Bugsy Malone Read Online Free PDF Page A

received the full blast head on, and immediately dropped into his spaghetti under the weight of the sticky onslaught. His wife, a bedraggled mess of spaghetti strands and loose feathers, started screaming. Her face wobbled up and down. In fact, the scream was some time coming, as her face seemed to tremble for an eternity before a piercing shriek escaped from her larynx. The other diners in the restaurant all ran for cover – so did the violinist. In fairness to him, it is true to say he kept on faithfully playing whilst he made his exit – ducking down behind the cheese counter.
    The hoods, their work successfully completed, made their getaway. However, one of their number wasn’t quite up to the slick behaviour of the rest of the gang, as they began to climb back into the sedan outside. It was Doodle.
    Doodle had never been the cleverest of hoods and was a little out of place in the immaculate company of the Dandy Dan gang. In fact, he was almost dumb enough for Fat Sam’s gang. He slipped in the doorway and the precious splurge gun he was carrying fell to the floor and slid across the tiles. The terrified diners stared in amazement. Doodle watched their inquisitive eyes move towards the secret gun lying on the floor. The gun he had been told to guard with his life. He was unsure what to do. He floundered in the restaurant while his worried little piggy eyes darted about behind his spectacles. One of the other hoods came back to pull him out.
    â€œDoodle, get out of here.”
    â€œBut, Charlie, what about the splurge gun?”
    â€œSsh.”
    â€œDandy Dan said take care of the splurge gun.” He bent down to pick up the weapon. The hood grabbed Doodle very roughly and yanked him into the street. “You stupid idiot, Doodle. Watch your mouth, you fool.”
    Another hood took Doodle’s free arm and bundled him into the sedan. With a screech, they took off into the night.
    The customers in the restaurant crawled out from under the tables, not quite sure what had happened. The violinist returned from the safety of the cheese counter and, as if nothing had happened, went straight into his very best version of ‘O Sole Mio’ .
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    Dobbs, the crooked accountant, was on the same list as Irving, only he didn’t know it. He had been Fat Sam’s accountant for as long as Fat Sam had run the rackets. He wasn’t the fanciest accountant in the business. His office was his briefcase and his credentials were his two-year stretch in the State Pen. He hadn’t thought of going straight ever since he was caught cheating in his accountancy examination finals. His one-room apartment was a mess, with empty packets of tea, his favourite weakness, strewn amongst the sheets of paper on which he’d totted up a million crooked sums. His dishonest living never worried him. He always slept well. Always, that is, unless he was interrupted – like tonight.
    He first knew something was up when he heard the heavy feet of Bronx Charlie on the wooden staircase outside his door. He tried to open his eyes. This was difficult. He had been asleep for hours and his eyelids felt as if they were stapled together. He groped in the darkness for the switch on his bedside lamp. As it happened, this wasn’t necessary. Bronx Charlie kicked open his bedroom door and the light from the hallway swept across Dobbs’s bed. He blinked. His hair was a mess and his crumpled, dirty, blue and white striped pyjamas wouldn’t have looked out of place int he garbage can. He blinked only once, or maybe twice, before the splurge gun Bronx Charlie was carrying burst into action and Dobbs was well and truly splurged against the brass railings of his bedhead. Bronx Charlie returned the way he had come, his feet thundering on the wooden stairs as he made his getaway.

B LOUSEY THOUGHT SHE’D shaken him off. She stood on the kerb outside Pop Becker’s bookstore and pulled on her gloves. But Bugsy