"Haven't even got my shiv anymore, Frankie," Tiflin remarked, casually.
Now that Shiv had mentioned it, Delancy recognized the fear that plagued him.
And I don't think I want to have anything to do with that guy, do you, Shiv?
He sells it cheap, and certainly it makes him fat as Shiv's own bull.
As fast as his short bowed legs would carry him, he ran to the car and piled in beside Shiv.
The man called Shiv was driving Delancy's get-away car at a conservative pace so as not to excite suspicion.
Shiv speeded up to forty miles an hour as he rolled to the top of a little hill.
Then Shiv whipped his wheel around for a short turn into the mouth of an alley.
Shiv steered into the wash room, and the doors dropped back into place.
He gripped Shiv's shoulder convulsively, nearly sending his own car into the ditch by so doing.