I hailed the next cab and as the driver whisked us away from the gangbangers, I told him to take us to Some Like It Hot. It was cold, and steaming with humidity in the taxi. I figured she could do with something spicy and the restaurant was in the general neighborhood. It was a fairly classy place, with a doorman in a red wool overcoat and a pair of white gloves waiting for us under a green canvas canopy. It was a slow night and we were escorted to a table overlooking the street. I made a pretense of looking over the menu but I knew what I wanted. I ordered the Szechuan Chicken No. 5. The way I see it, there are people who climb Everest, ballplayers who strive to hit ninety homers a year, runners trying to crack the three-minute mile, and people who eat five-power Szechuan. The waitress could barely speak English, so when I says, “Number five,” she goes off running and a second later the manager comes over in his blue tuxedo and extremely deferential he says, “Mr. Marzuki, you must be mistaken. Number five is velly huat. Not just for average Joe-man, Tom, Dick, and Harry.”

“That’s how I like it,” I says. “Hot stuff, babe—can’t get enough.”

Judith E. Smith tittered at yet another appropriately laid-in golden-oldies citation. Heh heh. I was doin’ good. I like to work song lyrics into my conversation. My court-appointed shrink says it’s a schizophrenic trait but chicks go for it. Meanwhile this restaurant manager is looking at me like I’m crazy. “Number five?” The guy had gone from yellow jaundice to pure white. Chinese Johnny Winter. He was a skinny guy but his hands were plump and he kept stabbing at the menu with his stubby finger. He says, “No, please, sir, this one velly big…misunnerslandish.” I held firm and away he went in a major Chinese tizzy. He disappeared into the bowels of the restaurant.

Out came the manager’s son, who spoke perfect English. We repeated the same conversation. “Number five?! Number five? Oh God, oh God, oh God!” I could tell Judith was impressed. She had slid out of her raincoat and started fussing with her hair. Preening behavior. Pretty soon the whole sinister Gang of Four surrounded our table, all of them excited. “Velly hot, velly hot! Not adwisable.”

“Calm down, boys. I am Louis E. Marzuki and I can eat anything you throw my way—ground glass, granular Drano—anything. I’m a responsible adult and I’m walking into this with my eyes wide open.” I was also going to add that I served in Manchuria with the Second Marines during that protracted conflict. I was going to lay that one in but I didn’t want to come off like a braggart.

Judith was impressed. She was in the palm of my hand. I could tell by her body language.