Are You There and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

around.
    “You’re not on the list.” It was a different guy, but he shared dimensions similar to those of the toppled sumo, not to mention the same one-track mind. Before Norman’s new-found reflexes could assert themselves, sumo number two slapped him hard across the jaw with an open hand that felt like a mahogany plank. Norman staggered back, upsetting one of the dinner plate-sized tables. A glass tumbler broke on the floor. A man sitting at the table yanked on Norman’s lapel and snarled an obscenity. Scout bit the man’s ankle. The man yelped, and Norman pulled free.
    “That dog’s not on the list, neither,” the new bouncer said. He was now holding an automatic.
    Norman hit him squarely on the nose. The bouncer dropped the gun and spun away, spraying blood through fingers cupped over his face. Norman retrieved the automatic and tucked it in his belt.
    The trio kept playing.
    Norman approached the stage. It was Connie, all right. Around the girl’s neck there hung on a fine gold chain a vial of amber liquid. Norman glanced up at the trumpet player, who continued to blow, his round face streaming sweat, whiffs of smoke lifting from his hair, his shirt collar, even the bell of his trumpet. His eyes, rolled down to meet Norman’s, seemed to be mostly egg-white sclera. Norman looked away, back to the fallen chanteuse, his lost first love, from whom he now derived only righteous anger. He closed his hand around the vial and tugged it once, breaking the delicate chain.
    Connie wavered, like a body seen through disturbed water, and then she vanished.
    The music stopped. For a moment the musicians looked confused, directionless. The horn player wiped his mouthpiece on the sleeve of his white jacket. “That kid was good,” he said, then caught a new tempo with his snapping fingers, brought the horn to his lips, and resumed something bluesy, sans smoke.
    “What have you got there?” Scout said.
    Norman twisted the stopper out and sniffed. “ Bon Nuit .”
    “Naturally.”
    Norman replaced the stopper. He slipped the vial into the inside pocket of his overcoat next to the comic.
    “You!” someone shouted.
    He turned, his London Fog sweeping over the crowded tables like a cape but never upsetting a glass. The bouncer with the squirty nose had found some friends. One looked like a stick figure in black tie. The stick figure was smoking a cigarette in a long, onyx holder. He gestured, briefly, and one of the big boys next to him pointed a gun at Norman. The music halted for the second time, and patrons evacuated tables. Norman grinned. He snatched the automatic from his waistband and triggered it rapidly. The big man’s gun sparked and spun out of his hand. A second slug struck his gun arm. Norman glided across the room. The unwounded bouncer made a grab for him, and Norman chopped at his windpipe, sending him gasping to the floor.
    The stick figure casually removed the cigarette holder from his thin lips. “I could use a man like you.”
    “I bet.”
    “I assume there is some purpose in your chaotic visit to my establishment.”
    Norman produced the vial of perfume. “This. Don’t lie. I can see you recognize it.”
    “I do indeed.”
    “Well?”
    “A trifle purchased from a military gentleman. I thought it might improve the band. It did.”
    Scout lunged past Norman and latched onto the throat-chopped bouncer’s arm. At the end of the arm the recovered automatic went off, sending a slug into the ceiling. Norman twisted the gun out of the man’s hand, tucked it away next to the other gun, then moved in on the stick figure, lifting him up and throwing him back against the wall. He knocked the cigarette holder away then pulled one of the automatics and pressed the barrel against the little man’s very pale forehead.
    “This military gentleman. Where can I find him?”
    “I wouldn’t—”
    “ Where? ” Norman pressed harder with the barrel. The manager grimaced.
    “He used to run a shop on the