Part 12 (2/2)

In those first moments I'd found it difficult to believe my eyes - but now it was impossible to believe my ears. It was crazy; it didn't make sense.

Fargo, his face angry, was saying, ”. . . dammit, I tell you nothing happened. How many times do I got to tell you?”

I blinked, shook my head, turned the sound up a little louder.

The blonde said, ”But - ” and Fargo yelled at her, ”Shut up. I told you, keep your yap clammed . . . uh, Baby Doll.”

I felt peculiar. This was unreal. Had I truly addled Fargo when I'd hit him on the head with that chair? Or could his noodle have gone Tilt there after he'd spotted me and was wagging his head about? Maybe he had amnesia, maybe he was simply nuts, and maybe he was just confused - but if so be was no more confused than I. I dragged a chair over in front of the set, sank down in it, keeping my eyes on the picture.

Fargo winced and put one hand on the back of his head, then said to Blister, ”You and Speedy go on out in the club. Baby Doll and me, we'll be there in a minute.”

They went out and closed the door. Fargo got to his feet, turned with his back to me - to the TV camera in the bar, that is - and faced the blonde. She was saying, ”What's happening? Why'd you tell Speedy and Blister you just got dizzy all of a sudden? You ask me, you're dizzy now. When that guy hit you - at first I thought it was because he really liked my dance, but I guess that wasn't it. Otherwise he wouldn't of run off like that. But when that guy hit you - ”

”Shut up. You and that yap of yours is goin' to drive me cracky . . . uh, Baby Doll.” He paused, sighed, his shoulders slumping. ”Listen to me. You know who that guy was?”

”No, but he did like my dance, though. I know, because - ”

”To h.e.l.l with your G.o.ddam dance! Shut up and listen!” He didn't even call her, uh, Baby Doll, this time. He went on, his voice low and earnest. ”I know who he was. But you just forget you ever seen him, understand? He wasn't here. n.o.body was here. Understand?”

”No.”

”Well, nuts. I mean, you don't got to understand it. Just do what I tell you. Look, it's our secret, Sweetpants. n.o.body else is gonna know. Just do that for me, huh?”

”Why?”

”G.o.ddammit. Why? Oh, G.o.ddammit. Because I say so, G.o.ddammit. Oh! One of these days . . . Cheez. If you wasn't so. . so . . . so . . . Uh, Baby Doll, just do it, will you, please?”

”But why?”

”Oh! You are gonna drive me - ” He cut it off, and from little twitching movements he made, it was pretty clear he was undergoing a mental struggle of some intensity. Finally he let his arms go up and flop down and then said, ”O.K. O.K. Look. You don't know what's been goin' on around here the last couple days. But I do - and so does Frank. Frank, the boss. Now, if he finds out what happened here tonight - well, I'll put it simple. He will kill h.e.l.l out of me. You will have no more Honey Bunny.”

I shuddered at the thought of anybody - especially any female so delectable as Vava Voom! - calling Fargo ”Honey Bunny.” But no amount of shudders would have bothered me at the moment because now I understood. And it was marvelous.

He was going on, ”We just got to pretend nothing happened, n.o.body was here tonight. If Frank ever found out I . . . did it again, he would do something terrible. He already told me if I goofed any way, he'd plant me up to my neck in the stretch at Santa Anita and let the horses run over me. Baby Doll, it wasn't a joke, he would do it. And he'd bet on every G.o.ddam horse in the race just to make it more interesting.” He stopped, sighed a couple of times, then went on, ”So don't let a word slip about this, see? Don't even think about it.”

”Well, I suppose so, honey. After all, you've been awful good to me.”

”Yeah.”

”You've been awful good to me.”

”You said that.”

”You've been awful good to me. All those pretty things.”

”Yeah.” There was silence for a few seconds. Fargo didn't have the most well-oiled brain in the city. But then he got it. ”Yeah! Baby, you know that mink coat you went fruit for in the store - out on Wils.h.i.+re?”

”Yes. Yes, I do!” Her voice was gay again.

”Well, keep your yap - don't spill nothing about this, and the coat is yours.”

”Oh, honey! That wonderful long coat, almost down to my ankles. You're so good - ”

”I meant the one that hangs on your shoulders - ”

”That wonderful long coat - ”

”Don't they call it a stole or something?”

”- down to my ankles.”

”Yeah, that long coat. That's the one I meant.”

”Oh, honey, you're so good to me.”

Fargo made that little flipping up and then flopping down motion of his hands again, more eloquent than words.

But this super-shapely blonde knew when words had done all they could, knew the leash that kept the Fargos in line, knew that one picture is worth ten thousand words. Vava knew when to Voom!

”We been so busy,” she said, ”you haven't even kissed me.” She reached behind her again, stretched, let the bra.s.siere slide down her arms to the floor. ”Don't you want to kiss me?”

Well, that was a twist, I thought. Did she always do that? I had no idea, since I didn't know much about Fargo's habits. That is, about his good habits. But at least he, too, knew when to stop talking. In a minute they turned out the lights.

But I didn't care. Nothing could diminish my happy mood now. Neither Fargo nor his gal would spill the story about me - and almost surely my TV camera was safe in the bar. All was set for that upcoming meeting, and I felt reasonably secure and almost snug here in room 418 of the Barker Hotel.

Everything was rosy - for everybody.

I'd got my job done, it was paying off, and I had high hopes for a real payoff later today.

Fargo was getting what he wanted - he wouldn't be buried in the stretch at Santa Anita.

And the blonde would get her mink coat, almost down to her ankles.

Thirteen.

I awoke suddenly, but without the dopiness which normally characterizes my return from wherever I go. That was probably because I hadn't gone very far. I leaned forward, turned down the sound blasting from the tape-recorder's speaker.

On the TV screen now, two men were placing leather chairs in a couple of ragged lines before Sullivan's gray desk. The sound of them moving in and out, maybe the slamming of the door, had awakened me. Nothing important was happening - the important thing was that the closed-circuit system was still closed, still working admirably.

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