I took the bottle away from him, gave myself a stiff shot.
Someone quite close started firing an automatic rifle. Tb noise was considerable. The redhead screamed, flung her round Hoskiss’s neck, clung to him.
“I’m glad you invited me to this party,” he said to me. “The baby has lost her repressions. She’s almost a woman again.” He held the red-head tightly, winked at me over her head.
“I hope this counter is bullet proof,” I said, pressing the partition with my fingers. It seemed solid enough.
“So long as they can’t see me, I feel safe,” Hoskiss said “Don’t undermine my confidence.”
“I want to go home,” the red-head wailed. They were the first words she had uttered since the shooting had begun.
“I should wait if I were you, baby,” Hoskiss said kindly. “The air outside is awfully unhealthy. I’d hate to see holes those pretty pants of yours. Besides, what should I do without you?”
I worked my way to the end of the counter, cautiously peer round. The dance floor was deserted. I could make out the four members of the band sheltering under the piano. The nigger’s face was grey; his eyes were closed; he held his drum sticks tightly clenched in his right hand. He was more expose than the other three, and he kept trying to wriggle further under cover, but they wouldn’t let him.
Two of the girls had overturned a table and were crouching behind it. I could see their silk clad legs, no more. Over the other side of the room, a man and girl sat against the wall. The girl looked terrified. The man was smoking. His red, mottled face was slack. He kept saying in a loud voice, “Aw, the hell with it.”
All the other men and girls had gone. They were probably hiding in the rooms at the back of the building.