The Hiding Place by Trezza Azzopardi Read Free Book Online Page B

As he says this, a dull thud makes them look up. One of the men is on the floor. He props himself up on his elbow, and yells at the other,
kicking out with his legs. His mouth opens very red as he shouts: Frankie can’t tell whether it’s spit or blood. Joe lights another cigarette, and they both study the opposite end of
the street until the fight is finished. They watch four small boys in a cluster here, gathered round the body of a dead gull. The boys prod it with a stick, poke at it with the toes of their shoes.
They break away and group again, screaming and laughing, until a woman leans out from a window high above them and calls out in a foreign tongue. Joe gets up and carefully dusts the seat of his
trousers with his hand.
    They look good, this pair of men. They are meticulous, sleek. Crisp white shirts, black pants with sharp turn-ups, black suit-jackets, a perfect knot in the tie, and mirror-polished shoes. They
are brown and young, and they shimmer with luck. Frankie wears the ruby ring on one hand and a pale yellow signet ring on the other. Joe is ostentatious, showy. He has a diamond earring, a matching
tie-pin, a glint of gold when he smiles.
    Frankie stands a good head above Joe: for this reason, the latter gets a new hat with a wide band running round it.
    A Fedora, Frankie! says Joe, carefully brushing the brim on his sleeve, picking off invisible flecks of lint,
    What a music. Fedora. Fedora. They name it after me! They laugh, and Frankie feels an unaccountable need to buy a new hat for himself.
    ~
    Their lives weave quietly together. They have a pattern: a late breakfast at The Hayes, followed by a stroll to the market where Frankie buys food. He handles and sniffs and
scowls at the produce until the stall-owner loses patience, or Frankie gives up in disgust. While he does this, Joe goes for a talk with his ‘Boss’ in the pub across the road. They
often have an errand after this meeting – to collect a debt, drive a girl to a hotel, deliver a parcel: sometimes, all they have to do is sit on the street and watch. They are paid handsomely
for what seems like nothing at all. Joe promises to put in a word for Frankie when his English has improved, perhaps get him a permanent job in the business. Easy money, says Joe, rubbing his
finger and thumb together. Easy money, parrots Frankie, making the gesture.
    Late at night, Joe teaches him all he knows, his voice gliding like a dream over the basement.
    Ain’t Nobody Here but Us Chickens,
    Ain’t Nobody Here adall, and in a short time, Frankie can echo back:
    Kindly Point that Gun the Other Way,
    an’ Hobble Hobble Hobble off and Hit the Hay! Frankie learns a lot like this. He watches the small red point of Joe’s cigarette sweep to and fro in the blackness, and ponders the
‘Is You Is or Is You Ain’t’ that is his latest lesson.
    ~
    Is you is or is you ain’t my Baby? C’mon, Frankie! shouts Joe, a thin glaze of sweat on his forehead,
    Sing, habib!
    Joe nips neatly across the floor of the basement, bending Pearl like wire in his arms. She is Joe’s new lady-friend. Frankie fumes with envy. He sits on the bed, hardly
able to keep his legs from jumping, and watches them dance. They spin close to him, Joe dipping Pearl so that her head falls almost into Frankie’s lap. He glimpses her wide-open mouth and her
tongue very pink, and then she’s swept to the other side of the room, screaming at Joe to stop.
    Will you let up now, Joey! Let up I say! Her accent reminds Frankie of the rusted springs under his bed. She wears a thick sweet perfume; she is very blonde; she sparkles all over with the sharp
glass of diamonds. For the first time, it feels hot in the basement. Pearl wears her blouse low at the front, showing the dark slash of her cleavage. This makes Frankie love her: all he can think
about while he’s watching them dance is how much he would like to put his tongue in there and lick.
    And Frankie will not be fixed up with anyone