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Visitors' Night at Joey Chicago's by Mike Resnick So I'm sitting there in Joey Chicago's 3-Star Tavern, nursing an Old Peculiar, and doping out the odds if Belmont comes up muddy after the rain we're expecting, when an annoying high- pitched voice says: "Gimme a bourbon martini and make it snappy!" "Ain't no such animal," says Joey. There's a pause, and then he says, "Ain't no such animal as you, neither." "Watch your mouth, Mac," says the voice, "or I just might put my fist in it." I look up, and what should I see but an ugly little creature, maybe 15 inches high, standing on the bar, paws on hips, glaring at Joey. "Harry," says Joey to me, "where the hell has Big-Hearted Milton gone to?" "He's in the john," I say. "He's hexing a rasslin' match. He says he thinks better in there." "Well, you tell him if he wants me to keep paying him for protection, he'd better get his ass out here." "What about my drink, Mac?" snaps the creature. "Keep your shirt on," says Joey. "I'm working on it." "I ain't got no shirt," says the creature. "Harry," says Joey, "are you gonna get Milton or are you going to spend all night listening to me argue with this disgusting little critter?" "Keep a civil tongue in your head!" says the disgusting little critter. "I get mighty ugly when I'm riled." "You ain't so good-looking even when you're not riled," says Joey as I walk into the men's room. Milton is sitting there on a closed toilet seat, fully dressed |
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