qualifications along with a casual mention of his criminal record.
“Plenty husky and gutsy. Been a big-city dick. An’ like you can see, he’s a real friendly fella to boot. Shouldn’t ought to matter much that he’s done a few things that wasn’t exactly legal.”
“It shouldn’t?” Joyce looked at him doubtfully. “I mean, well, no, it shouldn’t. It certainly wouldn’t matter to me, I know. But…”
She stared, frowning, into Ford’s eyes, seeking some clue to his reasoning. The deputy looked back at her blandly. “Well, it won’t matter to Mis-ter Hanlon, then,” he said. “People’s all alike, the way I figger. All kind of brothers under the skin.”
“Oh, Lou! You corny so-and-so. But seriously—”
“Ain’t never been nothin’ but serious. I’m one of these Pag-lee-atchee fellas, serious as all hell behind a mask of laughter. So you just do like I say. Take Bugs, Mr. McKenna, here, right to the head man, so’s he don’t get lost or strayed in the application-blank stage. And Mis-ter Hanlon’ll sign him up as fast as fox-hair.”
“I don’t think so. The mere fact that I want him hired will be enough to get him turned down. I’m perfectly willing to do it, Bugs”—she used the nickname easily, slanting a smile at him—“but I know how Mike is.”
Bugs nodded uncomfortably. He started to say that they could forget the whole thing as far as he was concerned: he didn’t want to be pushed off on anyone. But Ford was already talking:
“Seems to me you don’t know how he is,” he said. “Or what he is. Hard-headed. Long-shot player. Can’t run his own game, he’ll tackle the other fella’s, try to take the play away from him. That’s your husband, honey, and I don’t figger he’ll step out of character with Bugs.”
“Mmm, yes. I see what you mean.” She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee and pushed the cup aside. “I think you’re right, Lou. Now, do I mention that I met Bugs through you, or—?”
“It’s up to you, but it don’t make much difference. He’d probably think it, even if you didn’t tell him.”
“And don’t you know it! Trust him not to give anyone the benefit of the doubt!”
“Well, doubts is cheap these days,” Ford said. “Goin’ at the same rate as their benefits, which was nothing-minus the last I heard.” He slid out of the booth and stood up. “Guess I better run along, now that we’re all squared away. Some fellas I know are leavin’ town, and I want to give ’em a send-off.”
“Have fun,” Joyce smiled and flirted a hand at him. “I’ll let you know how everything comes out.”
“And thanks,” Bugs said gruffly. “Thanks a lot.”
“What for? Ain’t done nothin’ to call for thanks,” Ford declared. “No, sir, I sure ain’t. And that’s a fact.”
3
M ost of the Hanlon employees worked the more or less standard long-day, short-day of the hotel world. A shift came on duty at seven in the morning, quit at noon, returned at six and remained until eleven. The following day, this shift would work a short-day—from noon until six—with the opposite shift catching the double-watch long day.
The exceptions to this routine were night workers, certain professional and maintenance personnel, employees of the store-room and laundry, Bugs McKenna, and Mr. Olin Westbrook, the executive manager. Bugs was on call at all times. But there was rarely any need for him during the day—he had been called only once during the month of his employment—so, in practice, he was a night worker. Mr. Olin Westbrook, on the other hand, not only was supposed to be available at all hours of the day, but invariably had to be.
Oh, perhaps he could retire to a checked-out room for an hour or so. Freshen up with a shower, or catch a few winks of sleep. But these brief periods were more tantalizing than satisfying; he couldn’t really rest and relax. If someone didn’t buzz him—and someone usually did—he would be expecting them
“Plenty husky and gutsy. Been a big-city dick. An’ like you can see, he’s a real friendly fella to boot. Shouldn’t ought to matter much that he’s done a few things that wasn’t exactly legal.”
“It shouldn’t?” Joyce looked at him doubtfully. “I mean, well, no, it shouldn’t. It certainly wouldn’t matter to me, I know. But…”
She stared, frowning, into Ford’s eyes, seeking some clue to his reasoning. The deputy looked back at her blandly. “Well, it won’t matter to Mis-ter Hanlon, then,” he said. “People’s all alike, the way I figger. All kind of brothers under the skin.”
“Oh, Lou! You corny so-and-so. But seriously—”
“Ain’t never been nothin’ but serious. I’m one of these Pag-lee-atchee fellas, serious as all hell behind a mask of laughter. So you just do like I say. Take Bugs, Mr. McKenna, here, right to the head man, so’s he don’t get lost or strayed in the application-blank stage. And Mis-ter Hanlon’ll sign him up as fast as fox-hair.”
“I don’t think so. The mere fact that I want him hired will be enough to get him turned down. I’m perfectly willing to do it, Bugs”—she used the nickname easily, slanting a smile at him—“but I know how Mike is.”
Bugs nodded uncomfortably. He started to say that they could forget the whole thing as far as he was concerned: he didn’t want to be pushed off on anyone. But Ford was already talking:
“Seems to me you don’t know how he is,” he said. “Or what he is. Hard-headed. Long-shot player. Can’t run his own game, he’ll tackle the other fella’s, try to take the play away from him. That’s your husband, honey, and I don’t figger he’ll step out of character with Bugs.”
“Mmm, yes. I see what you mean.” She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee and pushed the cup aside. “I think you’re right, Lou. Now, do I mention that I met Bugs through you, or—?”
“It’s up to you, but it don’t make much difference. He’d probably think it, even if you didn’t tell him.”
“And don’t you know it! Trust him not to give anyone the benefit of the doubt!”
“Well, doubts is cheap these days,” Ford said. “Goin’ at the same rate as their benefits, which was nothing-minus the last I heard.” He slid out of the booth and stood up. “Guess I better run along, now that we’re all squared away. Some fellas I know are leavin’ town, and I want to give ’em a send-off.”
“Have fun,” Joyce smiled and flirted a hand at him. “I’ll let you know how everything comes out.”
“And thanks,” Bugs said gruffly. “Thanks a lot.”
“What for? Ain’t done nothin’ to call for thanks,” Ford declared. “No, sir, I sure ain’t. And that’s a fact.”
3
M ost of the Hanlon employees worked the more or less standard long-day, short-day of the hotel world. A shift came on duty at seven in the morning, quit at noon, returned at six and remained until eleven. The following day, this shift would work a short-day—from noon until six—with the opposite shift catching the double-watch long day.
The exceptions to this routine were night workers, certain professional and maintenance personnel, employees of the store-room and laundry, Bugs McKenna, and Mr. Olin Westbrook, the executive manager. Bugs was on call at all times. But there was rarely any need for him during the day—he had been called only once during the month of his employment—so, in practice, he was a night worker. Mr. Olin Westbrook, on the other hand, not only was supposed to be available at all hours of the day, but invariably had to be.
Oh, perhaps he could retire to a checked-out room for an hour or so. Freshen up with a shower, or catch a few winks of sleep. But these brief periods were more tantalizing than satisfying; he couldn’t really rest and relax. If someone didn’t buzz him—and someone usually did—he would be expecting them
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