"Cool, Clarence," he croaked. "Not that way, man. The police'll be coming."
He beckoned, slammed an anonymous assailant in the belly, and dashed around the corner to the rest rooms. As the others followed, the anonymous swung on Lennox who stiff-armed him back. The Shroff kicked him and spun him around in time for the Killer to finish him.
Norman led them into the ladies' john. Three girls were standing there, unaware of the battle outside, trying to cope with a crisis of their own. They were holding on to a fourth girl who was screaming hysterically as she trampled on her dress. She wore a string of white pearls, white satin slippers, and nothing else. The black and white contrast was beautiful and worth closer inspection, but no one had time.
"She main-linin' again?" Norman inquired. He flung open a door revealing narrow stairs leading up and squeezed himself in. The three girls began screaming too.
"Her slip's showing," Lennox said. He propelled Gabby up the stairs.
"She'll catch cold," the Killer said and followed.
"Ve'y Happy New Yeah," the Shroff beamed and slammed the door behind him.
They climbed through a skylight and emerged into the chill night air. The riot below them sounded distant and detached. Norman guided them across roofs to the dim stairs of a respectable apartment house. They descended and emerged on the street, around the corner and half a block down from The Midnight Sun. There they took stock.
Norman grinned at the Shroff and the Killer. They grinned back and spontaneously shook hands. "Man!" he chuckled. "That bottle-bit and that mop-mop-massacre. We're a goddam Foreign Legion. Damn if we ain't!" All the men felt better after the scrap, but Gabby was very angry.
"Shame on you," she said. "Fighting like that. Hurting people. Making fun of that poor sick girl. You're supposed to be civilized. You're worse than animals."