Читать книгу The City Man - Howard Akler - Страница 11

Back in the tip. The terminal crammed today, women and men who scurry and lug their way out of town. She sees whistles and waves; all the eddies of movement end up fifteen feet from the ticket window when a lanky bates joggles the crowd. Mona hard on his heels. Deliberate and innocuous, she needs only seconds to adjust to his loose jangly gait. Her mimicry moves from the announcement boards to the baggage check before she feels Chesler fall into place. Hears him cluck, an office that asks her to come through. So she does. Moves from the front of the mark and doubles back, a subtle reversal that opens enough space for Chesler to score the pit. Another office now, a muttered ahem, hits her ears and she knows they have pinched another poke.

Between scores, she wanders the terminal. Lights up.

From the Front Street portico comes an elderly couple. They shuffle along slowly, laboured breath and halting steps. As Mona settles in for the frame, she can see the old man tap his wristwatch.

Durn thing.

I told you to get it fixed.

I know.

I told you to take care of it. I told you it’s no good but do you ever listen to me? Do you?

Mona plants her prat, then hears Chesler office that the touch has come off. With a sideways glance, she watches the couple nudge their way down the departure ramp, so eager to catch their train they won’t savvy the lost poke until they are far out of town.