The Golden Age of Pulp Fiction MEGAPACK ™, Vol. 1: George Allan England. George Allan England

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СКАЧАТЬ her an’ get away with it, O. K. The noisy street camouflages the kick-up in the engine so it ain’t very raw. I pushes her out onta the boulevard, an’ lets her out, an’ boy! Does she hike? Some! The wise duck has to take his dicer off an’ hold it in his lap, to keep it, an’ the way we passes everythin’ is a wonder.

      “So far, it’s pie with ice-cream on top, but my heart’s in my mouth about the big hill. Everybody always has to go into sec­ond, on that doggone hill, you see, an’ Liz ain’t got no second. I try to turn off to­ward the beach road, but the wise duck says, ‘No, let’s try her out on the hill,’ so that’s all off. So I decides I’ll try to rush the hill, an’ trust to prayer an’ luck, when flap-flap-flap somethin’ begins goin’, on her right hind leg.

      “‘What’s that?’ asks the w. d., anxious.

      “‘Oh, nothin’,’ says I, easy-like. ‘She’s maybe picked up a piece o’ hoop, or a lath, or somethin’.’

      “‘Better stop an’ have a look, hadn’t you?’

      “I’m sweatin’ blood. If I stop, I can’t never make that hill, an’ if I don’t, Lord knows what’ll bust. I takes chances—there ain’t nothin’ else to do—an’ charges the hill. Man! How noble old Liz answers me! Up an’ over she goes, full lung-power, an’ straightens out on the level again. Whew! But there’s more sweat on my manly brow than what the thermome­ter could account for!”

      “You had a hard time disposing of your bunch of fossilized pig-iron, on a guarantee to return the money if not as represented, didn’t you?” inquired the gentleman with the horn glasses, a bit cynically. “Your narrative interests me, decidedly. What happened next?”

      “Next? Oh, after we’re over the top, I stops Liz on a good startin’ grade, jumps out, an’ finds one tire’s gettin’ ready to lay down on the job an’ die. There’s a long strip o’ rubber, loose, that’s been whackin’ against the mudguard. I yanks it off, drops it in the road an’ climbs back, smilin’, though my heart’s half-dead, ’cause that there tire’s liable to blow worse ’n a whale, any old time, an’ I got no spare.

      “‘Well, what was it?’ asks the w. d.

      “‘Oh, nothin’—piece of a barrel-hoop,’ says I.

      “‘Puncture?’

      “‘Naw! These here tires is puncture-proof, anyhow,’ I says, an’ away we slides, again. But all the time I’m watchin’ the speedometer careful an’ anxious, ’cause if my five miles o’ gas runs out, I’m done. So, pretty soon, I rounds back towards town, again. An’ now Liz begins to skip. Three’s all she’ll hit on.

      “‘Hello,’ says the w. d. ‘What now?’

      “‘Nothin’ at all.’ I assures him, smilin’ confidential. ‘Dirty plug. That don’t signify. Ain’t been cleaned in six months. She’s some little bearcat to travel, ain’t she?’

      “The duck allows she is, an’ so there’s no more said. I’m prayin’ hard we’ll reach the cafe without no traffic hold-up. If I ever have to go inta low, I’m done. Once she’s on low, on level ground, you couldn’t get her inta high with dynamite. But Liz’s luck holds. Nothin’ jams us. An’ so, pretty soon, there we are again, back front o’ the cafe, with her nose downhill. I makes a snappy stop with the foot brake an’ crams her wheel against the curb, to hold her from runnin’ away.

      “‘Why don’t you put on your emer­gency?’ asks the duck.

      “I only scorns him.

      “‘Emergency, nothin’!’ says I. ‘No such animal, on this boat. She’s a racin’ car, stripped light. I thought you said you was hep to cars, tires to top!’

      “That settles the duck. He climbs out, puts on his hat, shoves his mitts down in his pockets, an’ looks wise.

      “‘Well, mister,’ says. I, ‘can she travel, or can’t she?’

      “‘She sure can, but—’

      “‘Is she some classy boat, or ain’t she? What?’

      “‘Classy is right,’ he answers, while Bill Hemingway, who’s been layin’ in the offin’, so to speak, lays off from layin’ in the offin’ an’ lays alongside. Bill assumes a flankin’ position, to reinforce me. ‘She’s classy, speedy an’ all that,’ the duck says, ‘but—well—’

      “‘No well to it!’ I interrupts, lookin’ at my watch as if I had a dozen dates. ‘You gotta talk turkey to me, right off the bat. I got six offers, already. There’s only one one boat like this here, in the world,’ says I, which is strictly true, ‘an’ it’s the lucky man that gets her,’ which is what I call a flight of imagination. ‘She’s liable to be gone in an hour. What’s your best offer?’

      “‘Hundred an’ fifty,’ says the w. d.

      “My mouth’s just openin’ to yell: ‘Gimme it!,’ when Bill, he horns in with: “‘Nothin’ doin’!’ His tone’s indignant. ‘I guess not! Nix on the one-fifty. Say, I wouldn’t let my own brother have it for no such slaughter price!’

      “‘What’s your lowest?’ asks the w. d., anxious.

      “I’m just goin’ to bust inta tears an’ fall on my knees, implorin’ Bill to keep out an’ not grab me from drawin’ down three times what Liz is worth even for junk, but he elbows me out. The duck squints at Liz, an’ then says, says he:

      “‘I’m not buyin’ for myself, you un­derstand, but for a friend o’ mine, name o’ Robinson. What’s your very lowest?’

      “‘Name a figure yourself,’ says Bill, cool as one o’ my frozen puddin’s. ‘You know the car. You’ve had a full demon­stration, an’ she’s all as represented. She’s just as you see her, an’ no comeback if pur­chased. Ever see a boat any classier?’

      “‘Oh, she’s good, all right.’

      “‘As an expert, now I ask you, is she the goods or ain’t she?’

      “‘She can travel, I admit. She’s cer­tainly there!’

      “‘Name a figure!’

      “‘One sixty-five, an’ that’s the last cent I’ll go!’

      “‘Mister, you’ve bought a car!’ says Bill, holdin’ out his hand. ‘Congratula­tions!’

      “Somethin’ kind of seems to rise up an’ cloud my sight, like I was faintin’. When I comes to, gets my eyes open again an’ catches my breath—when I comes up for air, you might say—the duck is diggin’ up eight new twenties an’ all. I’m still gaspin’, like, but Bill shoves me into the camou­flage, or the background, or somethin’, while the duck climbs inta Liz.

      “‘Good luck,’ says Bill, wavin’ his hand, as Liz slides away down hill. ‘Here’s hopin’ Robinson will find her sound an’ kind, an’ be as glad to get her as we’re glad to do him a favor an’ let him have her. I congratulate you on havin’ bought the only car in the world like her—the only original Liz. Good СКАЧАТЬ