“I’ll pay you whatever you ask a week to do these other things and this and you won’t be sent back to prison.”
“Kid. It isn’t the pay. A couple hundred a week would be great. But it isn’t the pay. There are just some things one can’t bring himself to do!”
“Such as?” said Heller.
“Look, kid. I was a marine. Now, once a marine, always a marine. The Marines, kid, is the MARINES! Now, kid, the Army is a hell of a downstairs sort of organization. It is the Army, kid. Dogfaces. I don’t think you realize that you’re asking me to throw away all my principles. I couldn’t even pretend to join the Army, kid. I’d feel so degraded I wouldn’t be able to live with myself! And that’s everything, kid. Pride!”
They ate some more spaghetti.
There was a change of noise level. Bang-Bang looked toward the distant door. “Hey, a new show must have just let out. I think that commotion at the door must be the stars. Now watch this, kid. If it’s a great show, this whole crowd of diners here will applaud and if it was a flop, they’ll turn their backs.”
Heller looked. Johnny Matinee was half out of his chair, looking toward the door. Jean Lologiggida was craning her pretty neck. Three of the Sardine photographers, that had been running around taking flash pictures of diners for personal albums, got ready to shoot a big scene.
The buzz at the door increased. The crowd there parted.
In walked Police Inspector Grafferty, resplendent in full uniform!
The diners turned their backs on him with a groan.
“That’s Grafferty,” hissed Bang-Bang. “Got his nerve walking into a Corleone place. He’s in Faustino’s pay!”
Grafferty knew exactly where he was going. He was coming straight through to the back. To Bang-Bang’s table!
He stopped with his right side to Heller. His interest was in Bang-Bang. “The undercover cops in the street spotted you coming in here, Rimbombo. I just wanted to get one last look at your face before they sent you back up the river.”
But Heller was not looking at Grafferty. He had picked up the corner of the tablecloth and was tucking it into Grafferty’s coat pocket with a fork! What a crazy thing to do! Clearly showed he had a trivial mind.
“What’s this?” said Grafferty. He was reaching out for the bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold Label. “Hooch without a revenue seal on its cap! I thought I could find something if I just came…”
Heller’s voice cut into the speech and into the room for that matter. The drone of diners’ voices vanished. “Don’t try to pinch my friend for contributing to the delinquency of a minor!”
Grafferty let go of the Scotch and turned to face Heller. “Who’s this? Haven’t I seen your face before somewhere, kid?”
In that penetrating Fleet voice of his, Heller said, “This beer is legal!”
“Beer?” said Grafferty. “A minor and beer? Oh, boy, Rimbombo, you are in for it now! And this is a licensing matter! I can get the Corleone license revoked for this whole place!”
“Look here!” said Heller. “It’s nonalcoholic beer. Look at the label!”
Heller was fumblingly, hastily, pushing the empty beer bottle forward toward Grafferty. It seemed to slip. Grafferty grabbed for it.
The beer bottle hit the bottle of Scotch!
The Scotch went over the table edge!
Grafferty grabbed for the Scotch!
The Scotch hit the floor with a splintering crash!
Grafferty was still going down. He seemed to trip.
The whole tablecloth was pulled off!
Bowls of spaghetti, utensils, dirty plates and red tomato sauce hit Grafferty in an avalanche!
Jean Lologiggida was half out of her seat, looking white, hand pressed to her bosom.
Heller was up. “Oh, my goodness!” he cried and raced around the table to help Grafferty. His spikes stepped on the broken glass of the Scotch. He looked down and kicked the cap and label far away with a twitch of his foot.
He was assisting Grafferty up. From a nearby table he grabbed a red-checked cloth. He began to swab at Grafferty’s face.
What a horribly bad job of cleaning! He was smearing spaghetti all over Grafferty’s face, in his hair, on his tunic.
Jean Lologiggida was pressed back against the side of her booth.
Heller took Grafferty by the elbow and led him toward the star’s table.
The photographers were batting out shot after shot!
Heller got Grafferty to her table. “Oh, Miss Lologiggida! Inspector Grafferty demanded the right to tell you how terribly sorry he was to disturb your dinner. The tablecloth caught in his belt. And you are sorry, aren’t you, Inspector?”
Grafferty didn’t know whether he was up or down. He stared at the star. He said, “Oh, my God, it’s Lologiggida!” Then he saw he was still trailing the tablecloth and plates. He tore the corner of it off his belt. And while the flashguns flashed, rushed from the restaurant.
Suddenly Jean Lologiggida burst into gales of laughter! She was doubled up with it!
Johnny Matinee rushed over. “Ye gads, I wish I’d been part of that. It’ll make the front page!”
Somebody, evidently Johnny Matinee’s public relations man, was grabbing the photographers and having a hurried consultation with the proprietor.
The PR man said, “It’s nothing to you, kid,” to Heller. “Do you mind if Johnny takes your place on the front page? We’ll overpaste the shots they took.”
“Feel free,” said Heller.
They put Johnny Matinee where Heller had stood in front of Lologiggida, got him to assume the same pose. The flashbulbs flashed.
Heller went back to the table. The restaurant was still rocking with laughter. Somebody belatedly started to applaud and Heller turned and took a bow but indicated, with his hand, Johnny Matinee. This seemed even funnier to people.
Bang-Bang was sitting there, doubled over with laughter. “Oh, sangue di Cristo! That Grafferty won’t come near a Corleone place for a while. And you bought the joint a million in publicity!”
Heller said, soberly, “And Grafferty won’t connect that bottle up with the warehouse job.”
Bang-Bang looked at Heller as Heller sat back down. “Hey, I never thought of that!”
Cherubino came over. He had another nonalcoholic beer. He was grinning when he set it down. “This a good kid you got here, Bang-Bang. I’m glad he’s part of our family and not some other mob! Maybe you ain’t so stupid as I thought!” He went off.
Bang-Bang sat there, looking at Heller. “You know, kid, I’m going to take you up on that offer. I’ll even swallow my scruples and join the Army for you.” He thought for a bit. Then he said, “It’s not because it’ll save me from going back to jail. It’s just because you’re kind of fun to be around!”
But I was not as impressed as they were. Heller’s tablecloth trick was something we used to do at the Academy to dumb recruits. And any spacer has vast experience in handling barroom brawls. Heller was just taking advantage of the fact that Voltar technology was far higher than that of Earth’s. Still, he was too tricky, too sneaky. And he was making too much progress!
Where the Hells was the communication from Rant and Terb? I couldn’t abide the idea of seeing Heller fool all these people into thinking he amounted to something. All that (bleeping) applause!
PART NINETEEN
Chapter 1
Bright and early, Heller and Bang-Bang got off the subway at Empire Station. This morning Heller was wearing tailored gray flannel tennis slacks and a gray shirt with a white tennis sweater tied by its sleeves loosely around his neck. And he wore his inevitable red baseball cap and his spikes. He was carrying two heavy rucksacks evidently jammed with things I had no clue about.