Brenda blocked his way and took hold of his buckskin sleeve. “No. Wait a minute....”
As Sheldon watched, firmly clutched by Brenda, a man’s hand appeared on one of the rungs that extended from either side of the mechanical tentacle. A small man in a dark suit came into view. He was wearing a 1920s Fedora pulled down low over his forehead.
“He’ll never get through the dome. It’s airtight,” Sheldon said.
The man ran a hand along the outside of the transparent plastic, seemingly searching for something. Twice he made a sudden grab for his hat, which was flapping wildly in the twenty-knot breeze. His hand finally stopped below the line of the railing, so Sheldon couldn’t see what he was doing. But from the action of his shoulder, it looked as if he pushed hard against something. The section of the plastic dome in front of him popped open with a tiny sigh and slid backward. The wind suddenly swirled along the deck.
“Must be an emergency hatch,” Brenda murmured.
The man hesitated a moment; then, looking downward, he reached below the level where Sheldon could see. He hauled up a strange-looking object: long and slim at one end, thicker at the other, with a round drum in the middle.
“A Tommygun!” Sheldon realized, in a frightened whisper. “Like they used on the ‘Prohibition Blues’ show!”
The dark-suited man threw a leg over the rail and clambered onto the deck. He clutched the Tommygun with both hands now, his left arm stretched out almost as far as it could go to reach the front handgrip.
He turned slowly in the shadows along the deck and saw Brenda and Sheldon frozen near the rail.
“Don’t make a move,” he whispered. In a voice that Sheldon somehow knew.
Leaning over the rail, the dark-suited man called, “Come on up, you guys. It’s okay.”
Sheldon knew that voice. But he couldn’t place it. And the hat was still pulled too low over the man’s face to recognize him.
“They’re going to hijack the ship.” Brenda whispered. “Do something!”
Sheldon didn’t answer. He was busy, staring at the Tommygun.
Two more dark-suited men climbed up to the deck. Each of them carried huge, ugly-looking pistols. Colt 45s, Sheldon realized. Named after the beer commercial.
The first man stepped up to Sheldon and Brenda, shifting the Tommygun to the crook of his arm.
“You dirty rats,” he said. “You didn’t invite me to your party. So I’m crashing it.”
He was close enough to Sheldon to see his face now. And recognize it. They were being confronted by Jimmy Cagney.
Behind Cagney stood Allen Jenkins and Frank McHugh, both grinning rather foolishly.
Cagney hitched at his pants with his free hand. “Where’s Finger?” he demanded. “I wanna find that rat. He’s the guy that gave it to my brother and now I’m gonna give it to him.”
The voice finally clicked in Sheldon’s memory. It was Ron Gabriel doing his Cagney imitation.
“Ron?” Sheldon asked, a little timidly. “Is that you?” Cagney’s face fell. “You recognized me. Shit. I thought I had you fooled, Sheldon.”
“You did. It’s a wonderful costume.”
Brenda said, “That’s really you, Ron?”
“Reah... who’re y... Brenda? Wow, you look terrific!”
“Thanks.”
“How did you recognize me?” Sheldon wanted to know. Cagney-Gabriel shrugged with one shoulder. “Gary Cooper. You always use the Cooper costume. Every party.”
“Once or twice,” said Sheldon, defensively.
“Often enough.”
Sheldon started thinking. Not about his costume, but about Gabriel crashing the party. When he thought that Cagney and his henchmen were hijackers or thieves, he had been scared. But the thought of Gabriel coming face to face with B.F. terrified him. I’ve got to keep them separated, he realized.
“Let’s go up to the Sky Bar and have a drink,” Sheldon said, pointing forward and up.
“I wanna see Finger,” Gabriel replied, switching back to his Cagney voice. “I wanna show him my violin.” He hefted the Tommygun.
Brenda stepped closer to him and slipped an arm inside Gabriel’s arm. “Come on, tough guy,” she said, doing Bacall perfectly. “Buy a girl a drink.”
Gabriel couldn’t resist that. “Okay sweetheart. Umm... they got any grapefruit up in that bar?”
“Never mind,” Brenda-Bacall said. “You don’t need a grapefruit. All you’ve got to do is whistle.”
As the five of them headed down the swaying, rolling deck toward the bar perched atop the ship’s bridge, Sheldon thought, And all I’ve got to do is keep Brenda with him.
They took over a corner table in the Sky Bar, ordered drinks and watched the moonlight on the waves. Gabriel parked his Tommygun behind the sofa that they sat on. A blocky-looking computer over by the dancefloor was belting out the new atonal electronic music and flashing its lights in numbered sequence for the dancing couples slinking along: one, two, one-two-three; one, two, one-two three. Every once in a while the computer would throw in an extra beat, just to keep the humans off balance. Most of the dancing couples were heterosexual.
As the waiter brought their drinks, Brenda leaned close enough to Sheldon to whisper in his ear, “Thanks, hero.”
He looked askance at her. “For what?”
“For sticking me with....” She made a tiny nod in Gabriel’s direction. He was busy watching the dangers and arching his eyebrows at the prettiest of the girls.
