This time Gypsie-Ann produced a mysterious smile. “Kahn won’t forget. He’s a special case.”
His attention having wandered to the clasped hands shared between Prima Ballerina and her boyfriend, Jack felt — what? Jealousy? Natch that. Sadness. Happy for his teammate, to be sure, but a general sense of the lonely prevailed.
“Whatever the verdict,” he decided, “we have each other, a pretty hefty little consortium. But I understand if you bail out and go back to Melbourne, now you can.”
“And why would we do that?” Pretty Amazonia had grabbed the Brick’s cigar to take a drag, glare challenging — which gave Gypsie-Ann ample opportunity to lean forward and insert her two cents.
“Nothing wrong with running away, dearie, your tail between your legs.”
“Fat chance, Lois.”
“Well, then.” Jack placed his right hand, palm-side down, on the linoleum surface of the table, between drops of syrup. “We’re a team in this?”
“Shit-a-brick. D’we have’ta indulge in the Three Musketeers shtick?”
“I agree,” complained PA. “It’s so bloody passé.”
“Four. Four Musketeers.” Midori stuck her free hand atop Jack’s.
“Let’s make it a round five,” Gypsie-Ann said. “I don’t pack a firearm, but I have an umbrella, miracle blood, and you people need some brains.”
“Oh, great.” PA rolled her eyes. “Now I have competition. I liked being the only girl.”
“Stop whining and give me your hands.”
“No, I’m not doing it. I’m in, but you can stick the musketeers thing up your arse.”
The Brick blew several smoke-rings toward the ceiling. “Speaking of which, can we change the name o’ the group, an’ ditch that dumb logo?”
“Priorities, Mister B.”
“C’mon, dollface — we can at least put it to the vote.”
“Let it go, you big oaf. We can do this, right, Jack?”
PA playing deferential surprised her less experienced partner. “Don’t quote me, but I think we can.” Jack looked at Gypsie-Ann, followed by Midori, and then the Brick and Pretty Amazonia. “With the smallest amount of help from you lot.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The Brick twisted over the table. “Okay if I get drunk now?”
#181
An hour later, Captain Robert Kahn still hadn’t shown.
Getting stuck into his twelfth beer, the Brick was increasingly rowdy, Prima Ballerina remained unable to tear gaze from her paramour nor scrub the silly grin from her face, and Pretty Amazonia and Gypsie-Ann were quarrelling up a storm that’d put the standard cat-and-dog shindig to shame.
Jack kept glancing at a Swiss chalet-style cuckoo clock affixed to the wall, something the Brick noticed in spite of any bleary vision.
“Got somewhere yer gotta be, kid?”
The man initially shook his head —“No,” he said — but straight after leaned back against the cushioned wall, mouth pressed into a beleaguered straight line. “Maybe. Am I that obvious?”
“As obvious as yours truly skinny-dippin’ without me trunks.”
Having overheard the hesitation, Pretty Amazonia took a welcome break from sisterly altercation. “Let me guess — Louise.”
Jack nodded. “The bank will be open by now. I’m not sure she works there anymore, and I’m not going to interfere. Just want to make sure she’s all right.”
“Haven’t you put yourself through the wringer enough yet?” muttered Gypsie-Ann.
“Oh, shush,” PA responded. “You could always pay our rent early. That would make the bank happy — fresh start, and all that. The recipe for success you mentioned.”
“G’on,” the big ceramic man beside Jack urged. “We’ll hold down ye olde fort while yer off stalkin’ — well, actually, you gals can. Prima an’ me are goin’ t’take our mornin’ constitutional. Soak up a bit o’ life.”
PA looked put out. “You don’t think we need some living?”
“Stop fussing,” cut in her sister. “Run along, children. We’ll fill you in.”
“Will we now?”
#182
Once more, Southern Cross was lodged in a queue.
He gazed at the architecture holding up the domed ceiling dozens of metres above, watched the fans spin, ventured a peek ahead. First a young woman haggled about her account balance, and then an old lady took a month of Sundays to retrieve a bankbook from her bag. The man in front of him, in a greengrocer’s get-up, was much faster and peeled away in silence.