“Most of them do.”
“I don’t.”
I reached down in my pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill, let her see the figure on it, then folded it so it was concealed in my hand, and slid the hand halfway across the table. “Marilyn in here tonight?” I asked.
“Yes. That’s Marilyn, the girl standing up by the piano. She’s the big-shot hostess, runs things, and spots us girls around at the different tables.”
“She sent you over here?”
“Yes.”
“What would happen if we started fighting?”
“We wouldn’t. It takes two to make a fight. As long as you were buying drinks, I wouldn’t fight. When you quit buying drinks, I wouldn’t be here to fight with.”
“Suppose we didn’t get along?”
“Then you wouldn’t be buying drinks, would you?”