Tommy had the weather down to three feet of rain over the washbasin and one soft drip on Sarge's head. Every time Sarge moved, the drip followed. He endured it until a drop got behind his ear, then took his shirt off and threw it into the water with the rest of the laundry.
"If you wanted my clothes, you could've asked," he said. "I spent ten minutes out on that corner with something running down the back of my neck. I thought I'd been bitten by the most patient dead bastard in town."
"I can dry it afterward." Tommy put both arms into the tub up to the elbows. "I need something to do with my hands. There's a perfectly good woman going to come out of that building in a minute, and I'd appreciate a reason to be looking at something other than her face."
"Most people pick another face," Marx pointed out. "I can smile for you. Show a little tooth if it'll ease the pain."
