his lax
mouth. Then he slumped down again, spread his hands, shrugged, and
said, "Now I esk you!"

Sherry said, "I guess not." Then, "Shall I bring you something?" Her
eyes were on me as she asked. She hadn't worked on Vine Street for six
years without learning the ropes--about people at least.

I nodded.

Katz was waiting for the nod. He licked his lips. "I'll have a--"

"Planet Punch?"

"No. I'll have a--"

"Solar Sling? Martian Mule?"

Hoiman's eyes squinted shut, and he winced eloquently. "Martian!" he
groaned. "With rassling, too! Bring me a bottle of beer. Two bottles!"
After a moment he peered cautiously through slitted lids. "Is she
gone?" he whispered. "Such woids. Rassling. Martian. Better I should
have stood in Hollywood."

I laughed. "What's the matter with wrestling, Hoiman? Last I heard you
were managing a good boy--what was his name?"

"Killer Coogan? That bum!"

I had to do some thinking back. "Yeah," I said, "that's the boy.
Started wrestling back in the fifties. Good crowd pleaser. Took the
Junior Heavyweight Championship from Brickbuster Bates. Had a trick
hold he called the pretzel bend--hard to apply, but good for a
submission every time when he clamped it on. Right?"

"Okay, so he won some bouts with it. But that was twenty-five years
ago. He's slower, can't use that holt any more. We ain't had no main
events for a long time, and my bum is a big eater, see?"

"So?"

"So Hoiman Katz is not sleeping yet at the switch. He's got it up
here." A grimy forefinger tapped his wrinkled brow. "I says, Hoiman,
if we don't get it here, we gotta go where we _can_ get it."

Sherry came back with Hoiman's two bottles of beer, and my steak and
french fries. The steak was a dream, and the french fries were a
crisp, rich golden brown that started my mouth watering.

Sherry wanted to talk. I waved her down, and she went away pouting. If
there was a story in Hoiman I wanted to get it without interference.

He was pouring a second glass of beer. His beady eyes swivelled up to
mine, then quickly away. "You want I should tell you about my bum?"

I mumbled something through a mouthful of good juicy steak.

Hoiman sighed, reminiscently, and a grimy paw swooped into my french
fries. I moved them to the other side of my steak platter.

We woiked all up and down the Coast, (Hoiman said). My bum took all
comers. Slasher Slade had his abominal stretch. Crusher Kane had his
rolling rocking horse split; Ma