“What’s his first name?” Gallegher asked.
“Who?”
“Fatty.”
“Never heard of him,” Cuff said, and chuckled. A page boy came over and touched the alderman’s arm.
“Someone to see you, sir. They’re waiting outside.”
“Right. Back hi a minute, pal. Everybody always knows where to find me—’specially here. Don’t go ’way. There’s still Y and… and… and the other one.”
He vanished. Gallegher put down his untasted drink, stood up, swaying slightly, and headed for the lounge. A televisor booth there caught his eye, and, on impulse, he went in and vised his lab.
“Drunk again,” said Narcissus, as the robot’s face appeared on the screen.
“You said it,” Gallegher agreed. “I’m… urp… high as a kite. But I got a clue, anyway.”
“I’d advise you to get a police escort,” the robot said. “Some thugs broke in looking for you, right after you left.”