Blue-boy jerked his head. "Get out!" The slave scuttled away. Blue-boy turned to me.
"Strip off your jacket, slave! Your owner has neglected to teach you discipline."
I looked around quickly, saw that we were alone.
"Wait a minute while I put the tray down, corporal," I said. "We don't want to waste any of the good stuff." I turned to put the tray on a soiled linen bin, caught a glimpse of motion in the mirror.
I ducked, and the nasty-looking little leather quirt whistled past my ear, slammed against the edge of a marble-topped lavatory with a crack like a pistol shot. I dropped the tray, stepped in fast and threw a left to Blue-boy's jaw that bounced his head against the tiled wall. I followed up with a right to the belt buckle, then held him up as he bent over, gagging, and hit him hard under the ear.
I hauled him into a booth, propped him up and started shedding the waiter's blacks.
V
I left him on the floor wearing my old suit, and stepped out into the hall.
I liked the feel of his pistol at my hip. It was an old fashioned .38, the same model I favored. The blue uniform was a good fit, what with the weight I'd lost. Blue-boy and I had something in common after all.