The latter.
Why?
Because the big-breasted woman gets used to it. She takes it for granted. She uses them to her
advantage.
So?
What do you mean, so?
All attractive people do that, Myron said. It's not just bosoms. If a woman is beautiful, she
knows it and uses it. Nothing wrong with that. Men use it too, if they can. Sometimes I'm
ashamed to admit this even I shake my little tush to get my way.
Shocking.
Well, not really. Because it never works.
I think you're being modest. But either way, don't you see anything wrong with that?
With what?
With using a physical attribute to get your way.
I didn't say there was nothing wrong with it. I'm simply noting that what you're talking about is
not merely a mammarial phenomenon.
She made a face. Mammarial phenomenon?
Myron shrugged, and mercifully the waitress came over. Myron made a point of not looking
anywhere near her chest, which was tantamount to telling yourself not to scratch that irksome
itch. The waitress had a pen behind her ear. Her overtreated hair aimed for on-the-farm
strawberry blond but landed far closer to fell-at-the-4H-fair cotton candy.
Get you? she saicl. Skipping the preliminaries like Hello and What can I ?
Rob Roy, Thrill said.
The pen came out of the ear holster, jotted it down, back in the holster. Wyatt Earp. You? she
said to Myron.
Myron doubted that they had any Yoo-Hoo. A diet soda, please.
She looked at him as if he'd ordered a bedpan.
Maybe a beer, Myron said.
She clacked her gum. Bud, Michelob, or some pansy brew?
Pansy would be fine, thank you, Myron said. And do you have any of those little cocktail
umbrellas?
The waitress rolled her eyes and walked away.
They chatted for a while. Myron had just started relaxing and yes, even enjoying himself when
Thrill said, Behind you. By the door.
He was not much in the mood for clandestine games. They wanted him here for a reason. No
sense beating around the bush. He turned without an iota of subtlety and spotted Pat the
bartender and Veronica Lake aka Zorra dressed again in a cashmere sweater peach-toned, for
those keeping score long skirt, and a strand of pearls. Zorra, the Steroid Debutante. Myron
shook his head. Bonnie Franklin and Mall Girl were nowhere to be seen.
Myron gave a big wave, Over here, fellas!
Pat scowled, feigning surprise. He looked toward Zorra, She-Man of the Saber Heel. Zorra
showed nothing. The great ones never do. Myron always wondered if their blaseness was an act
or if, in truth, nothing really surprised them. Probably a bit of both.
Pat strode toward their table, acting as though he were shocked shocked! that Myron was in
his bar. Zorra followed, more gliding than walking, the eyes soaking in everything. Like Win,
Zorra moved economically albeit in stylish red pumps no motion wasted. Pat was still
scowling when he reached the table.
What the hell are you doing here, Bolitar? Pat asked.
Myron nodded. Not bad, but it could use work. Do me a favor. Try it again. But add a little gasp
first. Gasp, what the hell are you doing here, Bolitar? Like that. Better yet, why not give a wry
shake of your head and say something like 'All the gin joints in all the world, you have to walk
into mine two nights in a row.'
Zorra was smiling now.
You're crazy, Pat said.
Pat. It was Zorra. He looked at Pat and shook his head just once. The shake said, Stop with the
games.
Pat turned to Thrill. Do me a favor, hon.
Thrill offered up breathless. Sure, Pat.
Go powder your nose or something, okay?
Myron made a face. Go powder your nose? He looked pleadingly at Zorra. Zorra's small shrug
was semiapologetic. What next, Pat? You going to threaten to make me sleep with the fishes?
Make me an offer I can't refuse. I mean, go powder your nose?
Pat was fuming. He looked over at Thrill. Please, hon.
No problem, Pat. She slid out of the booth. Pat and Zorra immediately took her place. Myron
frowned at the change in scenery.
We need some information, Pat said.
Yeah, I picked up on that last night, Myron said.
That got out of control. I'm sorry.
I bet.
Hey, we let you go, right?
As soon as I was electrocuted with a cattle prod, slashed twice with a heel blade, kicked in the
ribs, and then jumped through a glass mirror. Yeah, you let me go.
Pat smiled. If Zorra here didn't want you to escape, you wouldn't have escaped. Get my
meaning?
Myron looked at Zorra. Zorra looked at Myron. Myron said, A peach sweater with red pumps?
Zorra smiled, shrugged.
Zorra here could have killed you easy as pie, Pat continued.
Right, fine, Zorra is a tough guy, you're super-generous to me. Get to it.
Why were you asking about Clu Haid?
Sorry to disappoint you, but I was telling you the truth last night. I'm trying to find his killer.
So what does my club have to do with that?
Before I got dragged into the back room, I would have said, 'Nothing.' But now, well, that's
what I'd like to know.
Pat looked at Zorra. Zorra did not move. Pat said, We want to take you for a ride.
Damn.
What?
You'd gone nearly three minutes without a mob cliche. Then you come up with the take a ride
bit. It's sad really. Can I powder my nose first?
You want to crack wise or you want to come with us?
I can do both, Myron said. I'm rather multi-talented.
Pat shook his head. Let's go. Myron started to slide out the booth.
No, Zorra said.
Everyone stopped. What's wrong? Pat said.
Zorra looked at Myron. We are not interested in hurting you, Zorra said.
More reassurances.
But we can't let you know where you're going, dreamboat. You'll have to be blindfolded.
You're kidding, right?
No.
Fine, blindfold me. Let's go.
