"Ah, but that's not the weapon I choose," Kinsman countered. "I believe that I shall choose sabers. Won a few medals back East with my saber fencing. Now where can we find a pair of sabers at this hour of the morning . . . ?"
The guy grabbed Kinsman's shirt. "I'm gonna knock that fuckin' grin off your face."
"You probably will. But not before I kick both your kneecaps off. You'll never see the inside of a gym again, muscleboy."
"That's enough, both of you," Diane snapped. She stepped between the two of them. The big guy let go of Kinsman.
"You'd better get back to your own place. Ray," she said, her voice flat and hard. "You're not going to break up my pad and get me thrown out on the street."
Ray pointed a thick, blunt finger at Kinsman. "He's an agent for the Feds. Or something. Don't trust him."
"Go home. Ray. It's late."
"I'll get you, blue-suit," said Ray. "Fll get you."
Kinsman replied, "When you find the sabers, let me know."
"Shut up!" Diane hissed at him. But she was grinning.
She half-pushed the lumbering Ray out the door. The others left right behind him. Suddenly Kinsman was alone in the shabby little room with Diane.
"I guess I ought to go, too," Kinsman said, his insides shaking now that the danger had passed. Or was it the 15 thought of going back home?
"Where?" Diane asked.
"Back in the city . . . Russian Hill."
"God, you are Establishment!"
"Born with a silver spoon in my ear. To the manner born. Rich or poor, it pays to have money. Let 'em eat cake. Or was it coke?"
"You're very drunk."
"How can you tell?"
"For one thing, your feet are standing still but the rest of you is swaying like a tree in a typhoon."
"I am drunk with your beauty . . . and a ton and a half of beer."
