The Only Girl in the Game by John D. MacDonald Page A

more then.”
    “What’s on your mind, Al?”
    “I know. Get it over with. That big drink is sitting out there getting lonesome.”
    Jerry smiled, and Al could sense what the smile cost him. “It’s such a waste of good booze, boss.”
    “Max and I had a little talk about you today, Jerry. You’re making Max and me unhappy.”
    “How? What am I doing wrong?”
    “You aren’t being an executive, Jerry. We bought you a good boy down there, that Darren. We bought you the best we could get. That was so you could let him handle all the details for you, baby. But you keep messing around, bitching up the routine for him.”
    “I’ve known you a hell of a long time, Al. I was running big places before that punk learned to feed himself. Are you all of a sudden going to listen to Darren instead of me? He’s got no beef. I just straighten him out once in a while.”
    “Who said I listened to Darren? Who said he isn’t happy as clams?”
    “Then what’s wrong anyway?”
    “Max likes the new deal around here, Jerry. He likes the way things are running now much better than he liked the way they used to be. Max has strong ideas, Jerry. He’s got the idea you’ve turned into a foulup. He thinks you suck on the bottle until you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. So here is the way it’s going to be. You stay the hell out of running the hotel. The time you come into the picture is when Max has a special problem. And when he has a problem, you handle it cold sober, baby. No other way. And when the problem is solved, you get off the pot and you keep hands off Darren’s job until the next time you get your orders from me or Max.”
    Jerry stared at him with fury and indignation. “I manage this hotel, Al. And when I happen to feel like straightening that punk out, I’ll.…”
    Al reached him in two strides and, smiling, he pinched the loose flesh of Buckler’s cheek and gave the man’s head a painful little shake. “Baby, baby, what’re you trying to prove?”
    “I just.…”
    “You got a home here, baby. You’re a drunk, but we all love you just fine. And so I’d hate to have you get hairy with me, Jerry. I’d hate to have to tell Harry and Bobby to take you out on the desert and break you up a little. They wouldn’t like doing it, and I wouldn’t like telling them to do it, believe me. But it would be better than letting Max handle it with a couple of those casino guards of his. They aren’t pro the way Harry and Bobby are. So just give me a little smile, Jerry, and tell me you’re going to cooperate a thousand per cent.”
    The smile, when it came, was ghastly. “Sure, Al. Sure. I can see it your way.” He made a noise like a laugh. “I shouldn’t get into any detail work now that I’ve trained Hugh Darren to handle it. It’ll be … better this way, Al.”
    “Now go nibble that big drink, baby,” Al said. As Jerry ducked his head and scuttled by, Al gave him a gentle, reassuring pat on the shoulder.
    At the door Jerry turned, frowning, and said, “Do I get to keep my desk and my name on the door? And, you know, tell people I’m manager?”
    “You are the manager, Jerry! You want your name bigger? You want it in gold? You want a fancier desk, just say so.”
    “No. Everything … the way it is … it’s fine, Al. It’s just fine.”
    When they walked back out Al found that Artie Gill had arrived, bringing two burr-headed beatnik broads and a defensive linebacker from the Rams. By seven o’clock there were twenty people in the big room One of the three “owners” of the Cameroon had even appeared quite unexpectedly. At the time the hotel was being built, the public relations specialists decided the place would have more glamor if the general public was led to believe, through column plants and other devices, that three of their idols held substantial interests in the Cameroon. The three they carefully selected were each given a half point in the enterprise.
    The first was a