Chocolate Harry stared at Do-Wop and shook his head sadly. “Man, if you knew half as much as you think you know, you’d be a mortal danger.”
“He’s a mortal danger already,” said Super-Gnat, deadpan. “Just ask any woman who’s gone on a date with him.”
“Ahh, I got girls lined up ten deep waitin’ for the chance to go out with me,” said Do-Wop, swelling up his chest and making a perfunctory grab at Gnat, who ducked away and stuck out her tongue at him. Frustrated in his effort to demonstrate his appeal, he turned back to the supply sergeant. “But I can’t let you get away with that, C. H. I got inside info as good as anybody in the company. You don’t know who I been talkin’ to.”
“Don’t matter who you talk to, you wouldn’t understand it if they told you two and two is four,” said Chocolate Harry. “You’d figure it was six, and by the time you got done tellin’ the rest of us, it’d be fifteen or twenty.”
“And worth absolutely nothin’,” added Slammer, one of the new recruits who’d been assigned to the supply depot under Harry’s supervision. He’d quickly picked up the supply sergeant’s conversational style: half humorous insults, half bragging, and half plain lies. That’s three halves, but those who knew Harry were willing to make allowances for a good bit of surplus.
Carefully choosing his target-the whole company knew better than to try to beat C. H. at his own game-Do-Wop looked at Slammer and said, “Hey, Slammer, I been meaning to ask you-did you get that name because that’s where you belong, or because people slam doors in your face?”