“I trust there won’t be any trouble,” I said.
He took a cocktail glass full of a pale amber fluid from Soong’s tray and thrust it into my hand. Sleeping during the daytime always makes me exceptionally thirsty. Even the sight of a small pearl onion in the bottom of the glass did not deter me. A good salesman thinks of his customers and never eats onions in any form.
I drained the glass in three swallows. Just as I replaced it on Soong’s tray the ingredient it had contained caught me by the throat. I gave a strangled gasp, I am sure, and something seemed to be bounding up and down in my stomach, emiting flame and sparks. It was instinctive to attempt to cool off the fire. Before I realized what I was going, I had grasped a second glass and done likewise with it. Too late, I realized my mistake.
Artigan whistled softly and said, “That’s a hell of a way to drink Martinis.”
“The only way,” I said firmly. “More people should realize that.”
It is apparently true that alcohol has a remarkable effect on the inhibitions. The room and the party swirled into a sort of warm, smoky haze, and I was but intermittently conscious of my actions. At one point I went to my suitcase and brought out one of our standard items of the Idle Hour line, a lapel flower with blub attached. I have never cared particularly for the item, but it seemed an excellent idea to fill the bulb with Martini and wander through the group, aiming it at every handy face. I picked one stranger who took exception to my little game. I squirted him and he growled, “Cut that!” I smiled and gave it to him again. He balled his fists and took a step toward me, his nose practically against mine, and said, “You do that once more, tall and revoltin’, and I’m gonna—” I couldn’t hit him in the face with the stream, so I had to give it to him in the neck.
He actually seemed about to hit me when Mr. Artigan came quickly up and whispered something into the man’s ear. His whole attitude changed. He gave me a wide, glassy smile. “That’s a pretty good gag, is what I was trying to say,” he said in a slightly shaky voice.
I squirted him with what was left in the bulb and he laughed uproariously.
I was finishing a large plate of cold ham and potato salad when Artigan tapped me on the shoulder and said, “The car’s ready. Time to go.”
The warm haze slid away from me as though it had never existed. I dropped down into that pit of bottomless despair which I have since learned is a Martini depression.
It was Arty who caught me at the door and handed me my box. “You don’t want to forget this, do you?” he asked, grinning.
“Of course not. Thank you very much.”
The motor was running. George was at the wheel. Fish was in back. Fish seemed highly nervous. I got in with Fish. The gates opened and the car slid forward.
“How fast, Jumpy?” George asked politely.
“As fast as you can make it,” I said quickly, hoping that a prowl car would solve my dilemma.
“Sure thing,” George said gayly, turning out onto the main road. For the next six minutes I had my eyes open only at intervals. Each time I opened them I would see the massive car leaping for a tiny gap in the thundering traffic and I would be forced to shut them again.
He turned into a gaily lighted drive-in. The amplified music of a juke box yammered across the wide parking area.
“Already?” I said timorously.
“Four city miles in six minutes,” George said proudly. “Wait’ll I get you on the open road some time. This’ll do a hundred twenty-seven.”
“Better unwrap that box,” Fish suggested.
It could do no harm, and it might possibly do some good. I unwrapped the box. In the light inside the car the big gun looked deadly enough. I slid it under my belt and pulled my coat across it.
“That’s a tough size cannon to use,” Fish said with respect.
“It’s all in becoming accustomed to it.”
“Sure, sure.”
A girl approached our car. I wondered how the poor thing must feel being forced to parade in front of all the munching hundreds of people in nothing but those little shorts with the military stripe down the sides and the skimpy halter.
“What’ll it be, boys?” she inquired in a brassy voice.
“Say, do you come with the box lunch?” George asked.
“Sonny, you can’t afford our box lunch, so you’ll never find out, will you?”
Fish jabbed me hard with his elbow. I leaned forward, wet my lips, and said, “Would it be too much to ask to have Miss Kelly wait on this car?”
The girl seemed annoyed. The dollar I held out to her wiped away her expression. “Kelly coming up,” she said and strutted off. Martha would have disapproved.
“What’ll we do when she shows?” Fish asked, “Just yank her in and roar out of here?”
“First,” I said, “I believe I’d like to have her bring me a chocolate milk shake. I left the house before I had a chance to get dessert.”
“You slay me,” Fish said.
The Kelly girl approached the car. Her uniform was as skimpy as the one on the previous girl, but she wore it with what seemed a trace of self-consciousness. Her hair glinted dark red in the floodlights and her face had a most cute, snub-nosed impudent look. A magazine illustrator would have painted her as a kid sister type.
“They tell me I have friends here,” she said in a warm and throaty voice, peering in at us. “Do I know you?”
“You were recommended to us as providing excellent service, Miss Kelly,” I said, “For me, a chocolate milk shake.”
“Anna beer,” said Fish.
“Anna beer,” said George.
She went away. “Nice item,” George said. I said nothing. Out of the corner of my eyes I had detected a prowl car parked not far away. I hoped that neither George nor Fish would see it.
We were silent for a moment. I made my plan. I said, “When we’ve finished, we’ll give her a ten dollar bill. She’ll take away the tray and bring back our change. I’ll be waiting outside the car for her. I shall push her in, climb in myself, and away we will go.”
“Sounds okay to me,” George said.
For the next ten minutes, until I could safely get out of the car, I was almost frantic for fear the officers of the law would finish their repast and drive away. As she left with the tray and the ten dollar bill, I opened the door and got out. As casually as I dared I walked away from the blue sedan, directly toward the police car.
A beefy officer licked grease from his fingers and stared at me as I bent to talk in the window.
“Officer, I wish to report that those men in that car are planning to help me kidnap our waitress, the little girl with the red hair.”
He winked at me. “Mac, you got damn fine taste. I’ll say that.”
“You don’t understand, Officer! I’m turning myself in!”
“That’s damn white of you, Mac.” He reached out and pinched my cheek with his big fingers. “Gee, you’re a cutie,” he said. “Maybe she’ll go for you.”
“Hey, Red,” he shouted. I turned and saw the girl stop and then come over toward us.
“Hello, Dave,” she said.
“Red, this taxpayer here wants a recommend from the law. How do you like that? Mac, you ever been in jail?”
“Of course not!” I said hotly, “I’m trying to tell you—”
“I’ll handle this. You shut up. Red, look him over. He looks harmless to me. And he has got a new angle. You go off pretty soon, don’t you?”
“I should be off right now,” Red said, moving around me so that she could look into my face in the light. “You are kinda cute, but I don’t know you.”
“Mac meet Red. Red meet Mac,” Dave said. “Now you’re all palsy. Red, Mac wants a date. You busy tonight?”