Ackie robbed his hand over his face. “Jeeze, if I don’t make a joke of it. I’ll go nuts.”
Well, go nuts, but cut that line out.”
Going downstairs I nearly dropped her. Her arm banged against the wall and came up round my neck. I said: “For Pete’s sake, Mo, take her arm away.” My teeth began to rattle in my head.
Ackie was coming down behind me. He had brought the bottle of Scotch, and every step down he took a quick drag at the bottle. He was getting cock-eyed as hell. I put Blondie down on a chair and took the bottle away from him. “Listen, you punk,” I said evenly, “you’re supposed to be helpin’ me. Will you get a grip on yourself an’ help?”
“Sure,” he said, “sure… you don’t have to worry.”
Blondie suddenly stretched out her legs and began to slide off the chair. We both stood staring at her, unable to move. Ackie said, in a quavering voice: “I don’t think I’m goin’ to stand a lot of this.”
Blondie sat down on the floor with a little bump and then flopped on her side. Her hat came off and one of her shoes.
Ackie sat on the stairs and hid his face. “I think I’ll commit suicide,” he said.
When I straightened her out I found her muscles were hardening. “Quick, Mo,” I said, “she’s gettin’ stiff.”
Ackie got up and gave me her hat. “Maybe she’ll be easier to handle that way,” he said hopefully.