I found myself on my feet. Clair hung on to my sleeve The grey-haired man cursed Lydia in a loud clear voice, calling her about six’names that are not usually mentioned by handsome men in white dinner-jackets. Then he drew back his fist, punched her in the face.
Lydia fell out of her chair, blood from her nose ran down her chin. People stood up, craned their necks. A woman screamed. The captain of waiters began a slow, cautious walk towards the scene.
The man in the white dinner-jacket stood over Lydia. He continued to curse her; then he drew back his foot to kick her. I jerked my sleeve free from Clair’s clutch, jumped towards him.
There was a sharp crack of gunfire. A spurt of flame came from Lydia’s hand. The man in the white dinner-jacket coughed” once, twice, folded at the knees. He went down. I grabbed the toy gun out of Lydia’s hand. She clawed me down the face with her free hand. I pushed her away, stood back. She stared up at me, her eyes becoming sane again.
“Hello, Hick,” she said. “Why couldn’t you keep your cheap floozie where she belongs?”
I turned from her, looked down at the man lying on the floor. I decided she wouldn’t be able to buy herself out of this jam.
3
Believe me, when a Hollywood movie actress takes it into her head to shoot her boy friend in a swank night club, all hell starts popping.
As soon as it was discovered that the man in the white dinner-jacket was dead, everyone made a dive for the doors. But the captain of waiters was one jump ahead of them. The doors were closed, and the thickset man from downstairs stood with his back against them. He grinned evilly at the crowd, flexed his muscles, invited anyone to try to pass him. The crowd decided that after all they weren’t in a hurry to leave.
“Will you all please take your seats?” the captain of waiters said smoothly. “The police are on the way, and no one may leave without permission.”