Joy reestablished her hold upon the blonde's anatomy. "Never mind that.
All we want from you is answers. Where did Uncle Peter go? Tell me!"
"Nuts to you!" Cora replied. "He doesn't want you bothering him."
Joy applied pressure. Cora squealed but remained mute. I stepped
forward. "Darling," I said grimly. "This sort of thing is not in your
line. I realize this woman must be made to talk so I will take over. It
will be distasteful to me, but duty is duty."
I got a withering look from my dear wife. "Distasteful? In a pig's eye!
You'd like nothing better than to get your hands on her--by way of duty
of course."
"Joy!"
"Don't Joy me." And with an expert twist, she flipped the struggling
Cora out of the roadster, goose-stepped her across and into the back
seat of the Cadillac.
"You and Bag Ears get in and start driving--slow. I'll have some answers
in a minute or two."
We did as we were told and I eased the car away from the curb. I had to
watch the road, of course, so could not turn to witness what was going
on rearward. In the mirror I saw flashes of up-ended legs and, from time
to time, other and sundry anatomical parts that flew up in range only to
vanish again as the grim struggle went on.
Bag Ears, however, turned to witness the bringing forth of the answers.
His first comment was, "Oh boy!"
Joy was breathing heavily. She said, "Okay, babe. Talk, or I'll put real
pressure on this scissors!"