“Okay. Go on back to your pickle emporium. If you see any kids scratching their initials on my car, pat ’em on the head.”
Fred climbed out and went. In a minute I got out too, and walked down to the next corner, where if you was blind the smell would have told you Coffee Pot. I went in. There were three little tables along the wall, and half a dozen customers at the counter. Pinkie was there all right, along at one of the little tables, working on a bowl of soup, trying to get the spoon out of his mouth. He had his brown cap on, over one ear. I went over alongside his table and said to him, keeping my voice low:
“Oh, here you are.”
He looked up. I said, “The boss wants to see you right away. I’ll sit on the lid here a while. Make it snappy.”
He stared at me a couple of seconds, and then squeaked so that I nearly jumped. “You’re a goddam filthy liar.”
The little runt! I could have reached down and jerked his gold teeth out. I slid the other chair back with my toe and sat down and put my elbows on the table and looked at him, “I said, the boss wants to see you.”
“Oh, yeah?” He sneered at me with his mouth open, showing his gilded incisors. “You wouldn’t string a guy, would you, mister? By God, I’ll tell the goddam world you wouldn’t. Who was I talking to a while ago on the goddam telephone?”
I grinned. “That was me. Listen here a minute. I can see you’re tough. Do you want a good job?”
“Yeah. That’s why I’ve got one. If you’d just move your goddam carcass away from my table...”
“All right, I will. Go on and eat your soup, and don’t try to scare me with your bad manners. I might decide to remove your right ear and put it where the left one is, and hang the left one on your belt for a spare. Go on and eat.”