“Look at those dames,” Hoskiss said, gaping. “So this is what the vice-squad calls work. Say, I might even enjoy myself.” He eyed a tall blonde in sheer black silk underwear, who was leaning against the bar, a bored expression on her face. “I don’t suppose I can come to much harm in twenty minutes. Let’s buy a drink.”
“That’s the worst of bringing a repressed type like you to a joint like this,” I said, grinning. “You’re likely to make a meal of it.”
“I’m not blasé, ” he said, heading for the bar.
The blonde watched us come. Her wide, painted mouth smiled. She had good teeth, but when I was close to her, I noticed she had pimples on her back.
“Hello, honey,” she said to Hoskiss as he sailed up.
“Hello yourself, juicy fruit,” he said, draping himself over the bar. “How about rinsing our tonsils together?” He winked at me. “Blondes go for me. It’s my powerful personality.”
“You want to be careful with this guy,” I said to the blonde. “He eats grape-nuts for breakfast every day. You’d be surprised what it does to him.”
The blonde was a little pop-eyed. I guess she thought we were drunk.
The Cuban wiped the counter mechanically, asked us what we would have.
“Let’s start a famine in whisky,” Hoskiss said. “Three triple whiskies, and keep your thumb out of mine.”