[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

down now. We can find a cab some-"
"No act," Martin growled. "Real. Till tomorrow. After that-" He shrugged. "But
tonight, Mammoth-
Slayer." He attempted to climb a palm tree, changed his mind, and shambled on,
carrying the now pensive Erika. But it was not until a police car drove past
that Erika screamed. . . .
"I'll bail you out tomorrow," Erika told Mammoth-Slayer, struggling between
two large patrolmen.
Her words were drowned in an infuriated bellow.
Thereafter events blurred, to solidify again for the irate Mammoth-Slayer only
when he was thrown in a cell, where he picked himself up with a threatening
roar. "I kill!" he announced, seizing the bars.
"Arrrgh!"
"Two in one night," said a bored voice, moving away outside. "Both in Bel-Air,
too. Think they're hopped up? We couldn't get a coherent story out of either
one."
The bars shook. "An annoyed voice from one of the bunks said to shut up, and
added that there had been already enough trouble from nincompoops without-here
it paused, hesitated, and uttered a shrill, sharp, piercing cry.
Silence prevailed, momentarily, in the cell-block as Mammoth-Slayer, son of
the Great Hairy One, turned slowly to face Raoul St. Cyr.
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U
C.txt (65 of 166) [2/4/03 10:15:49 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U
C.txt
Juke Box
Page 87
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
JERRY FOSTER told the bartender that nobody loved him. The bartender, with the
experience of his trade, said that Jerry was mistaken, and how about another
drink. "Why not?" said the unhappy Mr.
Foster, examining the scanty contents of his wallet. " 'I'll take the daughter
of the vine to spouse. Nor heed the music of a distant drum.' That's Omar."
"Sure," the bartender said surprisingly. "But you want to look out you don't
go out by the same door that in you went. No brawls allowed here. This isn't
East Fifth, chum."
"You may call me chum," Foster said, reverting to the main topic, "but you
don't mean it. I'm nobody's pal. Nobody loves me."
"What about that babe you brought in last night?"
Foster tested his drink. He was a good-looking, youngish man with slick blond
hair and a rather hazy expression in his blue eyes.
"Betty?" he murmured. "Well, the fact is, a while ago I was down at the
Tom-Tom with Betty and this redhead came along. So I ditched Betty. Then the
redhead iced me. Now I'm lonely, and everyone hates me."
"You shouldn't of ditched Betty, maybe," the bartender suggested.
"I'm fickle," Foster said, tears springing to his eyes. "I can't help it.
Women are my downfall.
Gimme another drink and tell me your name."
"Austin."
"Austin. Well, Austin, I'm nearly in trouble. Did you notice who won the fifth
at Santa Anita yesterday?"
"Pig's Trotters, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Foster said, "but I laid my dough right on the nose of White Flash.
That's why I'm here.
Sammy comes around to this joint now, doesn't he?"
"That's right."
"I'm lucky," Foster said. "I got the money to pay him. Sammy is a hard man
when you don't pay off."
"I wouldn't know," the bartender said. "Excuse me."
He moved off to take care of a couple of vodka col-linses.
"So you hate me too," Foster said, and, picking up his drink, wandered away
from the bar.
He was surprised to see Betty sitting alone in a booth, watching him. But he
was not at all surprised to see that her blond hair, her limpid eyes, her
pink-and-white skin had lost ah1
attraction for him. She bored him. Also, she was going to make a nuisance of
herself.
Foster ignored the girl and went further back, to where a bulky oblong object
was glowing in polychromatic colors against the far wall. It was what the
manufacturers insist on terming an automatic phonograph, in spite of the more
aptly descriptive word juke-box.
This was a lovely juke-box. It had lots of lights and colors. Moreover, it
wasn't watching Foster, and it kept its mouth shut. *
Foster draped himself over the juke-box and patted its sleek sides. \ "
''
"You're my girl," he announced. "You're beautiful. I love you madly, do you
hear? Madly."
He could feel Betty's gaze on his back. He swigged his drink and smoothed the
juke-box's flanks, glibly protesting his sudden affection for the object. Once
he glanced around. Betty was starting to get up.
Foster hastily found a nickel in his pocket and slipped it into the
coin-lever, but before he could push it in, a stocky, dark man wearing
horn-rimmed glasses entered the bar, nodded at
Foster, and moved quickly to a booth where a fat person in tweeds was sitting.
There was a short consultation, during which money changed hands, and the
stocky man made a note in a small book he brought from his pocket.
Foster took out his wallet. He had had trouble with Sammy before, and wanted
no more. The bookie was insistent on his pound of flesh. Foster counted his
money, blinked, and counted it again, while his stomach fell several feet.
Page 88
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Either he had been short-changed, or he had lost some dough.
He was short.
Sammy wouldn't like that.
Forcing his fogged brain to think, Foster wondered how he could gain time.
Sammy had already seen him. If he could duck out the back.
It had become altogether too silent in the bar. He needed noise to cover his
movements. He saw the nickel in the juke-box's coin-lever and hastily pushed
it in.
Money began to spew out of the coin return slot.
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U
C.txt (66 of 166) [2/4/03 10:15:49 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U
C.txt
Foster got his hat under the slot almost instantly. Quarters, dimes, and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • thierry.pev.pl

    •