“Sure,” Shayne said. “And you can tell from looking at him that he really likes contact.”
“He also likes to break up bars,” the expert continued. “I’ve got my track shoes on. The minute the argument starts I’m getting out of here.”
“She came in by herself!” the youth said. “I mean, Kate Thackera by herself, when she must know thousands of people in town. I thought I’d go over and introduce myself, but what a draggy scene it must be for somebody with any sensitivity at all. Fans,” he said. “That must be the worst thing about being a star.”
“I hear she’s trying to get the lead in that pirate movie,” Shayne said.
“No kidding!” the young man exclaimed. “Who told you that? I was thinking of hitching down to see if I could get on the set, but I don’t suppose they’d let me. They’ve got a couple of ships that are absolutely authentic replicas. A good, old-fashioned, slam-bang pirate picture. I think the public is going to eat it up. Do you agree with me?”
Shayne was willing to agree. The bartender brought his brandy and joined the movie discussion. Kate, talking with animation, used her glass to emphasize what she was saying and set it down only when it was empty. Going out of balance, she tipped sideward against the chest of the large man, who was heavily muscled, tall, and nearly bald. The other man, younger and narrower, with a nervous mustache, looked like a hustler. If he was in show business, as the youth suspected, it was on the fringes.
Shayne drank and watched. The youth beside him was trying to get Shayne to persuade him to go down and shoehorn himself into the conversation.
“Why not?” Shayne said agreeably. “If you really saw one of her movies eight times.”
“Minimum. I chased it around all over Boston. Whenever I went to a party in those days, I picked out the girl who looked most like her. And I got stung a few times. That crazy kind of look can fool you. Sometimes they really are crazy.”
He studied Kate. “It’s that quirk at the corner of her mouth. You know she’s bright, with a good sense of humor; and at the same time, she could be very loving. That’s her big asset — that little dint she gets when she smiles.”
“Not to speak of a great pair of tits,” Shayne added.
“Oh, the one thing she radiates is sex. Look around you. There isn’t a soul along this bar who isn’t thinking the same thing — involving Kate Thackera, a clear night, a bottle of wine, a sleeping bag.”
“She’s smaller than I expected,” Shayne said, keeping the conversation going.
“I like them small,” the youth assured him. “I like the top of their head to come up just about to my chin. I know if I spoke to her she’d be nice. She wouldn’t put me down. But the thing of it is, do I want to invade her privacy?”
“No harm in trying. I think she came in here looking for a little impromptu action.”
“Oh, I don’t agree. She’s not that type. My trouble is, I’ve never walked up out of the blue and started a conversation. That’s why I’ve missed out on so many things.”
The heavy-set football player, swaying, dropped one meaty hand on Kate’s thigh, as though to help her stay on the stool. The other man looked anxious and edged away. Kate didn’t seem to object to the hand. The big man shifted and came in against the bar and upset his drink reaching for it.
“Another round down here! Will you kindly snap it up and give us a little service?”
“Oh-oh,” the youth at Shayne’s end of the bar said. “Now if I wasn’t so chicken I’d go down and get everybody interested in something else. That creep is over the edge. Big son-of-a-bitch, isn’t he?”
“It’s simple,” Shayne said. “You just do it. Like this.” Pushing off the bar stool, he went down to the little group and told the linebacker coldly, “Take your hand off the lady’s leg.”
They looked at him. The football player seemed three feet across, and approximately as solid as an anvil. He was shorter than Shayne, but fifty pounds heavier. He carried a ridge of scar tissue over one eye, a jagged scar along the side of his nose. One of those specialized mutations who have been bred and trained for the single function of getting through to cripple the quarterback, he had the air of a man who considered himself a success.
“What did you say?” he asked incredulously. One of his important front teeth was missing.
“I said to put your hand back in your pocket. This is a public bar. People have a right to drink here without being groped.”
Kate recovered first. “Baby, this is nice of you, I suppose; but do I look like a damsel in distress?”
Shayne ignored her. “The moral standards in this town are going to hell, in my opinion. People seem to think that if they’re big enough and drunk enough, they can do anything they feel like doing; and nobody’s going to call them on it.”
The girl put one hand on his shoulder. “Before this thing escalates, will you let me say something? I make a point of not getting mixed up in brawls. I’m flattered, I honestly am. But I don’t need your help. I’m Kate. This is Max,” she said, indicating the smaller man, who had pivoted and taken a full step backward away from trouble. “And this is Doc; and believe me, that isn’t fat you see; it’s meat and muscle. Have a drink on us. I’m paying for this round. What’s your pleasure?”
He shrugged off her hand without looking away from the linebacker, who was blinking and breathing heavily through his mouth. “I’m still not making myself clear. This isn’t just a moral question. If anybody puts his hand on this lady’s ass to find out how much she’s got on under her dress, it’s going to be me.”
Kate looked for help. The bartender sauntered toward them.
“Come on, guys,” she said, “let’s negotiate this with the help of more of this nice booze. Football. That’s a neutral subject. What do you consider your greatest thrill on the football field, Doc?”
Doc, bubbling quietly, was clearly about to blow. The whites of his eyes were flecked with red. Shayne was crowding him, giving him no room to get set.
“Stop shoving,” Doc said, “or by God…”
Shayne dropped his hand onto the bar, palm up. The bartender reached under the rim of the bar, took out a flexible, black rubber club and put it in Shayne’s hand. At that moment Doc’s face went into a quick spasm. He grunted and swung his heavy forearm at Shayne’s face. Shayne stepped back and around and whipped the rubber club against his head behind one ear. There are worse places to be sapped, but this was bad enough.
The impact was hard and flat and cut sharply through the bar noises. The piano player broke off and looked over his shoulder, ready to jump. The big man’s forearm dropped of its own weight. His eyes had iced over, and his brain was in temporary short circuit. As he tipped forward, Shayne caught him under the arms and leaned him into the angle between the bar and the girl’s stool.
“Do we want to wait until he comes back?” he asked her. “I’m a big fan of yours. I saw one of your pictures eight times.”
Doc swayed, and Shayne wedged him in more securely. This was familiar country to football players. Doc had been here before. He kept moving his head, trying to understand what had happened. Apparently the rules had been changed — the quarterback had retaliated.
Shayne motioned to Max. “He’ll be okay if nobody breathes on him. If he asks about us, tell him we had to meet some people.” He dropped the rubber club on the bar. “Thanks, Jimmy. Very good timing.”
Kate slipped off the stool. “He’s going to want to tear off some heads. I feel it. Goodnight, everybody.” She clicked off, with everything moving. Shayne followed, and heads turned to watch them. Passing the bespectacled young man at the end of the bar, he remarked, “See how easy?”
“You saw her picture eight times,” the youth said bitterly. “That was going to be my line.”