“Bon soir,” Noel said, leaving.
Boris backed toward the doorway. “Eef you’re ever in Zinzinotti, Alleybama, you stop in,” he said. “Hear, y’all?”
“Southern hospitality,” Max said, brushing a tear from his eye. “It gets me every time.”
“Well, imagine that!” Blossom giggled. “It’s dinner time. And I just happen to know of the darlingest, most secluded French restaurant. We could-”
“I have a dinner date,” Max said. “With the Chief.”
“Oh. Well, I could join you. Then later, you and I-”
“Which reminds me,” Max said. “I better report in and tell the Chief that the case is closed. He’ll be wondering.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Blossom said.
Max removed his shoe and spoke into it.
Max: Chief? This is 86.
Chief: That you, Max?
Max: Yes. I’m happy to report, Chief, that the case of the gallivanting computer has been solved.
Chief: You have him? You’re bringing him in?
Max: Not exactly, Chief. He’s decided to work for another outfit. There are a lot of details, but, in a nutshell, he’s going into the food business.
Chief (slowly, furiously): Max… your… assignment… was… to… bring him in!
Max: Chief, if you look at it in the right light, that is only a small detail. You have to take the broad view. Look at it as history. By letting Fred go, I may have ensured the peace of the world for the next ten centuries.
Chief: That’s all well and good. But what am I going to tell my superiors? This isn’t my Secret Service, you know. I don’t own it.
Max: We’ll discuss it over dinner, Chief. I’m positive that between us we can think up an acceptable excuse. Incidentally-(He glanced at Blossom)-do you mind if I bring along an unwelcome guest?
Chief: Nothing, but nothing, could faze me now!
Max: Meet you in half an hour, then, at our favorite French restaurant. Over and out.
Chief: What’s that ‘over and out’ business?
Max: I’ll explain that, too, Chief. So long.
“The Chief says he’ll be happy to have you as his unwelcome guest,” he said to Blossom.
“I gathered that.”
“Rorff!”
“You, too,” Max said. “But only on one condition-that you don’t embarrass me by asking for a sauce on your liverwurst.”
They left the office and walked down the corridor toward the elevators.
“I must have picked up a bullet during the fray,” Max said. “I’m limping.”
“You didn’t hang up your shoe,” Blossom pointed out.
“Oh… yes.” He hung up his shoe.
They stepped aboard an elevator, descended to street level, then left the building and walked toward the French restaurant.
“You know,” Max said sentimentally, “there’s something about this case that is very reminiscent. It’s just as if it’s all happened before.”
“Oh?”
“Rorff!”
“I think you’re right,” Max said, brightening. “It’s been almost like a repeat of the summer of ’61. The only difference is, then it was ping-pong balls, this time it was a computer.” He turned to Blossom. “Did I tell you, by any chance, about the summer of ’61?”
“Yes,” Blossom said grimly.
“Well, a good story always bears repeating,” Max said. “It began in Paree, Illinois. There was a gorgeous little brunette there. I wonder what ever happened to her? But, that’s neither here nor there. As I was saying…”
They had reached a corner. As Max ambled on, talking, Blossom made a sharp left turn, and, unnoticed by Max, disappeared into the gathering dusk.