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Authors: Max Allan Collins
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too.
The pilot said, “Just tell your young laddie-buck here to keep his sweaty paws off my lass.”
Alex gestured to himself. “To be strictly fair about it, your ‘lass’ had her hands all over this laddie-buck.”
Evy frowned. “Alex!”
Maguire’s upper lip drew back and a growl rumbled in his throat, but O’Connell slipped an arm around his old pal.
“Why don’t you,” O’Connell said chummily, “and your boys of course, head over to the bar.”
“Why should we?”
“Because you’re the lucky one-thousandth customer here at Imhotep’s. You’ve just won you and your compadres a night of drinks on the house.”
Jonathan, who had been keeping his distance over at the bar, perked up and came quickly over. “On the what? Who’s counting bloody customers?”
Evy gave her brother a sharp elbow and a sharper look.
Jonathan’s face blossomed in a smile. “Yes, of course! Anything for my loving little family.”
Maguire broke out in a grin and held his hand out to O’Connell, who shook it. “Welcome to the Orient, Ricochet me lad.”
“It’s been fun so far.”
Maguire and his boys, in rowdy good cheer, assembled at the bar and Jonathan closed his eyes in painful contemplation of dollars not going into his cash register.
O’Connell, no longer smiling, turned to face his son. “I’m not here five minutes and already I’m pulling your fanny out of the fire!”
“How hard was that?” Alex said with a shrug. “All you had to do was play the French Foreign Legion card.”
O’Connell returned the shrug. “Well, like they say, ‘Once a legionnaire, always a legionnaire.’ ”
“When was it they said that? The twenties? Right after they said twenty-three skidoo?”
O’Connell frowned at his son, wondering for a moment why he’d bothered rescuing him from Maguire and the other mad dogs. Maybe it was the boy’s teeth, which had been straightened at some expense, and having them flung all over the nightclub floor would have been a pity, and a wasted investment.
But before any more sparks, or worse, could fly, Evy came over and stepped between father and son.
“Enough, you two!” To Rick she said, “You back down.” To her brother she said, “You get us some drinks.” To her son she said, “You have a lot of explaining to do, young man.”
Jonathan remained at the bar while the O’Connell family reunion moved to a booth where they ignored a lavish Egypt Meets Hollywood floor show, and caught up on more important things.
O’Connell, after getting filled in by his son, frowned and said, “I thought we had a firm no-more-digging-up-mummies rule in this family.”
Alex’s eyebrows rose. “That’s your rule, Dad. Anyway . . . I’m not planning to raise this one from the dead.”
Keenly interested, Evy asked Alex, “Where is the late Emperor, at the moment?”
“The Shanghai Museum. We’re waiting for official verification of the discovery. Really just a formality, Roger says.”
“Roger,” O’Connell said. “So Roger Wilson hired you?”
Alex nodded. “Roger was a visiting lecturer at Harvard. He looked me up, because he was friends with you and Mom. Said he’d talked to my instructors and was pleased by what he’d heard.”
O’Connell’s eyes flared. “So impressed he encouraged you to drop out of school?”
“Roger says he’ll get me credit. It’s what they call ‘work study,’ these days.”
“Good ol’ Roger arranged this with your instructors, then? You’re on a kind of leave of absence?”
“Well . . . not exactly.”
O’Connell sighed. Closed his eyes tight. “You did drop out.”
Alex leaned forward. “Listen, the professor believed in me all the way—staked his reputation on it.”
O’Connell said drily, “Well, we’ll be sure to thank him.”
But Evy was beaming with pride. “You do realize,” she said to her son, “that with a discovery of this magnitude, the Bembridge Scholars will be knocking down your door.”
The
The pilot said, “Just tell your young laddie-buck here to keep his sweaty paws off my lass.”
Alex gestured to himself. “To be strictly fair about it, your ‘lass’ had her hands all over this laddie-buck.”
Evy frowned. “Alex!”
Maguire’s upper lip drew back and a growl rumbled in his throat, but O’Connell slipped an arm around his old pal.
“Why don’t you,” O’Connell said chummily, “and your boys of course, head over to the bar.”
“Why should we?”
“Because you’re the lucky one-thousandth customer here at Imhotep’s. You’ve just won you and your compadres a night of drinks on the house.”
Jonathan, who had been keeping his distance over at the bar, perked up and came quickly over. “On the what? Who’s counting bloody customers?”
Evy gave her brother a sharp elbow and a sharper look.
Jonathan’s face blossomed in a smile. “Yes, of course! Anything for my loving little family.”
Maguire broke out in a grin and held his hand out to O’Connell, who shook it. “Welcome to the Orient, Ricochet me lad.”
“It’s been fun so far.”
Maguire and his boys, in rowdy good cheer, assembled at the bar and Jonathan closed his eyes in painful contemplation of dollars not going into his cash register.
O’Connell, no longer smiling, turned to face his son. “I’m not here five minutes and already I’m pulling your fanny out of the fire!”
“How hard was that?” Alex said with a shrug. “All you had to do was play the French Foreign Legion card.”
O’Connell returned the shrug. “Well, like they say, ‘Once a legionnaire, always a legionnaire.’ ”
“When was it they said that? The twenties? Right after they said twenty-three skidoo?”
O’Connell frowned at his son, wondering for a moment why he’d bothered rescuing him from Maguire and the other mad dogs. Maybe it was the boy’s teeth, which had been straightened at some expense, and having them flung all over the nightclub floor would have been a pity, and a wasted investment.
But before any more sparks, or worse, could fly, Evy came over and stepped between father and son.
“Enough, you two!” To Rick she said, “You back down.” To her brother she said, “You get us some drinks.” To her son she said, “You have a lot of explaining to do, young man.”
Jonathan remained at the bar while the O’Connell family reunion moved to a booth where they ignored a lavish Egypt Meets Hollywood floor show, and caught up on more important things.
O’Connell, after getting filled in by his son, frowned and said, “I thought we had a firm no-more-digging-up-mummies rule in this family.”
Alex’s eyebrows rose. “That’s your rule, Dad. Anyway . . . I’m not planning to raise this one from the dead.”
Keenly interested, Evy asked Alex, “Where is the late Emperor, at the moment?”
“The Shanghai Museum. We’re waiting for official verification of the discovery. Really just a formality, Roger says.”
“Roger,” O’Connell said. “So Roger Wilson hired you?”
Alex nodded. “Roger was a visiting lecturer at Harvard. He looked me up, because he was friends with you and Mom. Said he’d talked to my instructors and was pleased by what he’d heard.”
O’Connell’s eyes flared. “So impressed he encouraged you to drop out of school?”
“Roger says he’ll get me credit. It’s what they call ‘work study,’ these days.”
“Good ol’ Roger arranged this with your instructors, then? You’re on a kind of leave of absence?”
“Well . . . not exactly.”
O’Connell sighed. Closed his eyes tight. “You did drop out.”
Alex leaned forward. “Listen, the professor believed in me all the way—staked his reputation on it.”
O’Connell said drily, “Well, we’ll be sure to thank him.”
But Evy was beaming with pride. “You do realize,” she said to her son, “that with a discovery of this magnitude, the Bembridge Scholars will be knocking down your door.”
The
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