The bouncer was examining them cattle-call style. The girls posed and smiled. Myron half expected them to open their mouths so he could examine their teeth.

“You three are okay,” Cleavage told them. “But your friend here is too chunky.”

The chunky girl, who was maybe a size eight, started to cry. Her three waiflike friends gathered in a circle and debated if they should go in without her. The chunky girl ran off in sobs. The friends shrugged and entered. The three bouncers smirked.

Myron said, “Classy.”

The smirks turned his way. Cleavage met Myron’s eyes, offering up a challenge. Myron met his gaze and did not look away. Cleavage looked Myron up and down and clearly found him wanting.

“Nice outfit,” Cleavage said. “You on your way to fight a parking ticket in traffic court?”

His two compadres, both sporting tourniquet-tight Ed Hardy T-shirts, liked that one.

“Right,” Myron said, pointing at the cleavage. “I should have left my shirt at home.”

The bouncer on Cleavage’s left made a surprised O with his mouth.

Cleavage stuck out his thumb, umpire-style. “End of the line, pal. Or better yet, just head out.”

“I’m here to see Lex Ryder.”

“Who says he’s here?”

“I say.”

“And you are?”

“Myron Bolitar.”

Silence. One of them blinked. Myron almost shouted, “Ta-da,” but refrained.

“I’m his agent.”

“Your name isn’t on the list,” Cleavage said.

“And we don’t know who you are,” Surprised O added.

“So”-the third bouncer waved with five beefy fingers-“buh-bye.”

“Irony,” Myron said.

“What?”

“Don’t you guys see the irony?” Myron asked. “You are gatekeepers at a place you yourselves would never be allowed in-and yet, rather than seeing that and thus adding a human touch, you act like even bigger overcompensating ass-clowns.”