im that Dorothy
wasn't there yet, but he saw no harm in making sure. _Always be careful
of your facts_, he admonished himself a little fuzzily.

There were a lot of women in the place, but they were all with escorts.
Some of them had two escorts, and Malone wondered about them. Were they
drunk, or was he? It was obvious that someone was seeing double, but
Malone wasn't quite sure who.

He stared at his face in the bar mirror for a few seconds, and ordered a
bourbon and soda when a bartender came over and occluded the image. The
bartender went away and Malone went on studying himself.

He wasn't bad-looking for an FBI agent. He was taller than his father,
anyway, and less heavily built. That was one good thing. As a matter of
fact, Malone told himself, he was really a pretty good-looking guy.

So why did women keep him waiting?

He heard her voice before he saw her, behind him. But she wasn't talking
to him.

"Hello, Milty," she said. "How's everything?"

Malone turned around to get a look at Milty. He turned out to be the
_maitre d'_. What did he have that Malone didn't have? the agent asked
himself sourly. Obviously Dorothy was captivated by his charm. Well,
that showed him what city girls were like. Butterflies. Social
butterflies. Flitting hither and yon with the wind, now attracted to
this man, now to that. Once, Malone told himself sadly, he had known
this beautiful woman. Now she belonged to someone else.

He felt a little bit sad about it, but he told himself to buck up and
learn to live with his tragedy. He drank some more of his bourbon and
soda, and then she noticed him.

He heard her say: "Oh. Excuse me, Milty. There's my man." She came over
and sat down next to him.

He wanted to ignore her, just to teach her a lesson. But he had already
turned around and smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Hi," she said. "Did you get the tickets?"

_Tickets!_

Malone knew there had been something he'd forgotten, and now he knew
what it was. "Oh," he said. "Sure. Just a second. I've got to check up."

"Check up?"

"Friend of mine," Malone improvised hurriedly. "Bringing them." He gave
Dorothy a big smile and climbed down off the bar stool. He managed to
find a phone booth, and dialed FBI headquarters on Sixty-ninth Street
and blessed several saints when he found that A-in-C was still there.

"Tickets," Malone said.

The Agent-in-Charge blinked at him. "What tickets?" he said.

"The 'Hot Seat' tickets