If this is a rib—”
“No rib.
Dead serious.”
He began to get mad.
“Where you think I’m going to get lip readers, out of my hat?”
“That’s your worry.
I’d suggest you start with the local School for the Deaf.”
He was silent.
“Now, get this into your head; this isn’t a rib, this is the real thing.
I don’t care what you do, or where you go, or what you spend—I want those lip readers in Hollywood when we get there or I want to know they’re on the way.”
“When are you going to get there?”
I said I wasn’t sure.
“Probably a day or two.
We’ve got a few loose ends to clean up.”
He swore a blue streak at the iniquities of fate.
“You’d better have a good story when you do—” I hung up.
Mike met me at the studio.
“Talk to Johnson?”
I told him, and he laughed.
“Does sound crazy, I suppose.
But he’ll get them, if they exist and like money.
He’s the Original Resourceful Man.”
I tossed my hat in a corner. “I’m glad this is about over.
Your end caught up?”
“Set and ready to go.
The films and the notes are on the way, the real estate company is ready to take over the lease, and the girls are paid up to date, with a little extra.”
I opened a bottle of beer for myself.
Mike had one.
“How about the office files?
How about the bar, here?”
“The files go to the bank to be stored.
The bar?
Hadn’t thought about it.”
The beer was cold.
“Have it crated and send it to Johnson.”
We grinned, together.
“Johnson it is.
He’ll need it.”
I nodded at the machine.
“What about that?”
“That goes with us on the plane as air express.”
He looked closely at me.
“What’s the matter with you—jitters?”
“Nope.
Willies.
Same thing.”
“Me, too.
Your clothes and mine left this morning.”
“Not even a clean shirt left?”
“Not even a clean shirt.