“What happened with Philip and the girl?”
She snorted and said, “Loss of memory! Well, it’s all right if he falls for it.”
“They’ve made up?” I asked.
“Made up! You should have seen them.”
“Where are they now?”
“Took a plane for Los Angeles. We’ve got to go back and square things with Kleinsmidt. Come on, hop in.”
I climbed in the car with her, and she said to the driver, “All right, now we’ll go to the airport.”
A plane was waiting. We climbed aboard. I wouldn’t talk. Bertha quit trying to pump me after a while. Then gradually the nerve tension left me. I dropped into a sound sleep.
A car met us at Las Vegas. “Sal Sagev Hotel,” Bertha said, and to me, “You look ‘pretty bad. Get a bath, shave, and then come to my room. We’ll get Kleinsmidt up.”
“What’s eating him?” I asked.