Sallys in the Alley | Page 7

in
Beverly Hills."
"Okay. After you get the meat warm, take the biscuits out of the box,
crumple them carefully, and stir them into the meat. Mix them up nice

and smoothly. Got it?"
The waitress had backed a step away from the window. "Yes," she said
warily.
Doan took a small green bottle from his pocket. "When you get through
mixing the biscuits, pour three drops of this in the bowl and mix that in,
too. It's concentrated cod liver oil. Bring a door tray back when you
come, Carstairs refuses to eat off the floor. He knows it makes him
look like a giraffe taking a drink."
"Is this for the dog?" the waitress asked incredulously.
"Sure."
"Oh!" she gasped, relieved. "I thought it was for you!"
"I wish it was," said Doan, "But if I tried to eat it, you'd hear an awful
lot of hell-raising around here. You haven't got anything in the meat
line you could put in a sandwich for me, have you?"
"Oh, no."
"Okay. Bring me six melted cheese sandwiches with chopped nuts
spread on them and a quart of beer and three glasses of water."
"A quart of beer and three glasses of water?" the waitress repeated.
"Yes."
She shrugged. "It's your plumbing, mister."
She sauntered back into the restaurant. Doan explored in the dashboard
compartment and found the strip maps and the gas rationing book Arne
had said would be there. He studied his route to Heliotrope, muttering
to himself as he calculated mileages.
The waitress reappeared, loaded down with trays. Doan ran down one
of the back windows, and she slid one tray inside and fastened it to the

door. She clamped the other one over the steering wheel and then made
another trip and returned with sandwiches, water, and beer on one arm
and a shiny earthenware bowl under the other.
Carstairs mumbled happily at her as she put the bowl on his tray. She
gave Doan the beer and the water and the sandwiches and stood
watching for a moment, shaking her head slightly, and then went away.
Carstairs was too well-bred to slobber or slop things around, but he ate
with a sort of deadly efficiency. Doan was only on his second sandwich
when Carstairs began to snuffle commandingly behind his right ear.
Doan picked up the water glasses one after the other and, leaning over
the seat-back, poured them into the earthenware bowl which was now
as clean and glistening and empty as it had been when it came from the
store.
Carstairs slapped his tongue happily in the water and then said:
"Whumpf," in a moistly satisfied way. The car rocked back on its
springs as he hurled himself full length on the rear seat. He began to
snore instantly.
When he had finished his sandwiches, Doan beeped the horn softly, and
the waitress came back. She looked at the empty beer bottle and the
three empty water glasses and then said:
"It's right over there."
"Thanks," Doan said. "But not now."
"You'll be sorry," said the waitress. "Listen, did you know your back
trunk compartment isn't locked? The handle is turned wrong.
Somebody's liable to steal your spare if you don't watch out."
"I don't care," Doan told her.
She stared at him. "You don't care if somebody swipes your spare?"
"No. I can easily get another."

"Are you one of these ration bootleggers?"
"No," said Doan. "I'm a Japanese spy. Rationing doesn't apply to spies.
Look it up if you don't believe me..."
"Huh!" said the waitress. "I'm going to die laughing some day at the
funny cracks I hear on this job."
"How would you like to go for a ride?" Doan asked. "Up around the
hills, and look at the city and stuff."
"The stuff is what I wouldn't go for," she said.
"You'd like me if you knew me better," Doan told her.
"I doubt that, but we'll never find out, will we?"
"Are you married?" Doan inquired.
"Yes."
"Oh, that's a shame," Doan said. "But then we all make mistakes. Why
don't you get a divorce? You can get one cheap in Nevada. I'm on my
way up that way to do some spying. Come on along. I'll split the
expenses with you."
"I can hardly resist, but I think I will. Here's your bottle of cod liver oil.
Your bill is a dollar and fifty-three cents--"
Doan counted out a dollar and sixty cents. "You gave us such nice
service that I'm going to let you keep the change, all for yourself."
"You're too good to me," said the waitress. "Come back again-- three
weeks after never."
"It's a date," said Doan.
Chapter 3

THE MOJAVE DESERT AT SUNSET LOOKS remarkably like a
painting of a sunset on the Mojave Desert