She went through the door ahead of him. As Ronson passed through, a Martian thrust his head around the corner outside and threw a knife. The steel blade buried in the door facing within six inches of the human's head. He hastily ducked through the door.
Looking annoyed, the girl started back to the street outside. "I'll fix him," she said, pulling the needle gun.
Ronson caught her shoulder. "Let well enough alone," he said firmly. "Anyhow you were going to buy me a drink."
Her eyes held a curious mixture of annoyance, defiance, and longing. Her gaze went down to his hand on her shoulder. Ronson grinned at her. "You look as if you are about to bite me," he said. "Go ahead, if you want to." He did not move his hand.
Wonder came into her face. "A great many men have tried to paw me, without getting very far. But somehow, I don't think you're trying to do that."
"About that drink?" Ronson said.
"Sure." She moved toward a table set against the far wall.
Ronson dared to breathe again. Whatever else this girl was, she was certainly full of fight and fury. She could have gone out into the street, in the face of thrown knives, if he hadn't stopped her. As she moved toward the table, he had a chance to look at the place in which he found himself.
What he saw was not reassuring. Except for a big circle in the center of the room, the place was crammed with Martian males of all sizes and descriptions. Waiters scurried through the crowd. The circle on the floor was outlined in red. No customer and no Martian ventured within it. Ronson glanced at it, asked the girl a question.
"I just got here too," she said. "I haven't had time to find out about it. Some superstition of theirs, I think." She led him to the table. Two glasses were already on it. A waiter appeared out of nowhere. "This is the one who speaks English. Talk to the gentleman, Tocko."