Stories: All-New Tales - By Neil Gaiman & Al Sarrantonio Page 0,91

air. The kid caught it and dropped it into his vest pocket before opening the door for Adeline.

“How’s tricks, Jim?” she asked as he delivered her to the curb.

“They just got better,” he said and patted his vest.

Dex came around the back of the car, took his date by the arm, and together they headed past the huge potted palms and down a brief tunnel toward a large rectangular patio open to the desert sky and bounded by a lush garden of the most magnificent crystal flora, emitting a blizzard of reflection. At the edge of the high-arching portico, Dex and Adeline stood for a moment, scanning the hubbub of revelers and, at the other end of the expanse of tables and chairs and dance floor, the onstage antics of that night’s musical act, Nabob and His Ne’er-do-wells. Above the sea of heads, chrome trombone in one hand, mic in the other, Nabob belted out a jazzed-up version of “Weak Knees and Wet Privates.”

A fellow in white tux and red fez approached the couple. He was a plump little man with a pencil mustache; a fifty-year-old baby playing dress-up. Dex removed his homburg and reached a hand out. “Mondrian,” he said.

The maitre d’ bowed slightly and, raising his voice above the din of merriment, said, “Always a pleasure to have you both back.”

Adeline also shook hands.

“You’re looking particularly lovely tonight,” he said.

“Table for two,” said Dex and flashed a crisp twenty under the nose of Mondrian. “Something close to the dance floor.”

The plump man bowed again and in his ascent snatched the bill from Dex’s hand. “Follow me, my friends,” he said, and then turned and made his way slowly in amid the maze of tables and the milling crowd. As they moved through the packed house, Adeline waved hello to those who called her name, and when someone shouted to Dex, he winked, sighted them with his thumb, and pulled an invisible trigger. Mondrian found them a spot at the very front, just to the left of the stage. He pulled out and held Adeline’s chair, and once she was seated, he bowed.

“Two gin wrinkles,” said Dex, and in an instant the maitre d’ vanished back into the crowd.

Adeline retrieved two cigarettes from her purse and lit them on the small candle at the center of the table. Dex leaned over and she put one between his lips. She drew on the other.

“How does it feel to be back in action?” he asked her.

She smiled broadly, blew a stream of smoke, and nodded. “It always feels right, the first couple of hours on the loose. I’m not thinking about anything else at this moment,” she said.

“Good,” he said and removed his hat, setting it on the empty chair next to him.

The music stopped then and was replaced by the chatter and laughter of the crowd, the clink of glasses and silverware. Nabob jumped down from the band platform, hit the ground, and rolled forward to spring upright next to Dex.

“Dexter,” he said.

“Still sweating out the hits,” said Dex and laughed as he shook hands with the bandleader.

“Bobby, aren’t you gonna give me a kiss?” said Adeline.

“I’m just savoring the prospect,” he said and swept down to plant one on her lips. The kiss lasted for a while before Dex reached his leg around the table and kicked the performer in the ass. They all laughed as Nabob moved around the table and took a seat.

Folding his willowy arms in front of him, the bandleader leaned forward and shook his thin head. “You two out for the stars tonight?” he asked.

“And then some,” said Adeline.

“So fill me in,” said Dex.

“Well, same old same old as usual, you know. And Killheler’s been waiting for you to return.”

A waitress appeared with two gin wrinkles—liquid pink ice and the Garden’s own bathtub blend of gin. The glasses caught the light and revealed tiny bubbles rising from a fat red cherry. Dex slipped the young woman a five. She smiled at him before leaving the table.

“Fuck Killheffer,” said Dex, lifting his drink to touch glasses with Adeline.

“He’s been in here almost every night, sitting back in the corner, slapping beads on that abacus of his and jotting numbers in a book,” said Nabob.

“Killheffer’s solid fruitcake,” said Adeline.

“A strange fellow,” said Nabob, nodding. “One slow night a while back, and most nights are slow when you fine folks aren’t here, he bought me a drink and explained to me how the world is made of