death. Not at the moment, of course, because that place was too public. But within a few days his body would be found in an alley somewhere.
Spingola glanced at Tony as the girl climbed into the car. And the boy felt cold and nervous
