* * * * *
Hell broke loose. A man clipped his neighbor because the other was
luckier than he; a Venusian latched onto a handful of chips from one
of the tables and had his wrist broken by the owner of the chips who
came down on the arm with a heavy fist. Chips flew through the air and
rained down, and many, not caught in the fight, dropped to the floor
to pick them up. They got into fights with other gleaners, and the
melee spread like a crown fire in a piney woods. Critical mass had
been reached, and the fission from civilized human beings to outraged
primates spread throughout the room.
Cliff found an ornate chair and separated it to get the back-stringer
for a club. The other side was clutched by Ava's escort, who plied
it well. Ava came up between them clutching a small, wicked-looking
stilletto and waving it viciously. Maculay slapped it out of her hand.
"Don't start _that_!" he snarled, caving in a likely-looking head with
the hunk of chair. He up-ended a table and used it as a protective
wall, shoving it forward towards the door. He lost his club over
another head and tossed the stub into the face of a third. He
splattered the nose of a fourth all over his face, and trampled one
fighting pair down to the floor. They paid no attention to him; they
had their own private grievance.
Someone yelled: "Police!" and then the lights went out. Maculay steered
another course from the door, back through the room full of flailing
men and women who were trying now to extricate themselves and make the
appearance of innocent bystanders.
Ava opened a door, and the light from inside spilled out over one of
the finest barroom shambles ever committed in a high-class gambling
hell, where he who wore no evening clothes was not permitted.
Then they were inside.
"Damn," chuckled Maculay. "This is the first time I've ever been inside
of a powder room."
"Like it?"
He looked at her. They had lost her former escort in the melee. They
had lost some composure, too, and also whatever formality might have
been expected.
"Not as well as I thought," he told her. "Where's the hell out?"
Ava pointed to a window.
They left via the window as the door opened. They landed in the gangway
between the two buildings, raced for the alley, and ran into a burly
man in uniform that stood there stolidly.
Maculay clipped him in a rolling block; the policeman had expected
practically anything but a football rush. The pair went down, rolling.
The officer fired one shot at them as they headed into a side-gangway
and through to the street beyond. Cliff whistled for a convenient
taxicab; they piled into it and were off before the alarm sounded from
their rear.
They repaired what damage they could in the taxicab, and carried the
rest with them boldly through the finest hotel in Melaxis.
* * * * *
Once in Maculay's suite, Ava opened her handbag and rolled a horde of
chips on the table.
Maculay roared with laughter. "Souvenirs," he chortled.
"Can't you cash 'em?"
"M'lady, you are an angel. You turned up just in time to create a
diversion. I got out with a whole skin, anyway."
Maculay looked at her curiously. Her eyes were glowing with excitement;
her face was flushed, and she bore that slight dishevelment that brings
a beautiful woman down from the pedestal of showcase perfection and
makes a warm human of her.