THE DETECTIVE
93
Acker smiled a little for the first time today. "We're all set.
Don't worry. I have trucks on the way already." He glanced side–
ways at Gruber to see was he pleased. Gruber seemed not to have
heard; or not to care very much. He merely grunted in his throat
and held his glass out to the bartender. Ingrate! Some manager–
he takes a miracle for granted! What was the use: the man was a
bully, period. Acker drained his glass. All right, he had to take the
chance and drop a hint. "Besides, I have done a little investigating
around here tonight. And . . . I think . . . I have found . . .
something...."
Gruber swivelled from the bar to face him, hauled up a golden
lighter and puffed his green cigar to life. The barman took Acker's
glass from
him,
poured it half full of whiskey, added a dollop of
soda, replaced it just as unobtrusively into his hands. Gruber
snapped his lighter shut, rapped on the bar a few times in a gesture
reminiscent of the split-second meditation of the higher military,
and stuffed it back into a pants pocket too full of thigh; then he
glared, wearily it might have been, perhaps only savagely bored,
through his sunglasses. "Okay, Acker. Don't waste my time with
guessing games. Spill. What
is
going on around here?"
"What's going on? What isn't? And furthermore, Mr. Julius
Gruber, it's possible you could know as much as I do, if not more,
eh?" Acker was surprised to hear his own voice delivering this bold
and cool suggestion. He knew he would live to regret it, and began
immediately.
"I know
more
than you think, Acker. Morale around here is
shot. Service is going to pieces. I can feel it in my bones: that's why
I am who I am. From where I sit, the whole works is right under
my nose, see? And let me tell you, mister, I don't like it one bit.
If
you want to know, the entire staff stinks like bad meat to me.
There's five more full weeks to this season. I should be going strong
in
the black. The place is booked up till Labor Day. They never
had it so hot in the city. But the way things are falling, I can't see
to make it, because I take a look at the books and it's pouring out
through a hole as big as the Lincoln Tunnel. How the
hell
is that
possible? Because, Acker,
from your department alone I stand to
lose everything!
Rivers, oceans of food! Last week, the meat almost
two tons short. Canned goods, sardines and herrings and tunas and
