[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
."I don' know an' I don' wanna.I don' want-a no beef wit' da Mafia.But deybeen onna phone, I got one-a da t'ree phones in dis crummy dump, an' I gottapass on da word.I hear how you look, how you speak English, how everyoneshould watch for you."There was no point in any more pretense."Do they know I came over here?""Naw.It's-a kinda general warning.They don' know where you are, an'everybody calls up ev-erybody else to keep-a da eye open.""So you weren't being such a Sherlock Holmes after all when you spotted me.""Don' ride me, mister.I wanted to 'ear you talk, find out what kinda felleryou are.""Why didn't you cut my throat just now when you had the chance, and maybe earnyourself a re-ward?""Listen, I don't 'ave to kill you myself.I coulda just let you walk by, thentalked on da phone.Let da Mafia do the job.I woulda been sittin' pretty, an'mos' likely pick up a piece o' change too.So don' ride me.""Sorry," said the Saint."But you must admit it's a bit surprising for anyoneto find such a pal in these parts."The barber wiped his razor and stropped it again with slow slapping strokes,and examined the gleaming edge against the light from the doorway."I ain't your pal, but I ain't-a no pal o' da Mafia neither.They done nothin'Page 68 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlfor me I couldn't 'a done better for myself.Kick in, protection, just like-ada rackets in Chicago.Only in Chicago I make-a more money, I can afford itbetter.I know da score.I shoulda stayed where I was well off; but I thoughtI could take it easy here on my Social Security an' what I'd-a saved up, an'just work enough to pay da rent.I should-a 'ad my 'ead ex-amined.""That still doesn't explain why you didn't turn me in.""Listen, when I get dis call, dey gimme your name.Simon Templar.Probablydon' mean nothin' to dese peasants; but I been around.I know who you are.Iknow you made trouble for lotsa racketeers.Dat's okay with me.I'd-a turn youin in a second, if it was my neck or yours.But I don' mind if I can get yououta dis town "Suddenly there was the snarl of a motor-scooter's exhaust coming up from thevalley and roaring into the square like a magnified hornet with hiccups.Thebarber stopped all movement to listen, and Simon could see the blood drain outof his face.The scooter's tempestuous arrival at this torpid hour of the dayobviously meant trouble, and trouble could only mean the Mafia.While thebarber stood paralyzed, the mobile ear-splitter added a screech of brakes toits gamut of sound effects, and crescendoed to a stop outside the shop with aclimactic clatter that presaged imminent disintegration."Quick!" Simon whispered."A wet towel!"Galvanized at last into action by a command that connected helpfully withestablished reflexes of professional habit, the barber stumbled over to thedual-purpose cooler and dredged up a sodden serviette from under the ice andremaining bottles.He scuttled back and draped it skilfully around and overthe Saint's face as ominous footsteps clomped on the cobbles, and the beadeddoor-curtain rattled as someone parted it and pushed through.It was an interesting situation, perhaps more appealing to an audience than toa participant.The barber was in a blue funk and might say anything; in fact,to betray the Saint, he didn't even need to say anything, he only had to pointto the customer in the chair.He owed Simon nothing, and had frankly admittedthat he would not hesitate over a choice between sympathy and his own skin.The Saint could only wait, blind and defenseless, but knowing that any motionmight precipitate a fatal crisis.Which was not merely nerve-racking, butdiluted his capacity to enjoy the exhilarating chill of the refrigeratedwetness on his face.Out of necessity, he lay there in a supine immobility that called for reservesof self-dominance that should have been drained by the razor-edge ordeal of afew minutes ago, while the rider rattled questions and commands inincomprehensible answers, but at last the curtain rattled again and thefootsteps stomped away outside and faded along the sidewalk.The towel was snatched from Simon's face and the chair tilted up withprecipitate abruptness."Get out," rasped the barber, from a throat tight with panic."What was he saying?" Simon asked, stepping quietly down."Get-a goin'!" The man pointed at the door with a shaking forefinger."He's amessenger from the Mafia, come-a to call out all da mafiosi in dis village.They found out you didn't go down to da coast from Mistretta, so now theygonna search all-a da hills.They don' know you been here yet, but in a couplaminutes they'll be out lookin' everywhere an' you ain't-a got a chance.Theykill you, an' if they find out you been 'ere dey kill-a me too! So get out!"The Saint was already at the door, peering cautiously through the curtain."What was that way you were going to tell me to get out of town?""Fuori!"Only the fear of being heard outside muted what would have been a scream intoa squeak, but Simon knew that he had used up the last iota of hospitality thatwas going to be extended to him.If he strained it another fraction, thetrembling barber was almost certain to try to whitewash himself by raising thealarm.The one consolation was that in his frantic eagerness to be rid of his visitorthe barber had no time to discuss payment for the beer and salami or even forPage 69 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlthe shave, and the Saint was grateful to be able to save the few coins in hispocket for another emergency."Thanks for everything, anyway, pal," he said, and stepped out into thesquare.4Propped upright in the gutter outside, the unguarded scooter was a temptation;but Simon Templar had graduated to automobiles long before vehicles of thattype were introduced, and it would have taken him a perilous interval offumbling to find out how to start it.Even then, it would have providedanything but unobtrusive transportation; indeed, the noise he had heard itmake under full steam would be more help to any posse in pursuit of him than apack of winged bloodhounds.Regretfully he decided that its locomotiveadvantages were not for him.He strolled across the square to the corner from which the main road randownhill, schooling himself to avoid any undue semblance of haste, but feelingas ridiculous as an elephant trying to pass unnoticed through an Eskimosettlement.The first few shutters were opening, the first few citizensemerging torpidly from their doors, and he was acutely aware that in any suchisolated community any stranger was a phenomenon to be observed and analyzedand speculated upon [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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."I don' know an' I don' wanna.I don' want-a no beef wit' da Mafia.But deybeen onna phone, I got one-a da t'ree phones in dis crummy dump, an' I gottapass on da word.I hear how you look, how you speak English, how everyoneshould watch for you."There was no point in any more pretense."Do they know I came over here?""Naw.It's-a kinda general warning.They don' know where you are, an'everybody calls up ev-erybody else to keep-a da eye open.""So you weren't being such a Sherlock Holmes after all when you spotted me.""Don' ride me, mister.I wanted to 'ear you talk, find out what kinda felleryou are.""Why didn't you cut my throat just now when you had the chance, and maybe earnyourself a re-ward?""Listen, I don't 'ave to kill you myself.I coulda just let you walk by, thentalked on da phone.Let da Mafia do the job.I woulda been sittin' pretty, an'mos' likely pick up a piece o' change too.So don' ride me.""Sorry," said the Saint."But you must admit it's a bit surprising for anyoneto find such a pal in these parts."The barber wiped his razor and stropped it again with slow slapping strokes,and examined the gleaming edge against the light from the doorway."I ain't your pal, but I ain't-a no pal o' da Mafia neither.They done nothin'Page 68 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlfor me I couldn't 'a done better for myself.Kick in, protection, just like-ada rackets in Chicago.Only in Chicago I make-a more money, I can afford itbetter.I know da score.I shoulda stayed where I was well off; but I thoughtI could take it easy here on my Social Security an' what I'd-a saved up, an'just work enough to pay da rent.I should-a 'ad my 'ead ex-amined.""That still doesn't explain why you didn't turn me in.""Listen, when I get dis call, dey gimme your name.Simon Templar.Probablydon' mean nothin' to dese peasants; but I been around.I know who you are.Iknow you made trouble for lotsa racketeers.Dat's okay with me.I'd-a turn youin in a second, if it was my neck or yours.But I don' mind if I can get yououta dis town "Suddenly there was the snarl of a motor-scooter's exhaust coming up from thevalley and roaring into the square like a magnified hornet with hiccups.Thebarber stopped all movement to listen, and Simon could see the blood drain outof his face.The scooter's tempestuous arrival at this torpid hour of the dayobviously meant trouble, and trouble could only mean the Mafia.While thebarber stood paralyzed, the mobile ear-splitter added a screech of brakes toits gamut of sound effects, and crescendoed to a stop outside the shop with aclimactic clatter that presaged imminent disintegration."Quick!" Simon whispered."A wet towel!"Galvanized at last into action by a command that connected helpfully withestablished reflexes of professional habit, the barber stumbled over to thedual-purpose cooler and dredged up a sodden serviette from under the ice andremaining bottles.He scuttled back and draped it skilfully around and overthe Saint's face as ominous footsteps clomped on the cobbles, and the beadeddoor-curtain rattled as someone parted it and pushed through.It was an interesting situation, perhaps more appealing to an audience than toa participant.The barber was in a blue funk and might say anything; in fact,to betray the Saint, he didn't even need to say anything, he only had to pointto the customer in the chair.He owed Simon nothing, and had frankly admittedthat he would not hesitate over a choice between sympathy and his own skin.The Saint could only wait, blind and defenseless, but knowing that any motionmight precipitate a fatal crisis.Which was not merely nerve-racking, butdiluted his capacity to enjoy the exhilarating chill of the refrigeratedwetness on his face.Out of necessity, he lay there in a supine immobility that called for reservesof self-dominance that should have been drained by the razor-edge ordeal of afew minutes ago, while the rider rattled questions and commands inincomprehensible answers, but at last the curtain rattled again and thefootsteps stomped away outside and faded along the sidewalk.The towel was snatched from Simon's face and the chair tilted up withprecipitate abruptness."Get out," rasped the barber, from a throat tight with panic."What was he saying?" Simon asked, stepping quietly down."Get-a goin'!" The man pointed at the door with a shaking forefinger."He's amessenger from the Mafia, come-a to call out all da mafiosi in dis village.They found out you didn't go down to da coast from Mistretta, so now theygonna search all-a da hills.They don' know you been here yet, but in a couplaminutes they'll be out lookin' everywhere an' you ain't-a got a chance.Theykill you, an' if they find out you been 'ere dey kill-a me too! So get out!"The Saint was already at the door, peering cautiously through the curtain."What was that way you were going to tell me to get out of town?""Fuori!"Only the fear of being heard outside muted what would have been a scream intoa squeak, but Simon knew that he had used up the last iota of hospitality thatwas going to be extended to him.If he strained it another fraction, thetrembling barber was almost certain to try to whitewash himself by raising thealarm.The one consolation was that in his frantic eagerness to be rid of his visitorthe barber had no time to discuss payment for the beer and salami or even forPage 69 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlthe shave, and the Saint was grateful to be able to save the few coins in hispocket for another emergency."Thanks for everything, anyway, pal," he said, and stepped out into thesquare.4Propped upright in the gutter outside, the unguarded scooter was a temptation;but Simon Templar had graduated to automobiles long before vehicles of thattype were introduced, and it would have taken him a perilous interval offumbling to find out how to start it.Even then, it would have providedanything but unobtrusive transportation; indeed, the noise he had heard itmake under full steam would be more help to any posse in pursuit of him than apack of winged bloodhounds.Regretfully he decided that its locomotiveadvantages were not for him.He strolled across the square to the corner from which the main road randownhill, schooling himself to avoid any undue semblance of haste, but feelingas ridiculous as an elephant trying to pass unnoticed through an Eskimosettlement.The first few shutters were opening, the first few citizensemerging torpidly from their doors, and he was acutely aware that in any suchisolated community any stranger was a phenomenon to be observed and analyzedand speculated upon [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]