"But that's me!" Marc said. "I'm Pillsworth!"
The cop looked at him with forced patience. "Sure, sure," he said. "And I'm Miss Atlantic City. Beat it." He turned back to his companion.
"What if I told you I knew where a murder was going to happen?" Marc ventured.
The cop looked around. "You're just full of news, aren't you?" he said, and turned away again.
For a moment Marc sat in silent indecision. Then he turned to the blonde.
"Why don't you scream?" he asked.
"Why should I?" the woman asked interestedly. "Do you really know where a murder's going to happen?"
"You said screaming made you feel good," Marc suggested.
"I feel fine," the woman said. "I always do with a lot of stuff going on. Who's going to get murdered?"
Marc glanced desperately from the woman to the cops and back again. A determined look came into his eyes. He cautiously extended two fingers to the woman's thigh. "I'm sorry," he said, and pinched as hard as he could.