nor the ruthless greed in the painted, rather large nose. As she surveyed him, contempt came into her hardened bold face and her greenish eyes took on a strange glitter.
"You!" she said. "Again."
"No—yet." Tony laughed at what he thought a brilliant witticism. "And I'm goin' to keep on bein' here every night till you gimme a date."
The girl laughed, a short, sharp, mirthless sound that was more like a grunt.
"Can y'imagine the nerve o' th' punk?" she demanded, as though addressing an audience, but her cold green eyes bored straight into Tony's defiant black ones. "Just a mere child without even a car and tryin' to date me up. Say, kid, do you know who my boy friend is?"
"No, and I don't care," retorted Tony with the passion-inspired recklessness of the Latin. "But I'm goin' to be."
"Well, it's Al Spingola."
Something inside of Tony suddenly went cold. Al Spingola was one of the city's important gang leaders, a ruthless man with a big income, a lot of hoodlums who were loyal to him because they feared him and he paid them well, and a quick trigger finger himself. A dangerous man!
