"Go ahead and try," he said.
"Let's go, guys," I told them. We slammed out of the office, catching a last glimpse of Drake's nasty look as the elevator door closed. We traveled to the landing level, bade the clerk a pleasant goodbye after we pulled him out from under the desk, and hailed a 'copter.
"Big talk, Doc," sighed Listless when we were seated at a quiet little midtown bar. "But how are you going to do it?"
"I dunno," I said, "but give me time."
We were taking a jog around the track. It being a nice warm sunny day, Listless had decided that what we needed was to work some of the alcohol out of our systems. I objected, but was roped in anyway. Murphy merely sniffed. With his build he was immune. However he said he needed some fresh air so he would come along and hold a timer on us. Listless protested but I said swell. That's Listless for you; "Come on, Doc. Let's run off a couple of fast miles." Sure. Until somebody comes along to check up on him. Then he starts making excuses. But the two of us dragged him along.
So here we were on the city track, along with half a dozen other undeveloped individuals, pounding around a cinder path in the park, each of us trying to breathe so the other wouldn't hear and feel the jar clear up to the occiput every time a foot came down. This must be awful on Listless' toes, I thought. He likes to wiggle 'em every time he gets in the pilot seat.
On the third lap, Murphy started yelling and swinging his arm.
"Come on, Lomack, oil your oleos. Chase him, Doc. You guys are doing time."
Listless stuck out his chest and lengthened his stride but soon came back to the old stumble. I'm built pretty light so it didn't bother me much. I just stepped up the pace with him but I didn't slow down when he did. So I was looking at the timer, my head stuck under Murphy's arm when Listless broke an imaginary tape with his nose.