Heller’s voice cut into the speech and into the room for that matter. The drone of diners’ voices vanished. “Don’t try to pinch my friend for contributing to the delinquency of a minor!”
Grafferty let go of the Scotch and turned to face Heller. “Who’s this? Haven’t I seen your face before somewhere, kid?”
In that penetrating Fleet voice of his, Heller said, “This beer is legal!”
“Beer?” said Grafferty. “A minor and beer? Oh, boy, Rimbombo, you are in for it now! And this is a licensing matter! I can get the Corleone license revoked for this whole place!”
“Look here!” said Heller. “It’s nonalcoholic beer. Look at the label!”
Heller was fumblingly, hastily, pushing the empty beer bottle forward toward Grafferty. It seemed to slip. Grafferty grabbed for it.
The beer bottle hit the bottle of Scotch!
The Scotch went over the table edge!
Grafferty grabbed for the Scotch!
The Scotch hit the floor with a splintering crash!
Grafferty was still going down. He seemed to trip.
The whole tablecloth was pulled off!
Bowls of spaghetti, utensils, dirty plates and red tomato sauce hit Grafferty in an avalanche!
Jean Lologiggida was half out of her seat, looking white, hand pressed to her bosom.
Heller was up. “Oh, my goodness!” he cried and raced around the table to help Grafferty. His spikes stepped on the broken glass of the Scotch. He looked down and kicked the cap and label far away with a twitch of his foot.
He was assisting Grafferty up. From a nearby table he grabbed a red-checked cloth. He began to swab at Grafferty’s face.
What a horribly bad job of cleaning! He was smearing spaghetti all over Grafferty’s face, in his hair, on his tunic.
Jean Lologiggida was pressed back against the side of her booth.
Heller took Grafferty by the elbow and led him toward the star’s table.
The photographers were batting out shot after shot!
Heller got Grafferty to her table. “Oh, Miss Lologiggida! Inspector Grafferty demanded the right to tell you how terribly sorry he was to disturb your dinner. The tablecloth caught in his belt. And you are sorry, aren’t you, Inspector?”
Grafferty didn’t know whether he was up or down. He stared at the star. He said, “Oh, my God, it’s Lologiggida!” Then he saw he was still trailing the tablecloth and plates. He tore the corner of it off his belt. And while the flashguns flashed, rushed from the restaurant.
Suddenly Jean Lologiggida burst into gales of laughter! She was doubled up with it!
Johnny Matinee rushed over. “Ye gads, I wish I’d been part of that. It’ll make the front page!”
Somebody, evidently Johnny Matinee’s public relations man, was grabbing the photographers and having a hurried consultation with the proprietor.
The PR man said, “It’s nothing to you, kid,” to Heller. “Do you mind if Johnny takes your place on the front page? We’ll overpaste the shots they took.”
“Feel free,” said Heller.
They put Johnny Matinee where Heller had stood in front of Lologiggida, got him to assume the same pose. The flashbulbs flashed.
Heller went back to the table. The restaurant was still rocking with laughter. Somebody belatedly started to applaud and Heller turned and took a bow but indicated, with his hand, Johnny Matinee. This seemed even funnier to people.
Bang-Bang was sitting there, doubled over with laughter. “Oh, sangue di Cristo! That Grafferty won’t come near a Corleone place for a while. And you bought the joint a million in publicity!”
Heller said, soberly, “And Grafferty won’t connect that bottle up with the warehouse job.”
Bang-Bang looked at Heller as Heller sat back down. “Hey, I never thought of that!”
Cherubino came over. He had another nonalcoholic beer. He was grinning when he set it down. “This a good kid you got here, Bang-Bang. I’m glad he’s part of our family and not some other mob! Maybe you ain’t so stupid as I thought!” He went off.
Bang-Bang sat there, looking at Heller. “You know, kid, I’m going to take you up on that offer. I’ll even swallow my scruples and join the Army for you.” He thought for a bit. Then he said, “It’s not because it’ll save me from going back to jail. It’s just because you’re kind of fun to be around!”
But I was not as impressed as they were. Heller’s tablecloth trick was something we used to do at the Academy to dumb recruits. And any spacer has vast experience in handling barroom brawls. Heller was just taking advantage of the fact that Voltar technology was far higher than that of Earth’s. Still, he was too tricky, too sneaky. And he was making too much progress!
Where the Hells was the communication from Rant and Terb? I couldn’t abide the idea of seeing Heller fool all these people into thinking he amounted to something. All that (bleeping) applause!
PART NINETEEN
Chapter 1
Bright and early, Heller and Bang-Bang got off the subway at Empire Station. This morning Heller was wearing tailored gray flannel tennis slacks and a gray shirt with a white tennis sweater tied by its sleeves loosely around his neck. And he wore his inevitable red baseball cap and his spikes. He was carrying two heavy rucksacks evidently jammed with things I had no clue about.
Bang-Bang was something else. He had on some nondescript jeans and denim shirt. But on his head he wore an olive drab cap and across it in black was stencilled USMC.
They came up College Walk. Students were moving along, burdened with books, on their way to classes.
But Heller and Bang-Bang, much to my surprise, did not seem to be headed for a class. Heller striding along and Bang-Bang double-timing to catch up, they turned north past High Library and, threading their way around buildings, came almost to 120th Street. There was an expanse of lawn and a tree. Heller headed for the tree.
“All right, this is the command post. Synchronize your watch.”
“Right,” said Bang-Bang.
“Here is the schedule of plantings we took up last night in the suite.”
“Right.”
“Now, you’ve got to look at this from the viewpoint of timed fuses.”
“Right!”
What in Hells were they up to? Was Heller trying to get out of his promise to Babe by blowing up the school?
“You put them in undetectably.”
“Right.”
“And what happens if you don’t need an area mined anymore?”
“You pick them up undetectably,” said Bang-Bang. “It’s a secret operation. Run no risks of barrage.”
“Right,” said Heller. “Wait a minute. What does USMC mean?” Heller was looking at Bang-Bang’s cap.
“Christ! ‘United States Marine Corps’ of course!”
“Give it to me.”
“And leave myself under enemy fire with no moral support?”
Heller took it off his head. He removed his own baseball cap and put it on Bang-Bang. Of course, it was miles too big. Heller put the USMC cap on his own head. I couldn’t see it but it must have looked very funny.
“I can’t see,” said Bang-Bang. “How am I going to plant a sensitive—”
“You’re falling behind schedule,” said Heller. He handed Bang-Bang one of the rucksacks. Bang-Bang sprinted away, lugging the filled bag and trying to keep the cap off his eyes.
Heller took out a ground sheet. Voltarian by the Gods — one of those inch square ones that open up to ten square feet! The kind that change color to match the ground!
It blended with the grass color. Leave it to him to keep himself neat! Bah, these Fleet guys!
He took out a gas inflatable backrest. Voltarian! It puffed up. He upended the rucksack over the ground cloth. Books spilled all over the place!
Heller sat down comfortably against the backrest, pawed the books over and found one. Aha! If Babe only could see this! He was not going to class! He was playing hooky!