“Are we supposed to leave?” Spellin’ Bee sez, scared-like as he peered at the retreatin’ figure.
“What’s wrong with Dragon Poker?” Shu Flie put in.
“Nothin’!” I sez to him. “You see, Spyder …”
“Then what put the burr under his saddle?” Shu pressed, startin’ to get under my skin.
Fortunately, in trainin’ I have discovered there is one way to shut this particular individual up when he gets on a roll.
“Shu Flie,” I sez, “don’t bother me.”
It was an old joke by this time, but it still got a laugh … which is not surprisin’ as I have found that the vast majority of army humor pivots on old jokes.
“Watch yourself, brother,” Hy Flie sez, pokin’ Shu in the ribs. “The Swatter there is lookin’ to squash a fly again … and he might not be too picky about which of us he swats.”
Under the cover of this new round of laughs, Nunzio leans forward to talk to me direct. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, cuz?”
“That, of course, depends upon what it is you are thinkin’, Nunzio,” I sez, reasonable-like. “If, perchance, you are thinkin’ that you can color our cover ‘blown,’ then we are, indeed, thinkin’ along the same lines,”
To my surprise, instead of agreein’ he rolls his eyes like he does when I’m missin’ something which to him is obvious.
“Think it through, Guido,” he sez. “He thinks we’re from off-dimension, because we know about Dragon Poker … right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So how does he know about it?” To me, this question is as trivial as wonderin’ how a cop happens to know about a particular ordinance … which is to say it is beside the point, totally overlookin’ the immediate dilemma of dealin’ with the aftermath of us gettin’ caught breakin’ it.