“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.