The Americans Read Online Free PDF

enter. He had never seen him before, but obviously many of the other patrons had.
    The man was stouter than Eben Royce, thicker of waist and arm. Carter reckoned him to be about forty. His bar clothes were old, drab, and dirty. A small gold ring, badly tarnished, pierced the lobe of his left ear. Shiny black hair curled out from under a woolen cap. He had a curving nose and a petulant mouth. From the stranger's clothes as well as from his expression, Carter formed an immediate impression. This was a man who cared about neither his appearance nor the feelings of anyone else. Never had Carter seen a crowd so instantly divided as when the man swaggered toward the bar. Phipps and many others sent dark looks at the new arrival. But friends greeted him, and Carter heard one call: "Hello, Ortega. Where's your brother tonight?" "Stoking a boiler somewhere between here and Liverpool," the man answered in heavily accented English. "Be back in a month or so." Ortega, eh. Spanish, Carter guessed. Later he discovered his guess was wrong, and that Ortega was the Portuguese version of the name; in Spain it would have been Ortegas. The man stepped up to the serving counter. Carter saw no sign of a weapon, but the patrons on either side of the stranger made room-clear indication that they feared him. The new arrival smiled at Phipps in an insincere way: "A mug of your usual. @l una porcaria." When Phipps shook his head to show he didn't understand, the swarthy man grinned all the wider. "Your usual. r Swill. Pig slop. That's all you serve in this place. I wouldn't come here except that some of the company is interesting." He pivoted, leaned on his elbow and let his eyes rest on the Greek woman. Evidently he'd spotted her as he was coming in. There was no mistaking his interest. Above him a sperm-oil lantern hanging from a beam cast the sharp shadow of his nose across the upper part of his cheek. Just below the shadow-line, Carter noticed what he hadn't noticed before-a small white scar in the shape of a fishhook. The man's eyes raked the Greek woman's face and torso. He paid no attention to the pewter mug Phipps slid to him, calling out: "Eh, puta, trabalhas aqui?" She avoided his eyes and kept silent. "Can't speak Portugee? I asked if you work here." "Leave her be, Ortega," Phipps said, though ttiVyoice was none too strong. "She come here with Eben Royce." Phipps turned, as if to point out the fisherman. The startled expression that appeared on his face made Carter lean out past the end of the deacon's bench and look behind him, where he expected to find Royce talking to a crony. The fisherman was nowhere in sight. For the first time, the Greek woman saw that too. I
    "Where the hell'd he go?" Carter whispered to the man at the table nearest the bench. The man hooked a thumb at the side door: "Slipped out a couple of minutes ago. Tillman had some- "pin to show him." Carter turned back, saw Ortega scrutinizing the area around and behind the bench. Seeing no one he recognized, the Portugee smiled in a smug way and walked toward the table where the Greek woman sat rigid with tension. Carter decided Ortega wasn't a sailor like the brother sorrieone had mentioned; he didn't have the recognizable gait of a man accustomed to tilting decks. The woman looked past the Portugee and searched the room, fear showing clearly on her face now. Her eyes touched Carter's. Oh, no, he thought. I'll have no part in this quarrel. But those eyes held him-begged him-and he knew that if he looked away, she'd think him a coward. Besides, Royce was a friend, she was Royce's woman, and she was in trouble. If he could just delay any trouble for a few moments, surely Royce would return. He waited another few seconds to see whether anyone else would get up. No one did. He swallowed hard, tried to ignore his suddenly tight stomach and stood. IV Phipps" eyes warned him not to interfere. So did a patron who plucked at his sleeve as he passed and whispered, "Leave him alone,