Death at King Arthur's Court by Richard; Forrest Page A

into the ice bucket. He checked the contents of the bar cart. ‘There’s some scotch left.’ He noticed that one bottle of Dry Sack was empty, and the other had its seal broken. He poured a pony for himself and a Dewars and water for her.
    â€˜Hey, that looks like real honest-to-God sipping scotch and not colored water. Hit me again with the good stuff.’
    Lyon was beginning to glimpse a possible niche in the dance world that she might inhabit. ‘Your accent,’ he said, ‘sounds like South Boston.’
    She drained half her drink. ‘You don’t win the brass ring for that one. I’ve got the map of Ireland plastered across my face, and my voice sounds like a Kennedy who never went to school.’
    â€˜And you dance in the Combat Zone?’
    She appraised him over the rim of her glass before answering. ‘Topless at the White Pussy Cat. Morgan’s told you about me, huh?’ A ribald laugh peeled forth. ‘Morg always says I have the upper works of a first-class battleship and the morals of a submarine.’ She peered into her drink. ‘I’ve never been quite sure if that’s a compliment or not.’
    â€˜Obviously he didn’t expect you tonight,’ Lyon said.
    â€˜Oh, he knew I’d arrive eventually. If not tonight, tomorrow or the next day. Recently I’ve become to Morg, like what do they say? Like a bad penny.’ She held out her glass for a refill. ‘In the beginning he paid plenty to have me spend a half hour in the sack with him. Not that I’m in the business, Morg was just helping out with the rent. Since the baby came I can’t get a word or a buck out of him.’
    â€˜Baby?’
    â€˜Barney. You know, named after …’
    â€˜I know.’
    â€˜I love you. You love me,’ she sang in an off-key voice that cracked when she reached for the higher registers.
    Lyon had accidentally viewed TV’s ersatz dinosaur twice. On the first occasion he thought the character was a temporary dash of treacly bad taste that would momentarily disappear. He was astonished to rediscover the monster two months later. He was convinced that the beast gave all monsters a bad name and should be immediately eliminated. He supposed it was in the natural order of things that mothers named Bambi had kids named Barney. ‘I’m surprised that Morgan’s involved in the baby business.’
    â€˜You’ve got his number, Wimpo. He told me a hunret times he hates human life forms under three feet tall who can’t read at a college level. Of course, he claims he’s not the father, but I know better.’
    â€˜They now have genetic tests that can establish parentage definitively,’ Lyon said.
    â€˜You even talk like him.’
    â€˜Once that’s established,’ Lyon continued, ‘you can go through the courts for child support.’
    â€˜I want more than a few bucks a week, Wimp Man. The only reason I put one in the oven with Morg was so that the kid could grow up and not be window-lace Irish. Look at me. My Da was a cop and I’m dancing bare boobs at the Pussy Cat so horny guys can slip dollar bills under my G-string. No way is Barney growing up in South Boston. He ain’t goin’ the way of the other smart Irish micks who drop out of school and snatch cars to order for a hunret a pop.’
    â€˜I would think not,’ Lyon said, aware that he was now going to get the unabbreviated version of the affair.
    She settled expansively back on the couch and took a slow slurp of her drink before she continued. ‘In the beginning Morg couldn’t get enough of me. It started a couple of years ago when he was in Boston for some academic bash and staying at the Parker House. He got bored one night and dumped the crowd he was with and wandered over to the Pussy Cat. I was doing my mermaid number when he grabbed a stool right in front of me and ordered scotch. Nobody but nobody