Bugsy Malone by Alan Parker Read Free Book Online

Lieutenant?”
    The only source O’Dreary knew about was the ketchup he put on his hamburgers. He kept his dignity. “We... I’m not at liberty to say. You’ll have to ask Captain Smolsky that question...”
    As if on cue, the burly Smolsky pushed his way through the crowd. He wore a dirty, beige-coloured trench coat that was belted tightly at the waist. He chewed on a toothpick and also gave the impression that he knew everything but would say nothing, which was roughly the opposite of the truth. He talked out of the corner of his mouth and his top lip curled up as he did so.
    â€œOK, O’Dreary, break this crowd up.”
    Scoop regained his front position and put in his question. “Seymour Scoop, RTZ Radio, Captain Smolsky. Captain Smolsky, have you located the splurge gun yet, sir?”
    â€œNo comment.”
    â€œHave you located the source?” Scoop’s rival beat him to his second question.
    â€œNo comment.”
    â€œIs it true, Captain Smolsky, that the gun is being used by only one gang?”
    â€œNo comment.”
    At this point, O’Dreary appeared with his boss’s evening snack. He handed the thick sandwich over the heads of the crowd.
    â€œI fixed you a pastrami sandwich, Chief. Is that OK?”
    Captain Smolsky was as deaf to this question as he had been to the others. He treated it in the same way.
    â€œNo comment.”
    The flash bulbs dazzled his eyes as Smolsky’s ruddy face shared the picture with a pastrami and rye sandwich.

T HE BARLADY IN the drugstore yawned once more. She looked up at the clock. It said 2 a.m. and she yawned yet again and cleared her throat, as if to point out the fact. Across the other side of the drugstore, in a booth of their own, were Bugsy and Blousey. As far as the barlady was concerned they had outstayed their welcome. She wasn’t the friendliest of souls at the best of times, and when she missed her beauty sleep she got even meaner. Beauty sleep was a joke anyway. She had the kind of face that needed a personality behind it. It was the kind of face what girls call plain, and guys call the back end of a down-town bus. She was built like a Mack truck, and her shoulders would have done credit to an all-in wrestler.
    She cleaned her counter for maybe the hundredth time. Bugsy and Blousey hadn’t taken any notice. They were too busy talking to one another. On the table of their booth was a litter of empty plates and banana sundae glasses. They had eaten well.
    â€œAre you going back to the speakeasy tomorrow?” Bugsy asked.
    â€œIt depends. I’m going to try my luck at the Bijoux Theatre. They’re auditioning.”
    Bugsy looked up from his drink. He furrowed his brow a little. “Lena Marrelli’s show?”
    â€œShe’s walked out. They’re looking for a replacement.”
    Bugsy nodded. He knew that Lena Marrelli walked out of that show four times a week and everyone except Blousey knew that she always came back. It was all part of being a star. You stamped your feet, tossed your head in the air and, in a blur of mink, vanished out of the stage door. Bugsy knew they were auditioning for supporting acts, but he wasn’t going to let on to Blousey. It was nicer being nice, and she’d already had one disappointment that night. He changed the subject slightly.
    â€œHow long have you wanted to be a singer?”
    â€œSince I was a kid, I guess. Actually, I don’t want just to be a singer and a dancer, I wanna be a movie-star, in Hollywood.”
    Bugsy smiled into his sundae. He stirred at the pink drink with his straw. He hoped she hadn’t seen him smile – but she had.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    Bugsy wasn’t sure whether to be honest or tactful. He decided on the latter. It seemed a little more charming and the sparkle in his eye was working overtime. “I don’t know. It’s just that there used to be a time when people were