The Talbot Odyssey Read Online Free PDF Page A

which her American neighbors found charmingly British, but which to Londoners was identifiable as Wapping Lane Jewish.
    Karl Roth nodded. “It is hot for May the first.” The panel truck’s engine-temperature gauge began to climb. “Damn it. Where do all these cars come from?”
    Maggie Roth replied, “They are the cars of the exploited working class, Karl. Coming from the tennis courts, the golf club, and the yacht club.” She laughed. “Also, Van Dorn is having another spite party.”
    Karl Roth frowned, then said, “Androv sent word that he has a surprise for us.”
    She laughed again, but without humor. “He could surprise us by paying his bloody bills on time, couldn’t he?”
    Roth smiled nervously. “Please be civil to him. He has asked us to stay for a drink. This is a big celebration for them.”
    She grumbled, “He could have asked us to stay for the whole party. Instead, we go through the servants’ entrance like beggars and stand in the kitchen helping with the food. Classless society my foot.”
    Roth let out a breath of exasperation. “It would be noted by the FBI if we stayed too long.”
    “They’ve already noted
your
comings and goings. They’re bloody well on to something, I’ll tell you.”
    He snapped, “Don’t say that! Do not mention anything to Androv.”
    “Don’t worry on that account. Do you think I want to end up like Carpins—?”
    “Quiet!”
    The van moved up a few more feet. Suddenly a rocket arched into the gathering dusk and exploded in a red, white, and blue shower of sparks that lit up the purple sky. Several people along the road cheered and auto horns began honking.
    Roth sneered. “More provocation. That came from Van Dorn’s estate—that reactionary swine.”
    “
He
pays his bills,” remarked Maggie Roth. “And why didn’t we get the job on his party, Karl? We could have handled both. Van Dorn likes you. You’re so bloody obsequious toward him. Yes, Mr. Von Dorn, no, Mr. Von Dorn. It’s
Van
Dorn anyway, Karl. Maybe he’s wise to the fact that you snoop around when you go there. Or maybe he just thinks you’re popping one of the maids.” She laughed. “If he knew what you really were . . .”
    Karl Roth let out another sigh of exasperation.
Maggie must
watch herself,
he thought. The van moved ahead a few more feet. Angry shouting could be heard now up the road. Police cars were parked on the right shoulder, and on the left he could see the huge ornate wrought-iron gates of the Russian estate. People with picket signs were blocking the entrance and the police were trying to keep order.
    From his high vantage point Roth could see several limousines trying to get into the gate entrance. The police were stopping each one and checking licenses and registrations. Roth said, “More harassment.”
    “Where’s our registration? I don’t want a bloody ticket.
We
don’t have diplomatic immunity.”
    “There. In the glove compartment. My God, what a mess!”
    Another rocket arched high into the air and exploded with a loud report. Maggie Roth tittered. “Mr. Van Dorn is aiming them to explode over the Russians.”
    “Why do you find that amusing?”
    “But it is. Don’t you think so?”
    “No.”
    She stayed silent for some time, then said, “Do you realize we’ve delivered them enough food over the past six months to last out a long siege?”
    He didn’t reply.
    She added, “And all that canned stuff and dried stuff. Those bastards only buy the best—the freshest—now they want tins, dry foods. . . . Well, Karl, what’s it all about, then?”
    Again he didn’t reply.
    Her tone was sharp. “Bloody beggars are planning World War Three, that’s what they’re about. Well, Glen Cove is safe, isn’t it, Karl? They wouldn’t drop a bomb on their own people, would they—”
    “Shut up!”
    She retreated into a moody silence, then mumbled, “I hope the damned mayonnaise has spoiled and they all get food poisoning.”

 
     

5
    Stanley Kuchik