A House in Naples. Peter Rabe

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СКАЧАТЬ boy.”

      At first Charley didn’t hear. He was breathing carefully because of his side and he wasn’t going to make any fast movements because he felt it might end up a swing in somebody’s face.

      “Dear liddle buddy boy,” said the voice again, and this time Charley couldn’t ignore it. The smell was strong and the drunk dropped in the chair opposite.

      “Don’t feel so bad,” said the drunk. His confidential manner was ugly. “She’ll be back in maybe ten minutes, buddy boy, couldn’t take longer, and you can order more coffee.”

      “Who asked you?”

      “Who cares,” said the drunk, “as long as you’re listening.” His worn-out face made a squint and leaned closer. “And when she’s back we’re next. Them French may look hot, buddy boy, but they don’t last but a minute. Like rabbits, get it?” He laughed with his teeth showing. He didn’t have too many.

      Charley sipped coffee and looked quiet. He even had the small smile around his mouth. Let the drunk talk and maybe the time will pass faster.

      “And when she comes back we’ll show her what’s what, huh, buddy boy?”

      “All you ever got stiff on is a bottle,” said Charley and looked friendly.

      It made a pause. The drunk worked his tongue around one tooth and looked at Charley like murder.

      “You trying to beat my play?” he said. “I saw her first. I been sitting here all afternoon before you ever showed up, buddy boy, and I been watching her all that time.”

      “That figures.”

      “You American, ain’tcha?”

      Charley didn’t answer.

      “So am I. That’s why I figured I give you a break, buddy. That’s the only reason I figured—”

      “Don’t put yourself out.”

      The drunk reached a bottle out of his coat and sucked. It wasn’t just any old hooch, but rye with an American label. That drunk had connections.

      “Notice that bottle?” he said. “I ain’t been in the States for twenty years, buddy boy, but I know my way around.” He watched for Charley to look impressed but Charley only smiled.

      “Twenty years on one bottle. You’re doing real good.”

      The drunk answered something but Charley wasn’t listening. He looked at his watch, checking time, and thought the drunk hadn’t turned out to be the funny kind.

      “—high-hat a countryman, you sonofabitch,” the drunk was saying. He sounded vicious. “Maybe you’re one of them slumming tourists coming around here, having fun with the local color? I’ll give you color, you damn sonofa—” and the drunk hauled out with his bottle.

      It didn’t take much to grab the bottle away from him and push him back in his chair. But Charley was getting irritated. The time was grating him, his side hurt like hell, and he had to sit without getting anything done. He was dying for aspirin. The drunk reached for his bottle but Charley knocked his hand out of the way.

      “Behave, bum. Or I’ll have you deported.”

      It made the drunk laugh till his pale scalp turned red.

      “Deported, he says! Deported where, Officer? To hell, maybe? I been there. To the U.S.? I can’t get a visa. Or maybe back where I come from just a few days ago? Oh, wouldn’t they love that back there. A guy pays my way all the way back like I never been gone and oboyoboy—” he ended up gurgling and reached for the bottle again.

      Charley let him. He watched the wrinkled neck with the Adam’s apple jerking around and then he wiped his hands. Fifteen minutes till the call, and then run again. Back to Alivar, maybe, but first a few other stops. He had to swing it one way or another—

      “You can’t deport me,” the drunk was saying. He sounded off-hand, made an important gesture. “On account of the people I know. Besides, I’m an Italian. Been that ever since Thirty-five. Boy, those were the days. Ever hear of Benny?”

      “Sure. Big wheel at the Last Chance Mission.”

      “Listen, you sonofabitch. Benito. I mean Benito.”

      “Oh, sure. You’re the one arranged for the Abyssinian War.”

      “Those were the days,” said the drunk. His eyes were up and he thought about those days. “Whaddaya mean, war?” He came back to earth, looking mean. “I was at the reception. Two of ’em! Benny’s buddy, one of his buddies was renting my villa on Ischia so that’s how we were pals. And I got to go to all the receptions, tourist! Me!”

      “So what happened to Benny?”

      “Who cares about Benny. Listen, tourist, I don’t need nobody. I got my own life, nobody tells me nothing, and I go where I please.” The drunk leaned his chin in one hand and looked coy. “Bet you don’t know where I was two days ago?”

      “Did they have polka-dot elephants there?”

      “Listen, tourist. Don’t talk. I was in Cairo, buddy boy. Five years in Cairo!”

      “That’s big stuff. Real big stuff.”

      “I hope to tell you,” said the drunk, and tilted the bottle. “And how did I get back?”

      “By boat.”

      “Right! And me, Delmont, I come and go with nobody telling me nothing. What a joke!” he laughed. “What a joke!”

      “What joke?”

      “Five years in Cairo, tourist, and me with no papers! All that time they’re lying here in my trunk, safe as safe, and me without papers. That’s operating!”

      “I’ll say. So they threw you out. That’s real operating.”

      “Who, the police?” and he gurgled his laugh again. “Listen, tourist, my buddy Amir brung me back, on his little yacht. I come back the way I left, nobody the wiser. That’s how I operate!”

      “Good old Amir,” said Charley, but it sounded mechanical. He had enough of the game. It was time to phone.

      “Amir is a sonofabitch,” said the drunk, “another of you high-hat sonsabitches, only Egyptian. After five years he throws me out, me, Delmont, what showed him how to operate. Listen, tourist, that lurch is no friend of mine. I only got one buddy. Me. And Bantam, maybe.”

      Bantam. Charley knew of a Bantam.

      “My buddy Bantam. I gotta go see him tomorrow maybe. Ten years is a long time for buddies to be apart; maybe my buddy—”

      The drunk was getting whiney and Charley saw it was time. He didn’t listen any more because the drunk had done his job. Time was up. Call Joe. Charley squeezed to the bar and said he wanted a phone. He went through the curtain in back, found the door with light behind it and went in. There was a phone on the beat-up desk and a guy sleeping on a couch. Charley got СКАЧАТЬ