“You forgot something. We got something to celebrate. We ain’t never had that drunk yet.”
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of a drunk.”
“A drunk’s a drunk. Where’s that liquor I had before I left?”
I went to my room and got the liquor. It was a quart of Bourbon, three quarters full. I went down, got some Coca Cola glasses, and ice cubes, and White Rock, and came back upstairs. She had taken her hat off and let her hair down. I fixed two drinks. They had some White Rock in them, and a couple of pieces of ice, but the rest was out of the bottle.
“Have a drink. You’ll feel better. That’s what Sackett said when he put the spot on me, the louse.”
“My, but that’s strong.”
“You bet it is. Here, you got too many clothes on.”
I pushed her over to the bed. She held on to her glass, and some of it spilled. “The hell with it. Plenty more where that came from.”
I began slipping off her blouse. “Rip me, Frank. Rip me like you did that night.”
I ripped all her clothes off. She twisted and turned, slow, so they would slip out from under her. Then she closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow. Her hair was falling over her shoulders in snaky curls. Her eye was all black, and her breasts weren’t drawn up and pointing up at me, but soft, and spread out in two big pink splotches. She looked like the great grandmother of every whore in the world. The devil got his money’s worth that night.