Bugsy Malone by Alan Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

happy to be railway engineers or nurses or something.”
    Blousey was annoyed. She wasn’t over-ambitious, but it smarted when she met someone so complacent it made her seem so.
    â€œDon’t you want to be anybody?”
    He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
    â€œNo, I’m happy being me.”
    He had put her down without really meaning to. She was irritated at first, but then she smiled. She was beginning to find him interesting. “And what do you do?”
    â€œOh, this and that.”
    â€œOh, crooked, huh?”
    â€œNo, in between – walking the line, trying hard not to fall either side.”
    It was true enough. He’d spent his life on the Lower East Side and it was a lot harder keeping on the straight and narrow than going crooked. With an Irish father and an Italian mother he had naturally grown up somewhat confused. He couldn’t see his future as a spaghetti waiter in a restaurant or as a clerk at City Hall, filling in endless forms. So he’d drifted from this to that. Never very crooked, not always completely honest. But generally to do with boxing, his great love.
    â€œBut what do you do for money?” Blousey asked.
    â€œI find fighters... boxers.”
    â€œOh really?”
    â€œI used to fight myself.”
    â€œYou did? How good were you?”
    Bugsy put on a mock voice. “I could have been a contender.”
    It was true – in a way. He could have been a contender but he would never have made champion. He had a lot of style. He was very quick and made his opponents look slow and awkward. For a round or so, that is. After that he was about as tough as a cotton-wool ball, and one punch was generally enough to send him on the way back to the dressing room, usually on a stretcher. They’d slap his face and get out the smelling salts and he’d come round and say he never saw the punch. He’d also say he’d never do it again. But he always did, until one day he really woke up and called it a day. He looked at some of the other fighters and realised how much better he looked without cauliflower ears and a nose that spread itself halfway across his face and nearly shook hands with an ear. It had really saddened him at the time, but he knew if he carried on, the only title he’d end up with would be ‘bum of the month’.
    Blousey was very interested. “You could have been a contender?”
    â€œSure. But for a few things.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œOh, like a glass jaw, jelly legs, no stamina and most of all... I got scared.”
    â€œSome contender.”
    They both laughed. Blousey had reached the bottom of her glass and there was a small silence for a while.
    â€œDo you want another drink in there?”
    â€œNo, thanks. I’ve had enough.”
    Bugsy was persistent. A lot more persistent than he ought to have been, considering he was broke. “Come on.”
    â€œI thought you didn’t have any money.”
    â€œI haven’t.”
    â€œYou haven’t? Then how are we gonna...?”
    â€œDon’t worry. I’ll think of something.”
    Bugsy had no idea how he was going to pay, but that bridge wasn’t to come for five minutes or more, so he saw no reason to worry about crossing it now. With great bravado, he twisted in his seat to face the sour-faced lady. “Two more drinks, please.”
    The barlady had had enough. She threw her cleaning cloth into the sink, leaned on one muscular arm and said, “Look, pal. The food counter’s closed, the bar’s closed, my eyes are closing – in fact, the whole joint’s closed.”
    Blousey wasn’t about to cause an argument. She smiled politely at the ogre in the white cap.
    â€œI didn’t want one, anyway.”
    Bugsy turned to Blousey and stretched out to touch her hand. They began to sing to each other. This was too much for giantess behind the counter. She screamed at them, “Knock it