Shell Scott PI Mystery Series, Volume One by Richard S. Prather

Author:Richard S. Prather [Prather, Richard S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647349318
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2021-04-12T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

I didn’t get the whole nine hundred but I got very close to thirty in no time at all. There were several couples but my crowd was predominantly feminine and I mean feminine.

I began wishing that this caper wasn't designed to keep me from getting killed and that I really had won that forty thousand. But right away, I realized the foolishness of that thought, because, though what I was thinking might have been slower, it, too, would have killed me.

After my apparent fit, a buzz of conversation had swelled up and few people drifted toward me. I heard snatches of conversation that I assumed were about me: "Yeah, that's the goof. . . " "Up at the bar. . . " "Hundred grand crapping?" "No, stupid, not Costello. . . " and so on. I kept up my act, pretending to be somewhat drunk, and I shouted come-one-come-all-everything's-on-me-and-yippee-ti-yo-I'm-a-ring-tailed-billionaire.

Evidently, Lorraine had done her work, too, because it didn't take long for half a dozen gals and two couples to gather around me and start shooting questions at me. Then the two blondes from the bar joined us and the cute little doll face came up and grabbed my arm.

"Honey," she bubbled, "don't you dare throw any more money away. I couldn't stand it."

I gave a little wave of my hand and shrugged as if that money were for the janitor. Maybe it was. Most of it was still on the floor. My God! We were walking on it.

"'S nothing," I said. "I'm gonna take ever'body out and buy ever'body ever'thing."

A tiny, dark-haired cowgirl clapped her hands together and squealed, "Oooohh, this is fun!"

We were getting a bit of attention and more guys and gals, mostly gals, came up and the gathering grew like a downhill snowball. I saw Lorraine on the fringe of the swelling group and she shook her head and smiled when I winked at her. I was trying to act a little drunk and I was a good actor. Those two fast highballs on top of what I'd had earlier were starting to feel mighty good inside me. I looked at my milkshake glass or whatever it was and that was down about four inches too.

There was a mess of us milling around now and I repeated my extravagant claims and yelled, "Let's go," and yipped a couple of times. We just sort of surged toward the wide door. Some of the others yelled, "Yea!" and "Yo!" and some more exciting things as we moved, picking up drunks and curious and what-the-hell characters on the way.

We picked up speed and at least thirty of us, but probably a lot more, mushroomed out of the Devil's Room and poured through the lobby, laughing and whooping and scratching, and everybody, honest to Christ, having a wonderful time, even me. The damn thing was contagious, like the spread of sullenness and anger through a lynch mob, only with that kind of crowd psychology in reverse. This was fun for everybody and it caught you and got hold of you and you couldn't resist it.

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