Читать книгу Bugsy Malone - Alan Parker - Страница 12

BLOUSEY THOUGHT SHE’D shaken him off. She stood on the kerb outside Pop Becker’s bookstore and pulled on her gloves. But Bugsy was right behind her. Her face dropped. As she moved away, Bugsy quickly followed.

“Can I give you a lift?”

Blousey was determined to ignore him, but the offer of a lift was too tempting.

“You got a car?”

Bugsy couldn’t lie. “Er... no.”

Blousey was not impressed.

“So how you gonna give me a lift, buster? Stand me on a box?”

“I thought we’d share a cab.”

Blousey was even less impressed. “Forget it, I don’t share fares. I’m a lady. Furthermore, I’m broke.”

Blousey quickened her pace, and Bugsy had to run to keep up with her.

“Who said anything about sharing fares?”

“No?” Blousey was curious.

“Certainly, not. I thought you’d pay.”

That was it. Not even if he turned out to be a Vanderbilt or a producer with the Ziegfield Follies would she give him any more of her time.

Bugsy carried on undaunted. “Well, let’s walk, anyway. It’s a nice night.”

Blousey splashed through a puddle and muttered under her breath. She was beginning to feel irritated by him.

“You shouldn’t walk in the streets at night – it’s dangerous.”

“We’ll be all right. We’ve got your baseball bat.”

Blousey stopped dead in her tracks.

“Quit the we, pal. You mean I’ll be all right.”

She started walking once more, this time even faster. Bugsy’s little legs moved back and forth at twice their normal rate to catch up with her. He was beginning to puff as he spoke.

“Which way are you going?”

“Which way are you going?”

Bugsy thought for a moment. He was no brain surgeon but his brain clicked away like two sharp-edged steel cubes. He wasn’t really going anywhere special, but he’d made his mind up to tag along with her. He pointed in the direction that they were already walking. “This way.”

He was wrong. Blousey did an immediate about turn.

“Then I’m going this way.”

Bugsy ran and caught her up. He tugged at the old leather bag, which seemed to be giving her a little trouble. She changed it from hand to hand, trying hard not to show that her arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets.

“Here, let me take that.”

“No, it’s all right.”

Bugsy took the bag from her but she quickly snatched it back. Bugsy snatched once more. Maybe it was her aching arms, or maybe she was getting to like him. Either way she let him carry the bag. Bugsy wasn’t overwhelmed by the compliment.

“Mama Mia! What have you got in here?”

“Just a few books.”

“You should start a library.”

“And you should shut your mouth.”

There was no way that Blousey was going to allow herself to lose a battle of words with this stranger. She was feeling pretty depressed after her wasted visit to the speakeasy, and not in the mood for a verbal ping-pong match with yet another New York wise guy. But the bag was heavy and he did have a sort of charm about him. Let’s face it, she thought to herself, with a suit as baggy as he was wearing you’d need charm. It was true he’d certainly never make the best dressed top ten list in the ‘Phoenix Tailor and Cutter Monthly’, but then again, his eyes did sparkle a little – or seemed to whenever the street lamps flickered across his face. Or maybe his eyes were watering because his belt was too tight. No, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, it was a sparkle.

Bugsy took a deep breath as he changed hands on the bag. He thought he was in shape, but, not being prone to heavy work – or even light work – he never had much chance to find out how unfit he was. Bravely, he kept up his dialogue.

“Er... have you eaten?”

“Ever since I was a child.”

“Then how come you’re so skinny, wisie?”

Blousey held in her tummy. “I watch my weight.”

“Yeah, I do that when I’m broke too.”

It seemed to Blousey that Bugsy was getting the edge on her. Maybe she was tired.

“How about eating now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not hungry.”

It was Bugsy’s turn to stop dead in his tracks. Any out of work dancer who had just lost out on the only audition she had that week, and then turned down a free meal ticket, had to be nuts.

“You’re not hungry?”

“No, I’m starving.”

Blousey laughed for the first time. She wasn’t kidding either. She hadn’t eaten for two days. Well, except for a toasted bagel which she’d eaten very, very slowly and pretended each bite was a different dish. It had worked, too – she hadn’t really felt hungry. Until Bugsy had mentioned food. That had done it. Her tummy gave her away. Lousy stomach, she thought, whose side are you on, anyway?

Bugsy smiled at her. She had dropped the “I’ll outwise you, wise guy” approach, and the new one suited her much better. She was kind of pretty, he thought, although she should never have worn that hat with the feather. She looked a little like Chief Sitting Bull. A few moments ago he would have told her so too. “That hat don’t do you justice, honey, you look like a cross between Chief Crazy Horse and last year’s Thanksgiving turkey dinner.” But he didn’t say it, because now they were friends, and he wasn’t about to put her down while she was smiling at him. He kissed his finger and touched her on the nose. It was his way of passing on a little affection. He had done the very same thing three times tonight already. The hat-check girl, the cigarette girl – in fact, anybody who was kind enough to throw a smile in his direction. Blousey wasn’t to know that. She smiled once more and they both moved in the direction of the drugstore.

Bugsy was pleased to buy her something to eat. After all, she looked like she needed a good meal. He was doing society a favour. There was just one snag. He had no money. Not a nickel. The contents of his pockets were made up exclusively of a ball of string, a jacket button and the used halves of tickets to the ball game. But that was the least of his worries. He was Bugsy Malone. He had a neat line in chat, and a suit he thought was a little smarter than people gave him credit for. And a sparkle in his eye. Like Blousey, he also used to think his eyes were watering because his belt was too tight. But someone had called it a sparkle and he liked it. Yes – a sparkle in his eye and now a girl on his arm. Where he’d get the money to pay for the meal didn’t even enter into his head. After all, he reasoned, even if he worried about it, it wouldn’t have made him any richer.