FLOSSIE: C’mon, Georgie. Jush one more. Warm you up. C’mon. Be good boy.

THE GENTLEMAN: Go on inside, Flossie. Order a couple more. A martini for me. The Patch’ll show up any minute now. I’ll be right in.

FLOSSIE: Honey, I wish you’d come in. You’ll catch cold out here.

THE GENTLEMAN: I ain’t afraid of catching cold.

FLOSSIE: Are you afraid of catching something else?

THE GENTLEMAN: Hell, no. Get on inside, now. Everything’s gonna be okay. I can straighten things out with the Patch. Don’t you worry ’bout that!

FLOSSIE [going into the cafe]: Okay, Georgie. I’ll order a couple more drinks.

THE GENTLEMAN: Make it three. The Patch’ll be thirsty.

[Flossie goes on inside the cafe. Wind whistles sharply around the block. The Gentleman turns up the velvet collar of his chesterfield coat. He lights another cigarette. The cafe door opens and the proprietor, Mike, comes out in a white apron, clapping his hands against the cold.]

MIKE: How’s the gent tonight?

THE GENTLEMAN: Swell.

MIKE: Your girl’s inside. Better come in.

THE GENTLEMAN: Can’t. Gotta date with the Patch. Said to meet him outside. What time is it, Mike?

MIKE: Twelve-twenty.

THE GENTLEMAN: That’s funny. The Patch said he’d be here twelve sharp.

MIKE: Better wait inside.

THE GENTLEMAN: When The Patch says wait outside he means outside. Say, Mike. You an’ the Patch are in pretty thick, aintcha?

MIKE: He’s a good friend of mine. Always has been.

THE GENTLEMAN: You know any trouble?

MIKE: What you mean, trouble?

THE GENTLEMAN: Anything . . . I mean . . . Could he be sore at me about something?

MIKE [slapping the Gentleman’s back]: Aw, hell, no! The Patch thinks the world and all of you, Gent! [Skipping back toward the door.] Better come in and have a hot toddy!

THE GENTLEMAN: Thanks. I’ll be in later. Soon as the Patch shows up.

[Mike goes in. The Gentleman whistles and stamps his cold feet. A bum comes up, shuffling and whining.]

THE GENTLEMAN: What’s that?

BUM: I says could you let me have a jitney, Mister. Honesta Gawd. . . .

THE GENTLEMAN: Here’s a half-buck. Go get yerself a bed somewhere.

BUM: Thanks! Thanks, Mister! Yer a real gentleman if ever I seen one.

THE GENTLEMAN: Sure I’m a gentleman. Everybody knows that! [The bum shuffles off.] Even the bums on the street know a gentleman when they see one! [A cop strolls up, swinging a stick.] Hi, there, Mac.

MAC: How’s the Gentleman tonight?

THE GENTLEMAN: Cold.

MAC: Better come inside with me and have a drink.

THE GENTLEMAN: Sorry. Gotta wait for someone.

MAC: Who you waitin’ for? The Patch?

THE GENTLEMAN: Naw.

MAC: If you see him, tell him for me his mob had better lay low. Things are gettin pretty hot up at headquarters. I may be forced to run some of you boys in.

THE GENTLEMAN: What’s the matter?

MAC: Somebody snitched. Sold out for a couple of grand.

THE GENTLEMAN [lighting a cigarette]: Got any idea who done it?