Chica threw me a grateful smile. "We do all right," Gros said.
"Better get Mouth here out of that fancy suit," Miche said, jerking his head at me. "Somebody might just take a shot at that without thinking. The boys have got kind of nervous about them kind of suits."
Gros looked at me. "That's right," he said. "Miche will give you some other clothes. That uniform don't go over so big here."
I didn't like this development at all. My communicator was built into the scrambled eggs on my lapels. I had to say no and make it stick.
"Sorry," I said. "I keep the outfit. It's part of the act. I'll put a coat over it if necessary."
Miche put his foot against my chair and shoved; I saw it coming and managed to scramble to my feet instead of going over with the chair. Miche faced me.
"Strip, mister," he said. "You heard the man."
The men still in the room fell silent, watching. I looked at Miche. I hoped Gros would speak up. I couldn't see anything to be gained by this.
Nobody spoke. I glanced over at Gros. He was just looking at us.
Miche reached behind, brought out a knife. The blade snicked out. "Or do I have to cut it off you," he growled.