“You might do anything,” O’Hara said, darkly. “I’ve heard things about you.”
The patrolman thrust the dummy into my arms and clenched his fists. “Yeah?” he said, pushing his face into O’Hara’s. “What kind of things?”
“Never mind what kind of things,” O’Hara returned airily. “But I’ve heard enough to know you ain’t so hot.”
Lydia stirred in my arms and then she made a small grunting noise.
Both O’Hara and the patrolman stopped glaring at each other and turned to me.
“That was the cucumber I had for dinner,” I said hurriedly.
“Well, you cut out eating cucumber,” O’Hare said, “I don’t like that kind of noise.”
“Why shouldn’t the guy eat cucumber?” the patrolman demanded fiercely. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
O’Hara scowled, “I know who I am,” he said with a sneer, “that’s more than I can say for some people.”
By this time, the taxi-driver was losing patience. “Listen, you guys,” he said plaintively, “are you using this cab or ain’t you?”