“There was a change of shifts due at six o’clock and I thought I’d wait for the new shift to come on and see if I could get any more information. I only had a little over half an hour or so to wait.”
“Damn it,” Bertha said, “don’t tell me all the sordid details. My God, I’ve worn out my fanny sitting around hotel lobbies, waiting for the night clerk to come on. If you’re in a jam, there’s a girl mixed up in it someplace. Who is she?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I said.
“Another damn redhead, I presume. You can’t ever seem to leave them alone.”
“This one’s a molasses taffy, smooth-as-silk…”
“My God,” Bertha said, “if I ever go in business with another partner, I’ll get one past sixty who…”
“That won’t buy you anything, Bertha,” I told her. “The boys at sixty are peculiarly susceptible. A good-looking girl would tie them in knots and…”
“Past seventy,” Bertha amended.
“That wouldn’t do you any good either. A clever baby would remind them of their childhood sweethearts. You’ll have to get past eighty, and by that time their eyesight will be bad.”
“That’s the worst of it!” Bertha said angrily. “Some damn woman is always upsetting the apple cart. Well, tell me about this broad. What did she do?”