“Nah, they’re just healthy.” Al tapped impatiently on the handlink. “Ziggy, have you got anything yet?”
No. The answer was succinct.
“Well, that’s certainly useful.” Al looked around at the stack of kegs. “Does Rimae make a habit of leaving full kegs outside where anybody can walk off with them?”
“They’re not full,” Sam said wearily, straightening up. “They’re empty. The full ones are back in the storeroom behind the bar, with the rest of the liquor supplies. Al, what does Ziggy say I’m supposed to do?”
“You talk to yourself a lot?” Rimae said. She’d followed him outside, was standing arms akimbo, looking at him.
“Yeah. A lot,” Sam answered without missing a beat.
“Kevin Hodge’s coming by soon to pick up his order, and he’s getting some extra. He’ll pay when he gets here. I don’t want to hear any more crap like the last time, okay?” Rimae was watching him narrowly. “Just collect the money, turn over the keg and forget it, okay?”
Sam opened his mouth to protest. Al gestured frantically at the stack of empty kegs. “Just give him one of the empty ones, Sam! Fill it with water or something. Nobody’ll be able to get drunk, Bethica will be okay, everything will be fine!”
Plus Bethica would have the chance to talk Kevin out of killing Wickie.
Sam caught on fast for a magnafoozled genius. “Sure, Rimae; No problem.” He followed her back into the bar.
Al, in turn, followed Sam.
“ ... oh, Leezey, how wonderful! We’ll be having a party for you next!”
Rimae was never one to miss an opportunity. “Which we’ll have right here, of course! What are we celebrating?”
“Leezey’s going to have a baby!”
“Hey, that’s great!”
“I think it calls for drinks all around,” the buxom brunette said. “What’ll you have, Leezey?”
“I’ve been drinking Manhattan iced teas,” Leezey said. She was still glowing from the attention. The bride-to-be was, if truth be told, glad the focus of the affair had shifted away from her for a while.
“Wickie, a Manhattan iced tea for Leezey. Girls, order up!”
“How about a nice regular iced tea instead?” Sam asked.
The silence thundered. Every woman in the place turned to stare at the bartender. Rimae’s jaw dropped.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t know you were pregnant . . . Leezey? I can’t serve you any more drinks. Any more alcoholic drinks, that is.”
The attention was suddenly not as welcome. Leezey turned bright red. “Why not? It’s a party. I’m not driving.”
“It’s bad for the baby,” Sam explained. He glanced quickly at Rimae. “It could create problems.”
Rimae was speechless with fury.
“That’s a bunch of bull,” another of the women said. “I drank when I was pregnant. Everybody drinks.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t serve Leezey alcohol. There are a lot of other things she could drink.”
“Whaddaya know, a temperance bartender,” someone hooted. “Rimae, you’ve got a strange idea of a party here.”
Sam went over to the mixers and poured a glass of ginger ale and orange juice, splashing in some cranberry juice. “You could try this,” he offered.
“Only if you add some vodka,” Leezey snapped. “Rimae, are you going to let him get away with this?”
Rimae marched behind the bar, took the glass away from Sam, and reached for the clear square bottle of vodka. “It’s just a joke,” she said. “This round is on me, girls. C’mon.”
“No.” Sam caught at her hand, exerting just enough force to keep her from pouring. “Don’t give her that, Rimae. It’ll poison the baby. Just like Davey was poisoned.”
The women murmured.
Rimae jerked her hand free. “That’s enough,” she snapped.
“You’re fired, Wickie. Get the hell out of my bar.”
Sam took her wrist again. “Don’t do it.”
Rimae’s face twisted. “Either you get your hand off me, or I’m going to call the cops and have you thrown in jail. I told you to get out.”
“Oh, the hell with it,” Leezey said. “Mike would have my head if I came home smashed anyway. Skip the vodka, Rimae, and let’s get back to the presents.”
The rest of the women were more than willing to break the tension, returning to the pile of gifts with only a few looks back at Rimae and Sam. Sam finally let his hand fall away.
“You’re fired,” Rimae snarled. “I told you to get out, and I meant it! Beat it!”
Al looked at the handlink. “Uh-oh. There goes the plan, Sam. ...”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“But Kevin doesn’t know I’ve been fired,” Sam insisted stubbornly to Al. He’d walked away from the party in silence, out the back door again, and they were standing near the pile of empties. “So when he comes to get the keg, all I have to do is not give it to him.”
Al looked at him exasperatedly. “Sam, I don’t know about you, but I never let little details like that keep me from getting booze when I wanted it.”
“Then I’ll talk Bethica out of going up there.” He was improvising desperately now.
Al looked skeptical, but gestured with his cigar at the streetlight at the other end of the parking lot. “There she is. Be my guest.”
A dozen or more young people were gathered in the yellow circle of light, with Kevin in the middle, taking up a collection. They were laughing, joking. One of the teens was Bethica. As Leaper and Observer watched, the young man wadded up several bills around a fistful of coins and started toward the Polar Bar.
“Wait until he makes the offer,” Al advised. “New York isn’t going to pass the twenty-one-year-old drinking age until 1990. He’s not doing anything illegal. Unfortunately”
“I know,” Sam said under his breath. Kevin had caught sight of him, standing in the shadow of the eaves, and stopped a few feet away.
“Well well well,” he said. “Look at that. If it isn’t the Indian.”
“Nice evening, Kevin,” Sam said easily. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m just fine,” Kevin answered. The back spotlight of the bar blinked
