CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FIRST THING I did when I woke was to inspect the damage Blondie had done to me. I looked like hell. My nose was about twice its usual size and my right eye was closed. I looked like I’d been pushing Joe Louis around.
I went back to bed, plenty mad. With a wrecked pan like this I had to wash out taking Mardi to lunch. I couldn’t expect to put my stuff across, looking the ruin I was.
I lit a cigarette and thought over my troubles. If Mardi and me were married it wouldn’t matter a hoot how many black eyes I had, in fact she would be running around fixing me up and fussing me. As soon as that thought filtered through my brain I sat up with a jerk. I was crazy. Me, getting married. That was a laugh. Me, the guy who ribbed the boys who got hooked. Taking one dame on for the rest of my days was one mistake I’d promised myself never to make. And here I was, lying in bed, pondering now nice it would be.
I got out of bed and grabbed myself a drink. I told myself I’d better take some exercise or something; I was losing my grip.
I’d just finished my shower and rinsed off the shaving-soap when the front-door bell whirred violently. Slipping on my dressing-gown, I opened up.
Ackie was standing there, his eyes glittering with suppressed excitement. “H’yah,” he said, pushing his way in. His eye spotted the half-pint standing on the mantelpiece and he went straight across and sunk half of it.
“Finish it up,” I said dryly from the door, “don’t mind me.”
Ackie shook his head and put the bottle back. “Never drink in the mornin’,” he said. “Pity… that ain’t bad liquor.”
I said: “Come into the bedroom while I finish dressing.”