hat’s the matter, dad?” Carmella cried. “Need an official interpreter today?”
She laughed happily, but Tommaso’s mood was stern. The unknown worried him. For answer he pointed to the business agent, who had been talking with a companion. Dixon noted with satisfaction that Tommaso’s men were all at work.
Carmella walked sturdily to the agent.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m the English end of Coletta and Company,” she said. “And any straight or crooked work you’ve got on hand can be delivered to me, here and now. See?”
“Well, say, kid, you don’t have to start with your feet spread out like a sea-going admiral. All the matter is, your old man has got to have a bond.”
“Who says so?”
“Why—uh!—I say so.”
“And who in the holy hell are you, you moth-eaten shrimp?”
The agent flushed. He was slightly pockmarked, and below the average in size.
[164]
