dream stuff, boy? You know the old man hasn't bought a thing for a nigger in all the years he's been here! And now look at you! A conspiracy, for God's sake, an uprising."
The bureau chief threw back his head and howled. "Those dumb shits can't hardly keep themselves alive even. And you sitting here all wild eyed and calling me drunk. You're the guy that's drunk, Winston. Drunk with ambitionl You're the drunkest bastard I ever knew, Winston, and you ain't even smelled the cork. You wanta know why they ran your ass outta the Justice Department?"
"Not particularly," Winston replied, gritting his teeth in a growing rage.
Waring underwent a sudden change of mood. Tears sprang to his eyes. He released his subordinate and gently patted his shoulder. "Mike, don't listen to this shit. Don't listen to it. You're right, and I'm drunk. I got no right raving at you like this. Listen, little buddy. You and me. Right? We got the stinkingest job in government today."
Winston was beginning to see a new glimmer of hope. He said, "Chuck, let's get out of here. The air's bad and the whiskey is worse. Let's go find—"
"Well now, wait a minute, Mike, wait a minute. Let me tell you this." Waring stopped talking, his attention diverted by the approach of a woman. She looked about thirty, medium height, rather pretty in an overtly suggestive manner. The hair was blonde, she wore a nice smile and one of the new knit fabrics styled into a peek-a-boo shrug-dress, so called because the entire thing was of wide mesh and fell away with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Hi, honey," Waring said thickly. "You looking for me?"
"I was just wondering," she said in a high-pitched voice.
"What were you wondering, honey?" Waring asked, winking at Winston.
"Well ... if the boys were enjoying each other's company. I mean, if you're satisfied with each other or if you'd like some feminine presence."
"Oh we like feminine presence," Waring assured her. "Don't we, Mike?"
Winston grunted and looked around for a way out.
The woman stood with one hand on the back of an empty chair, her eyes moving uncertainly from Waring to Winston.
"Which one of us you like the most, honey?" Waring asked, winking once again at his companion.
"Well... I already reserved a cube upstairs. Anything wrong with all three of us going up?"
Waring reached across the table to slap Winston on the shoulder. "Hey, that sounds like just the ticket for a couple of old nigger-tenders, huh Mike?"
"I guess not," Winston said. "I have a lot to do, Chuck. We both do."
"Hell, it don't take no credits, sonny. It's a social club, you know, just for the convenience of us Washington I slaves. He laughed boisterously. "Seriously now. Don't you want to make friends with this little lady?"
Winston looked at the woman and felt miserable for her. He smiled uncertainly and mouthed the words to her, "He is drunk."
She returned the smile and told him, "That's okay. I, uh, I don't have to come here, you know. I mean, there are other places to go. But he's right. It is nice to make new friends. Isn't it?"
"Two at a time?" Winston asked quietly.
"It could be interesting," she replied. "I mean, three doesn't have to be a crowd. If you know what I mean."
"By God that sounds great, just great," Waring declared loudly. "What d'ya say, Michael son? You want to share a
bed with your boss?" He broke up completely. pounding
the table with a hammy fist, and choking over laughter.
Winston was already halfway to the door, and nobody heard his angered, rasping reply but the automated maitre'd
CHAPTER 8
Winston, stood in agony before the door to the office of the Chief, Federal Police Bureau. He'd rather talk to almost any man in Washington, but ... to hell with personalities. So the guy had knifed him once and he would undoubtedly do so again if a similar profit-motive should arise. So maybe the guy had grown a little. Winston squared his shoulders and pushed on into the reception room.
It hadn't changed much.
The bureau chief threw back his head and howled. "Those dumb shits can't hardly keep themselves alive even. And you sitting here all wild eyed and calling me drunk. You're the guy that's drunk, Winston. Drunk with ambitionl You're the drunkest bastard I ever knew, Winston, and you ain't even smelled the cork. You wanta know why they ran your ass outta the Justice Department?"
"Not particularly," Winston replied, gritting his teeth in a growing rage.
Waring underwent a sudden change of mood. Tears sprang to his eyes. He released his subordinate and gently patted his shoulder. "Mike, don't listen to this shit. Don't listen to it. You're right, and I'm drunk. I got no right raving at you like this. Listen, little buddy. You and me. Right? We got the stinkingest job in government today."
Winston was beginning to see a new glimmer of hope. He said, "Chuck, let's get out of here. The air's bad and the whiskey is worse. Let's go find—"
"Well now, wait a minute, Mike, wait a minute. Let me tell you this." Waring stopped talking, his attention diverted by the approach of a woman. She looked about thirty, medium height, rather pretty in an overtly suggestive manner. The hair was blonde, she wore a nice smile and one of the new knit fabrics styled into a peek-a-boo shrug-dress, so called because the entire thing was of wide mesh and fell away with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Hi, honey," Waring said thickly. "You looking for me?"
"I was just wondering," she said in a high-pitched voice.
"What were you wondering, honey?" Waring asked, winking at Winston.
"Well ... if the boys were enjoying each other's company. I mean, if you're satisfied with each other or if you'd like some feminine presence."
"Oh we like feminine presence," Waring assured her. "Don't we, Mike?"
Winston grunted and looked around for a way out.
The woman stood with one hand on the back of an empty chair, her eyes moving uncertainly from Waring to Winston.
"Which one of us you like the most, honey?" Waring asked, winking once again at his companion.
"Well... I already reserved a cube upstairs. Anything wrong with all three of us going up?"
Waring reached across the table to slap Winston on the shoulder. "Hey, that sounds like just the ticket for a couple of old nigger-tenders, huh Mike?"
"I guess not," Winston said. "I have a lot to do, Chuck. We both do."
"Hell, it don't take no credits, sonny. It's a social club, you know, just for the convenience of us Washington I slaves. He laughed boisterously. "Seriously now. Don't you want to make friends with this little lady?"
Winston looked at the woman and felt miserable for her. He smiled uncertainly and mouthed the words to her, "He is drunk."
She returned the smile and told him, "That's okay. I, uh, I don't have to come here, you know. I mean, there are other places to go. But he's right. It is nice to make new friends. Isn't it?"
"Two at a time?" Winston asked quietly.
"It could be interesting," she replied. "I mean, three doesn't have to be a crowd. If you know what I mean."
"By God that sounds great, just great," Waring declared loudly. "What d'ya say, Michael son? You want to share a
bed with your boss?" He broke up completely. pounding
the table with a hammy fist, and choking over laughter.
Winston was already halfway to the door, and nobody heard his angered, rasping reply but the automated maitre'd
CHAPTER 8
Winston, stood in agony before the door to the office of the Chief, Federal Police Bureau. He'd rather talk to almost any man in Washington, but ... to hell with personalities. So the guy had knifed him once and he would undoubtedly do so again if a similar profit-motive should arise. So maybe the guy had grown a little. Winston squared his shoulders and pushed on into the reception room.
It hadn't changed much.
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