puzzled, then snorted and turned away.
"It was real nice of old Norman to keep this table for us, wasn't it, Bill?"
"It sure was." Bill leaned a little closer and Norman gasped for breath as his available space narrowed drastically. "If it wasn't for old Norman, we'd be sitting on the floor."
Norman looked around. The Friday night crowd at the Cock and Bull had filled the basement pub. "Well, I, uh. . . ." He shrugged. "I, uh, knew you were coming."
"Of course you did," Bill grinned at him, a little disconcerted to find that the Birdwell-nerd was at least as tall as he was. "I was saying to Roger here before we came in, it wouldn't be Friday night if we didn't spend part of it with old Norman."
Roger laughed and all three of the girls grinned. Norman didn't get the joke, but he preened at the attention.
He bought the first round of beer. "After all, it's my table."
"And the only empty one in the place," the blonde muttered.
He bought the second round as well. "Because I've got lots and lots of money." The wad of twenties he pulled out of the pocket of his windbreaker-five thousand dollars in small unmarked bills had been the third thing he'd asked for-caused a simultaneous dropping of jaws around the table.
"Jesus Christ, Norman, what did you do, rob a bank?"
"I didn't have to," Norman said airily. "And there's plenty more where that came from."
He insisted on buying the third and fourth rounds and on switching to imported beer.
"Imported beer is classier," he confided to the shoulder of Roger's leather jacket, Roger having moved his ear out of range. "It really gets the chicks."
"Chicks?" The echo had a dangerous edge to it.
"Consider the source, Helen." Bill deftly removed the glass from her hand-both hand and glass having been threateningly raised-and drained it. "You'd just be wasting the beer."
The five burst out laughing again and again, not understanding, Norman joined in. No one would think he wasn't with it.
When they started getting up, he rose with them. The room swayed. He'd never had four beers in quick succession before. In fact, he wasn't entirely certain he'd ever had four beers before. "Where we going?"
" We are going to a private party," Bill told him, a beefy hand pushing him back into his seat.
"You just stay here, Norman," Roger patted him on the other shoulder.
Confused, Norman looked from one to the other. They were leaving without him?
"Jesus, it's like kicking a puppy," Bill muttered.
Roger nodded in agreement. "Uh, look, Norman, it's invitation only. We'd bring you if we could. . . ."
They were leaving without him. He pointed across the table, his voice an accusatory whine,
"But she's supposed to be for me."
Expressions of guilty sympathy changed to disgust and Norman quickly found himself alone, Helen's voice drifting back from the door, somehow audible in spite of the noise level in the pub.
"I'd give him back his beer if I didn't hate vomiting so much."
Trying unsuccessfully to flag the waitress, Norman scowled into the beer rings on the table.
She was supposed to be for him. He knew she was. They were cheating him. With the tip of a shaking finger, he drew a five pointed star in the spilled liquid on the tabletop, his vows of the day before forgotten. He'd show them.
His stomach protested suddenly and he lurched toward the bathrooms, hand clutched over his mouth.
I'll show them, he thought, his head dangling over the toilet. But maybe . . . not tonight.
* * *
Henry handed the young man seated just inside the door a twenty. "What's on for tonight?"
He didn't quite have to yell to make himself heard over the music but, then, the night was young.
"The usual." Three rolls of tickets were pulled from the cavernous left pocket of the oversized suit jacket while the money slid into the right. A number of after-hours clubs had been switching to tickets so that if, or more likely when, they were busted they could argue that they hadn't been
"It was real nice of old Norman to keep this table for us, wasn't it, Bill?"
"It sure was." Bill leaned a little closer and Norman gasped for breath as his available space narrowed drastically. "If it wasn't for old Norman, we'd be sitting on the floor."
Norman looked around. The Friday night crowd at the Cock and Bull had filled the basement pub. "Well, I, uh. . . ." He shrugged. "I, uh, knew you were coming."
"Of course you did," Bill grinned at him, a little disconcerted to find that the Birdwell-nerd was at least as tall as he was. "I was saying to Roger here before we came in, it wouldn't be Friday night if we didn't spend part of it with old Norman."
Roger laughed and all three of the girls grinned. Norman didn't get the joke, but he preened at the attention.
He bought the first round of beer. "After all, it's my table."
"And the only empty one in the place," the blonde muttered.
He bought the second round as well. "Because I've got lots and lots of money." The wad of twenties he pulled out of the pocket of his windbreaker-five thousand dollars in small unmarked bills had been the third thing he'd asked for-caused a simultaneous dropping of jaws around the table.
"Jesus Christ, Norman, what did you do, rob a bank?"
"I didn't have to," Norman said airily. "And there's plenty more where that came from."
He insisted on buying the third and fourth rounds and on switching to imported beer.
"Imported beer is classier," he confided to the shoulder of Roger's leather jacket, Roger having moved his ear out of range. "It really gets the chicks."
"Chicks?" The echo had a dangerous edge to it.
"Consider the source, Helen." Bill deftly removed the glass from her hand-both hand and glass having been threateningly raised-and drained it. "You'd just be wasting the beer."
The five burst out laughing again and again, not understanding, Norman joined in. No one would think he wasn't with it.
When they started getting up, he rose with them. The room swayed. He'd never had four beers in quick succession before. In fact, he wasn't entirely certain he'd ever had four beers before. "Where we going?"
" We are going to a private party," Bill told him, a beefy hand pushing him back into his seat.
"You just stay here, Norman," Roger patted him on the other shoulder.
Confused, Norman looked from one to the other. They were leaving without him?
"Jesus, it's like kicking a puppy," Bill muttered.
Roger nodded in agreement. "Uh, look, Norman, it's invitation only. We'd bring you if we could. . . ."
They were leaving without him. He pointed across the table, his voice an accusatory whine,
"But she's supposed to be for me."
Expressions of guilty sympathy changed to disgust and Norman quickly found himself alone, Helen's voice drifting back from the door, somehow audible in spite of the noise level in the pub.
"I'd give him back his beer if I didn't hate vomiting so much."
Trying unsuccessfully to flag the waitress, Norman scowled into the beer rings on the table.
She was supposed to be for him. He knew she was. They were cheating him. With the tip of a shaking finger, he drew a five pointed star in the spilled liquid on the tabletop, his vows of the day before forgotten. He'd show them.
His stomach protested suddenly and he lurched toward the bathrooms, hand clutched over his mouth.
I'll show them, he thought, his head dangling over the toilet. But maybe . . . not tonight.
* * *
Henry handed the young man seated just inside the door a twenty. "What's on for tonight?"
He didn't quite have to yell to make himself heard over the music but, then, the night was young.
"The usual." Three rolls of tickets were pulled from the cavernous left pocket of the oversized suit jacket while the money slid into the right. A number of after-hours clubs had been switching to tickets so that if, or more likely when, they were busted they could argue that they hadn't been
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