“Drinking,” Galleghef said bitterly. “It’s an understatement.”
“Then have a drink with me,” the big man invited. “I’m up to E now. Egg flip. Tun!” he roared. “ ’Nother egg flip for my pal here! Step it up! And get busy with F.”
Gallegher slid onto the stool beside Cuff and watched his companion speculatively. The alderman seemed a little tight.
“Yes,” Cuff said, “alphabetical drinking’s the only way to do it. You start with A—absinthe—and then work along, brandy, cointreau, daiquiri, egg flip—” “Then what?”
“F, of course,” Cuff said, mildly surprised. “Flip. Here’s yours. Good lubrication!”
They drank. “Listen,” Gallegher said, “I want to see you about Fatty.”
“Who’s he?”
“Fatty,” Gallegher explained, winking significantly. “You know. You’ve been bearing down lately. The statute. You know.”
“Oh! Him!” Cuff suddenly roared with Gargantuan laughter. “Fatty, huh? That’s good. That’s very good. Fatty’s a good name for him, all right.”
“Not much like his own, is it?” Gallegher said cunningly.
“Not a bit. Fatty!”
“Does he spell his name with an e or an i?”
“Both,” Cuff said. “Tim, where’s the flip? Oh, you got it ready, huh? Well, good lubrication, pal.”
Gallegher finished his egg flip and went to work on the flip, which was identical except for the name. What now?
“About Fatty,” he hazarded.
“Yeah?”
“How’s everything going?”
“I never answer questions,” Cuff said, abruptly sobering. He looked sharply at Gallegher. “You one of the bovs? I don’t know you.”
“Pittsburgh. They told me to come to the club when I got in town.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Cuff said. “Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. I just cleaned up some loose ends, and I’m celebrating. Through with your flip? Tun! Gin!”
They had gin for G, a horse’s neck for H, and an eye-opener for I. “Now a Jazzbo,” Cuff said with satisfaction. “This is the only bar hi town that has a drink beginning with J. After that I have to start skipping. I dunno any K drinks.”
“Kirchwasser,” Gallegher said absently.
“K—huh? What’s that?” Cuff bellowed at the bartender. “Tun! You g‹n any kirchwasser?”
“Nope,” said the man. “We don’t carry it, Alderman.”
“Then we’ll find somebody who does. You’re a smart guy, pal. Come along with me. I need you.”
Gallegher went obediently. Since Cuff didn’t want to talk about Fatty, it behooved him to win the alderman’s confidence. And the best way to do that was to drink with him. Unfortunately $n alphabetical pub-crawl, with its fantastic mixtures, proved none too easy. Gallegher already had a hangover. And Cuff’s thirst was insatiable.
“L? What’s L?”
“Lachrymae Christi. Or Liebfraumilch.”
“Oh, boy!”
It was a relief to get back to a Martini. After the Orange Blossom Gallegher began to feel dizzy. For R he suggested root beer, but Cuff would have none of that.
“Well, rice wine.”
“Yeah. Rice—hey! We missed N! We gotta start over now from A!”
Gallegher dissuaded the alderman with some trouble, and succeeded only after fascinating Cuff with the exotic name ng ga po. They worked on, through sazeracs, tail-spins, undergrounds, and vodka. W meant whiskey.
“X?”
They looked at each other through alcoholic fogs. Gallegher shrugged and stared around. How had they got into this swanky, well-furnished private clubroom, he wondered. It wasn’t the Uplift, that was certain. Oh, well—
“X?” Cuff insisted. “Don’t fail me now, pal.”
“Extra whiskey,” Gallegher said brilliantly.
“That’s it. Only two left. Y and… and—what comes after Y?”
“Fatty. Remember?”
“Ol’ Fatty Smith,” Cuff said, beginning to laugh immoderately. At least, it sounded like Smith. “Fatty just suits him.”
“What’s his first name?” Gallegher asked.
“Who?”
“Fatty.”
“Never heard of him,” Cuff said, and chuckled. A page boy came over and touched the alderman’s arm.
“Someone to see you, sir. They’re waiting outside.”
“Right. Back hi a minute, pal. Everybody always knows where to find me—’specially here. Don’t go ’way. There’s still Y and… and… and the other one.”
He vanished. Gallegher put down his untasted drink, stood up, swaying slightly, and headed for the lounge. A televisor booth there caught his eye, and, on impulse, he went in and vised his lab.
“Drunk again,” said Narcissus, as the robot’s face appeared on the screen.
“You said it,” Gallegher agreed. “I’m… urp… high as a kite. But I got a clue, anyway.”