约翰?J?马龙比之前更不开心，而且他的感觉还更糟糕。距离上一杯杜松子酒已经过去了两个半小时，之前喝的那些杜松子酒的酒劲已经开始发作。他觉得自己的胳膊、肢和头对身体的其他部分来说有点太重了，他还有一种模糊的感觉，隐约觉得有些绿色的小矮人此刻正坐在他的肩膀上，拿着微型攻城槌在往他耳朵里戳。
John J. Malone was even unhappier than before, and in addition he felt terrible. It had been two hours and twenty-five minutes since the last drink of gin, and the after effects of the preceding gins were beginning to take hold. He felt that his arms, legs, and head were a little too heavy for the rest of him, and he had a vague notion that small green men were sitting on his shoulders, poking miniature battering rams into his ears.
“为什么要找我麻烦，” 他闷闷不乐地说，“就因为我碰巧安静地坐在酒吧里，所以某个流浪汉就被人用刀捅了？”
“Why pick on me,” he said morosely, “just because I happened to be sitting quietly in a barroom when some bum gets mixed up in a knifing?”
“他可不是什么流浪汉。” 冯?弗拉纳根说。“流浪汉可不是那个人。他的钱包里有四百多块，手腕上还戴着一块精致的瑞士手表。”
“He was no bum,” von Flanagan said. “Not that guy. He had over four hundred bucks in his kick and a fancy Swiss watch strapped on his wrist.”
“好吧，” 马龙尽量表现得友好一些。“他不是流浪汉。这就证明我不可能认识他。咱们把这事忘了吧。在我看来，总部是个过跨年夜糟糕的地方。”
“All right,” Malone said, with an attempt at amiability. “He wasn’t a bum. That proves I couldn’t have known him. Let’s call the whole thing off. If you ask me, headquarters is one hell of a place to spend New Year’s Eve.”
“你倒好意思说，” 冯?弗拉纳根咆哮道。“要是你做我的工作会怎样？该死，马龙，我从来就不想当警察。只要我攒够钱，能在乡下某个地方买一小块地，我就辞职，这就说明了一切。我当时正在我姐夫家参加跨年派对……” 他停顿了一下，若有所思地补充道，“不过话说回来，那派对也不怎么样。你说呢，马龙，等我处理完这堆破事，我想我们还能赶上格瑞特大舞台的最后一场表演吧？”
“You should talk,” von Flanagan growled. “What if you had my job? Damn it, Malone, I never wanted to be a cop. As soon as I get enough dough saved up to buy a little weekly newspaper some place in the country, I’m gonna quit. This just goes to show you. Here I was at a Newvable New Year’s party at my brother-in-law’s—” He paused, looked thoughtful, and added, “Not but what it wasn’t a stinking party, anyway. What’dya say, Malone, when I get through with this mess—I think we could still make the last floor show at the Grand Terrace?”
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