Players at the Game of People Read Online Free PDF Page B

him, poised half out of her chair.

He pointed at the dance floor. Some quiet persuasion from the management

had removed from it the girls who were going topless and obliged them

to dress again, but two or three who were up there now were in shorts

and halters or strapless dresses slit to the thigh.

"No," he said again. "I have bought you for tonight. You have been paid for.

If you dance, you will dance with me or with my brother."

The brother nodded firm agreement. Blond Peggy looked a trifle alarmed,

but did her best to conceal her reaction.

Godwin planted the knuckles of both fists on the table and leaned

toward Rashad.

"I asked the lady if she'd like to dance with me and she said yes," he

stated in level tones. "She said yes. I don't care how you treat women

in the slave markets of wog-land, but in this country they are not for

buying and selling. They are people. Got that? Now let's go and dance,"

he concluded, turning to the girl again.

Rashad's hand flashed across the table and seized her by the wrist.

"You will do as you are told!" he hissed.

"Let go -- you're hurting!" she cried.

By now the attention of half the room was on them. Most of the dancers

had checked in mid-movement and were staring this way; eyes wide, lips

apart, they were visibly hungry for something out of the ordinary run

of events, and if it was violent they would be most pleased.

It was not going to turn out that way.

Three tall male members of the staff converged, two to take station either

side of Godwin, one to bend deferentially over the Arabs' table and say,

"Is this gentleman disturbing you?"

Rashad uttered an Arabic curse and made as though to spit. The deferential

one turned to Godwin.

"I believe the manager would like a word with you, sir. This way,

if you please."

After what Irma had done to him, Godwin was well aware he could have

broken all three of them into small pieces and scarcely been out of breath

at the end of it, but somehow this did not feel like the right response.

Shrugging, he let himself be led through a door set inconspicuously at

the end of the bar, and instantly he was in another world: one of hustle

and bustle, of deliveries and shouted orders, of dust and litter and

junk to be concealed from the gaze of the clientele. A few yards along a

dim-lit corridor, and they entered the manager's office: a shabby room

with functional furniture, an old-fashioned desk, telephones, filing

cabinets, a worn rug on a concrete floor.

The manager, a balding man of fifty-odd, didn't even glance up as he

spoke on Godwin's entrance.

"I don't know what your game is, chum, but I don't like it. I'm not even

sure you're you, and not your twin brother. Last night and the night

before, you come in here like the original big spender, you make with

the tips and the champagne, you generally make yourself welcome. Tonight

you don't eat, you don't drink, you don't dance, you sit there like a

bloody statue and , to crown it all, you make waves with Prince Afif

and Prince Rashad -- "

One of the phones on his desk buzzed; it was an internal one. He barked

at it, "Yes?" And listened.

"The hell you say," he said after a while. "That's exactly what we

don't need!"

Cradling the receiver, he stared directly at Godwin for the first time.

"They marched out!" he snapped. "Said this wasn't the way they expected

to be treated! I hope you're bloody satisfied!"

"What do you expect me to do if your rich chums behave like slave dealers?"

Godwin countered.

"I don't give a damn what you do so long as it doesn't fuck up my

operation!" He pulled himself to his feet; he overtopped Godwin by a

good three inches.

"I gather you have a room in the hotel. Go to it! Get some beddy-byes! And

don't come back in my disco, hear? Not until you're prepared to act

like a customer again instead of a specter at the bloody feast! Christ,

what do you expect me to do -- carry you because you spent so much here

already you ran