MAC: Maybe. I ain’t sure. Nice coat you got on there, Gent. Is it new?

THE GENTLEMAN: Brand new.

MAC: I like them white neckties. They give a guy lotsa class.

THE GENTLEMAN: A gentleman should always wear a white tie on formal occasions.

MAC: What’s so formal about this?

THE GENTLEMAN [laughing]: Nothing about this. But I’ve been out in society tonight. Supper and dancing at the Ritz. Some swell dame holdin’ the torch for me, Mac. Worth couple of million.

MAC: Oh, yeah? Thought I seen you with Flossie tonight! Since when did she come into two million?

THE GENTLEMAN: Aw, I just bum around with Flossie. She ain’t my style.

MAC: Stepping high these days, huh? Well—watch your step! We don’t want no more trouble round here. [He starts off down the block.]

THE GENTLEMAN: Say, Mac! What time is it?

MAC: Twelve-thirty-five.

THE GENTLEMAN: What the hell does he think I am. He said twelve sharp.

MAC: Maybe he meant sharp in the guts.

THE GENTLEMAN [quickly]: What you mean?

MAC: Figure it out for yourself. [He continues down and walks offstage.]

THE GENTLEMAN: Hey, Mac! What you mean . . . oh, hell! [He lights another cigarette. Flossie comes to door.]

FLOSSIE: Say, honey. You better come on in. You’ll catch cold out there. If the Patch was gonna come he’d have shown up by now.

THE GENTLEMAN: The Patch never breaks a date. I’m working for the Patch. If he says meet him here I gotta be here, that’s all. Flossie . . .

FLOSSIE: Yeah?

THE GENTLEMAN: Chum up a little with Mike. See if you can’t get something out of him. I think he knows something.

FLOSSIE [coming down a step and taking the Gent’s arm, huddling against him]: Knows something ’bout what? George—nothing’s wrong, is it?

THE GENTLEMAN: Course not. Course not. I just—oh, hell! There’s been trouble in the mob lately. Somebody snitched, see. And I got an idea there’s somebody trying to pin it on me. Somebody talked too much. Sold out for a couple of grand.

FLOSSIE: You think the Patch . . .

THE GENTLEMAN: I dunno. You can’t tell. Course the Patch knows I’m a gentleman. I don’t see how he could think . . .

FLOSSIE: Georgie!

THE GENTLEMAN: Whatsa matter?

FLOSSIE: I’m scared! Let’s go home! Let’s go up to my place!

THE GENTLEMAN: Naw, I can’t. Not now. If I walked out on the Patch tonight, he’d think I was scared. I ain’t got nothing to be scared about, see. I ain’t done nothing. Me a stool-pigeon? Me, Gentleman George? Like hell! I’ve always played square. The Patch knows that. He knows I wouldn’t squeal. What’s he got on me? Not a damn thing. Maybe some bastard tries to frame me. It won’t work. I’ll talk to the Patch. I’ll straighten things out, all right, all right!

FLOSSIE: Georgie! You’re talking too loud!

THE GENTLEMAN: Why shouldn’t I talk out loud? Did I say anything? [He looks around.] I didn’t say anything that wasn’t right, did I?