The Americans Read Online Free PDF Page B

lad. He's half crazy." Carter heard, but he was committed. Ortega reached the Greek woman's table and stopped there. Behind him, Carter walked past goggle-eyed men at the serving counter. The Portugee heard Carter's footsteps. He turned and gave him a quizzical smile, as if he couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid as to challenge him. With contemptuous politeness, the Portugee asked, "Do you want to get through here? Do you want me to step aside so you can reach the place you obviously belong? The outhouse, I mean." Someone snickered. Carter tried to keep his voice steady: "I just want you to leave that woman alone." Again that raking scrutiny. The man scratched the fishhook scar with one grime-crusted fingernail. "Your name Royce?" Desperate, Carter called on the talent that had sometimes served him well before: "I'm Eben Royce's cousin." He heard murmurs of surprise; hoped the reaction of the crowd wouldn't give him away immediately. The Greek woman was staring at him. He hurried on, "There are a lot of Eben's first and second cousins in the neighborhood, so if you bother his woman, you'll have a lot of people down on your-was "Mentiroso8* Ortega interrupted, his crooked white teeth shining when he grinned. "In case you don't understand Portugee, I said you're a damn fucking liar. Captain Royce is a man with no relatives, that much I know." He leaned forward, resting his hands on the back of a heavy chair. "But I don't know who you are-except a very stupid young man." Still grinning, he whipped the chair up so fast Carter had no time to react before the Portugee smashed it against the side of his head. Carter crashed backwards, and would have cracked his skull on the serving counter except for the men standing close by, who pushed him away. He struggled upright, rage and fright warring within him as Ortega's hand slid under his tattered coat. Someone gasped when the Portugee's hand flashed into sight again, a short length of metal glinting in it. Ortega's face looked unhealthy in the lantern light. He licked his lips, anticipating his pleasure as he began to move the knife blade in a small, provocative circle: "Come on, meu amigo. Let's show the lady what you're made of, eh? I'll cut your insides out and strew them all over this, floor." Ortega lunged then, and Carter heard shouting-most of it directed against the Portugee, but some in support of him. Carter dived to the floor to avoid the slashing blade. He landed on his belly and Ortega checked his lunge. The Portugee raised his right heel and brought it driving down toward Carter's neck. At the last instant, Carter rolled, escaping the blow that might have crushed his neck. It glanced off his collar bone. "Bastardo!" Ortega yelled, and raised the knife in preparation for a downward slash at Carter's exposed throat. Carter was trying to roll again when he saw a chair sail into sight, smash a hanging lantern, then strike the Portugee on the side of the head. The impact staggered Ortega. He would have fallen on top of Carter-impaling him with the knife-if Carter hadn't twisted onto his back and rammed his boot hard into Ortega's groin. The Portugee let out an involuntary cry. Men laughed. One or two clapped. Ortega turned red from humiliation as he lurched away. Carter saw blood oozing in the man's curly black hair. The chair had struck harder than Carter had thought. The Portugee was still off balance. He fell, and Carter rolled wildly to avoid the knife. He got out of the way just as the other man crashed to the floor, the point of his blade penetrating the pegged boards where Carter's head had been a moment earlier. Above him, vengeful and powerful-looking despite his small frame, Eben Royce-who had evidently flung the chair-attacked Ortega from behind with an ash-blackened poker. Ortega was groggy but he saw the weapon, and frantically crawled under a nearby table. Down came the poker, so hard that the flimsy table broke in the center. Ortega covered his head as