ID?” Canning said to her.
Beth showed him her Bar Association card.
“Looks like the ink on it is still wet,” Canning observed. “Where did you go to school?”
“Western New England, in Massachusetts.”
Canning scratched his graying head. “I got a nephew at U Conn Law School. Wants to do taxes.”
“That’s very lucrative,” Beth said, wondering how long this would take.
“Eh?” Canning said.
“You can make a lot of money doing that,” Beth translated.
“Yeah. And you don’t have to spend your sleeping time bailing losers out of the clink,” Canning replied.
On that note Bram arrived, escorted by a uniformed policeman. Bram was minus his tux jacket, and his shirt was ripped and filthy. There was a large scratch on his cheek, one eye was bruising, and he had what appeared to be a deep cut on his left bicep, bound with a handkerchief. He froze when he saw Beth.
“What’s she doing here?” he growled to Canning.
“You’re welcome,” Beth said sourly.
Canning looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Isn’t this your lawyer?” he asked Bram.
“I’m beginning to feel like his mother,” Beth said. She surveyed Bram from head to foot. “Look at you; you’re a mess. When are you going to grow up?”
“Never,” he replied shortly. “I’m Peter Pan.”
Beth glanced at Canning. “Is he free to go?” she asked him.
Canning produced a pen and a triplicate voucher. “Just sign for your valuables right here, Mr. Curtis.”
Bram scribbled his name, saying to Canning, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed my stay in your luxurious accommodations.”
“We aim to please,” Canning replied, unruffled. He took his pen back and pointed it at Beth. “I’d treat this little lady right, if I were you,” he added. “I called her an hour ago and she dropped everything to get here and spring your ungrateful carcass.”
Beth lowered her eyes. Bram said nothing.
“Get out of here,” Canning said. “Your hearing is 10 A.M., October fifteenth.”
Silence reigned as they walked to Beth’s car. Bram broke it as she unlocked her door.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“You will not. You’re in no condition to take the wheel.”
She expected an argument, but Bram had apparently had enough conflict for one night. He walked around and got in on the passenger side, doubling up his long legs in the cramped space of the sports car.
Beth slid in next to him, starting the engine. “Your arm looks bad,” she said. “We should have it checked out.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. Just the job for Dr. Redhead. Or is her practice confined to ankles?”
“Give it a rest, mouse,” Bram said wearily.
“How come she wasn’t arrested with you? She’ll be disappointed that she missed all the excitement.”
“I took her home before I...”
“Got bombed and tore up the Knick-Knack Club?” Beth suggested.
“Kit-Kat Club,” Bram corrected.
“A rose by any other name.” Beth downshifted for the entry ramp to the highway. “Call me foolish, call me curious, but might I know what you were doing there? Is that the sort of place you usually hang out?”
“I wanted to get drunk.”
“You accomplished your goal.”
“I didn’t feel like sitting home alone and thinking about what you had said to me, okay?”
“Then why didn’t you occupy yourself with Dr. Redhead?”
“Her name is Reynolds.”
“I don’t care what her name is!” Beth yelled. “Or why didn’t you call gorgeous Gloria? I’m sure she’d be willing at all hours. Or that radio station manager. Does she work the night shift?”
Bram’s head turned toward her, and even in the darkness she could see the narrowing of his eyes.
“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” he asked.
“Word gets around,” Beth answered, uncomfortable.
Bram nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Melinda Sue Bigmouth,” he said. “Otherwise known as the Voice of America.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been
Beth showed him her Bar Association card.
“Looks like the ink on it is still wet,” Canning observed. “Where did you go to school?”
“Western New England, in Massachusetts.”
Canning scratched his graying head. “I got a nephew at U Conn Law School. Wants to do taxes.”
“That’s very lucrative,” Beth said, wondering how long this would take.
“Eh?” Canning said.
“You can make a lot of money doing that,” Beth translated.
“Yeah. And you don’t have to spend your sleeping time bailing losers out of the clink,” Canning replied.
On that note Bram arrived, escorted by a uniformed policeman. Bram was minus his tux jacket, and his shirt was ripped and filthy. There was a large scratch on his cheek, one eye was bruising, and he had what appeared to be a deep cut on his left bicep, bound with a handkerchief. He froze when he saw Beth.
“What’s she doing here?” he growled to Canning.
“You’re welcome,” Beth said sourly.
Canning looked from one to the other, puzzled. “Isn’t this your lawyer?” he asked Bram.
“I’m beginning to feel like his mother,” Beth said. She surveyed Bram from head to foot. “Look at you; you’re a mess. When are you going to grow up?”
“Never,” he replied shortly. “I’m Peter Pan.”
Beth glanced at Canning. “Is he free to go?” she asked him.
Canning produced a pen and a triplicate voucher. “Just sign for your valuables right here, Mr. Curtis.”
Bram scribbled his name, saying to Canning, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed my stay in your luxurious accommodations.”
“We aim to please,” Canning replied, unruffled. He took his pen back and pointed it at Beth. “I’d treat this little lady right, if I were you,” he added. “I called her an hour ago and she dropped everything to get here and spring your ungrateful carcass.”
Beth lowered her eyes. Bram said nothing.
“Get out of here,” Canning said. “Your hearing is 10 A.M., October fifteenth.”
Silence reigned as they walked to Beth’s car. Bram broke it as she unlocked her door.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“You will not. You’re in no condition to take the wheel.”
She expected an argument, but Bram had apparently had enough conflict for one night. He walked around and got in on the passenger side, doubling up his long legs in the cramped space of the sports car.
Beth slid in next to him, starting the engine. “Your arm looks bad,” she said. “We should have it checked out.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. Just the job for Dr. Redhead. Or is her practice confined to ankles?”
“Give it a rest, mouse,” Bram said wearily.
“How come she wasn’t arrested with you? She’ll be disappointed that she missed all the excitement.”
“I took her home before I...”
“Got bombed and tore up the Knick-Knack Club?” Beth suggested.
“Kit-Kat Club,” Bram corrected.
“A rose by any other name.” Beth downshifted for the entry ramp to the highway. “Call me foolish, call me curious, but might I know what you were doing there? Is that the sort of place you usually hang out?”
“I wanted to get drunk.”
“You accomplished your goal.”
“I didn’t feel like sitting home alone and thinking about what you had said to me, okay?”
“Then why didn’t you occupy yourself with Dr. Redhead?”
“Her name is Reynolds.”
“I don’t care what her name is!” Beth yelled. “Or why didn’t you call gorgeous Gloria? I’m sure she’d be willing at all hours. Or that radio station manager. Does she work the night shift?”
Bram’s head turned toward her, and even in the darkness she could see the narrowing of his eyes.
“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” he asked.
“Word gets around,” Beth answered, uncomfortable.
Bram nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Melinda Sue Bigmouth,” he said. “Otherwise known as the Voice of America.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been
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