“We certainly have!” Sweet agreed. “I just wanted to let you know in person that at Mickey’s we’re always anxious to do our part.”
“We’ll put in a good word from you. I suppose the other man is from that restaurant you recommended?”
The second man stepped forward too but did not offer to shake hands. “I’m Walter Pearson,” he said.
“You drove?”
“Yes, sir. I served their meal too and helped Mr. Sweet take her out to the car.”
The younger man interrupted to say, “How’d you get her in there? That’s what I want to know.”
“Like you would anyone else, sir. Mr. Sweet kind of steadied her. I opened the door and gave her a little push.”
“You’re entitled to some sort of reward,” the man in the duffel coat said. “What would you like?”
“Just a ride home, sir.”
“You’re a patriot, Pearson. I wish we had more like you. Mr. Sweet here will have to take this car back. It’s rented, I believe?”
Sweet nodded. “From Avis. We always use them.”
“But you won’t be flying home until tomorrow sometime. Take Pearson where he wants to go.” The man in the duffel coat turned to the younger man. “Now, what’s the problem?”
“We can’t get her out, sir. That’s all. The door’s too small, and she must weigh over three hundred pounds.”
Sweet said, “I doubt it.”
“I do too,” the man in the duffel coat told him. “Her dossier says two fifty.”
The younger man said, “You ought to see her, sir.”
“You’re right, Lieutenant.” The man in the duffel coat strode across the snow. “Got a flashlight?”
Robin Valor muttered, “This is more like it,” and opened the Cadillac’s right rear door, turning on the dome light.
Candy sprawled across the back seat. Her eyes opened briefly when the light came on, then closed again. Heartshaped candy boxes and drifts of fluted paper cups littered the floor.
“You were feeding her in there?” the man in the duffel coat asked Sweet.
“I had some samples. Valentine’s Day assortments and our four-star collection of liqueur chocolates. She saw them.”
“Umm,” the man in the duffel coat said.
“I didn’t think she’d eat them all, just on the drive out here.”
“I doubt that it made much difference.” He glanced from Sweet to the waiter. “Let me get this straight. You, Sweet, drove her to the restaurant in this car? She sat in front with you?”
Sweet nodded.
“You ate. Pearson helped you get her out of the restaurant and into the back seat. Correct?”
Both Sweet and the waiter nodded this time.
“You rode in back with her, feeding her candy to keep her quiet. I don’t object to that in the least, by the way. Pearson drove. Is that right too?”
The waiter nodded, and Sweet said, “Yes, sir.”
The man in the duffel coat studied the black car for a moment and shook his head. “Caddies used to be great, big cars. I own one. Remember how they used to be, Sweet?”
“I certainly do, General. These are easier to park, though.”
“I suppose. Tonight a certain elderly gentleman came in an old Packard. Magnificent car. Possibly you saw it?”
“Yes, sir,” Sweet said. “I think I did.” He pointed. “Down between those two buildings.”
“You didn’t by any chance note the license number too? Either of you?”
Sweet shook his head. So did the waiter.
“Good. Observation is a wonderful thing, but it’s like politeness—or a thirst for good hooch, or any other appetite. You have to know when to turn it off.”
He handed his Thompson to the younger man, walked around the front of the car, opened the left front door, got into the driver’s seat, and closed the door. His head and shoulders jerked forward, and he got out again.
“Now try her,” he said.
The younger man handed the Thompson to Sweet and opened the right rear door again.
From the other side, Robin Valor called, “I’ve got an idea too. I’ll get in with her, if you can handle her when she comes out.”
The younger man muttered, “I’d rather be in North Africa with Patton. Be ready to help, Pearson.”
Inside the Cadillac, Robin was fumbling in her purse. For a moment, the weak light caught the gleam of steel. Her right fist dropped below Candy’s gargantuan thighs and jabbed. Candy jerked far more impressively than the
