Read Online Gangway! by Brian Garfield Donald E. Westlake - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Garfield Donald E. Westlake
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other, and like an avalanche at Grand Canyon the fire engine roared on by.
The wind of its passage all but knocked Gabe to the ground. He yelled something, but even he himself couldn't hear what it was. Then the thing was past and careening on down the hill, gathering its noise around itself like coattails.
Gabe blinked. He looked around in the dust cloud the thing had left in its wake, and damn if Vangie wasn't still there. Damn if Francis Calhoun wasn't still there. Gabe looked down at himself; damn if he wasn't still there.
"Oh, my goodness," Vangie said faintly.
Francis, dusty but unruffled, continued to wear his welcoming smile as he said, "How are you, old cock?"
Gabe looked down the street. A few blocks below, the fire engine roared around a corner, swaying far over, not quite capsizing, righting itself, and swooping on out of sight and gradually out of hearing. Past that corner, straight on down all the way to the waterfront, the street was as empty as Tenth Avenue after a shot has been fired. "Now, what " he said, then swallowed and tried again. "Just what in hell was that?"
"Fire engine," Francis said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "That garish color," he said.
Gabe turned to Vangie for a fuller explanation. "What was it?"
A pale Vangie clutched her throat. "The closest I've ever been to being posthumous," she said.
Gabe said, "We've got fire engines back in New York, too, but not like that."
Vangie said, "Gabe, this city's burned down twice so far. You can say what you want about San Francisco, but the people here aren't stupid. We do get the point after a while, so now we've got ourselves the finest, fastest, most modern fire engines in any city in the whole world."
"Clang, clang," Francis said disapprovingly. "You wouldn't believe how they carry on."
Vangie peered curiously past Gabe at Francis. "I don't think I…"
"Nor have I," Francis said. "Do introduce us, Gabe."
"Yeah," Gabe said reluctantly. "Uh, Vangie Kemp, this here is Francis Calhoun. I, uh, used to know him back in New York."
"One of my dearest friends," Francis said. "Was that Angie or Vangie, dear?"
"E-van-ge-line," Vangie said, smiling with her teeth.
Gabe looked all around, making a point of not meeting Francis' eye. "Well," he said, "it looks safe now. I guess we can all move on, huh?"
Francis was saying, "Dear Gabe and I grew up together. Didn't we, Gabe?"
"Yeah, that's right," Gabe said. He was ready to depart from there, call the conversation quits, and have nothing more to do with Francis Calhoun forever. It was true they'd grown up in the same neighborhood, but they hadn't exactly been together. Having little interest in beating up the weak and defenseless just for the fun of it-as opposed to doing so for profit-Gabe had been one of the very few children in the neighborhood who hadn't gone out of his way to make Francis Calhoun's youth memorable. If Francis now looked back on that inactivity and remembered it as a deep and abiding friendship that was his own business, but Gabe wanted no part of it.
But Vangie was saying, through that rather odd, toothy set smile, "Well, any friend of Gabe's is a friend of mine."
"My feeling exactly," Francis said. His own smile didn't seem to have any teeth in it at all; his lips curved limply, like a couple of anchovies on a plate.
"I guess that must be an Eastern suit," Vangie said, aiming her smile at his loud clawhammer coat.
"I'm glad you like it," Francis said, preening a bit. His clothes were flamboyantly cheap and somewhat the worse for wear. The worn coat was shiny here and there, but the colors were nearly blinding at this close range. Over it he wore a short cape with a bright pink lining. His dark hair was all wet down, and he gave the general appearance of a lunatic undertaker or an
The wind of its passage all but knocked Gabe to the ground. He yelled something, but even he himself couldn't hear what it was. Then the thing was past and careening on down the hill, gathering its noise around itself like coattails.
Gabe blinked. He looked around in the dust cloud the thing had left in its wake, and damn if Vangie wasn't still there. Damn if Francis Calhoun wasn't still there. Gabe looked down at himself; damn if he wasn't still there.
"Oh, my goodness," Vangie said faintly.
Francis, dusty but unruffled, continued to wear his welcoming smile as he said, "How are you, old cock?"
Gabe looked down the street. A few blocks below, the fire engine roared around a corner, swaying far over, not quite capsizing, righting itself, and swooping on out of sight and gradually out of hearing. Past that corner, straight on down all the way to the waterfront, the street was as empty as Tenth Avenue after a shot has been fired. "Now, what " he said, then swallowed and tried again. "Just what in hell was that?"
"Fire engine," Francis said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "That garish color," he said.
Gabe turned to Vangie for a fuller explanation. "What was it?"
A pale Vangie clutched her throat. "The closest I've ever been to being posthumous," she said.
Gabe said, "We've got fire engines back in New York, too, but not like that."
Vangie said, "Gabe, this city's burned down twice so far. You can say what you want about San Francisco, but the people here aren't stupid. We do get the point after a while, so now we've got ourselves the finest, fastest, most modern fire engines in any city in the whole world."
"Clang, clang," Francis said disapprovingly. "You wouldn't believe how they carry on."
Vangie peered curiously past Gabe at Francis. "I don't think I…"
"Nor have I," Francis said. "Do introduce us, Gabe."
"Yeah," Gabe said reluctantly. "Uh, Vangie Kemp, this here is Francis Calhoun. I, uh, used to know him back in New York."
"One of my dearest friends," Francis said. "Was that Angie or Vangie, dear?"
"E-van-ge-line," Vangie said, smiling with her teeth.
Gabe looked all around, making a point of not meeting Francis' eye. "Well," he said, "it looks safe now. I guess we can all move on, huh?"
Francis was saying, "Dear Gabe and I grew up together. Didn't we, Gabe?"
"Yeah, that's right," Gabe said. He was ready to depart from there, call the conversation quits, and have nothing more to do with Francis Calhoun forever. It was true they'd grown up in the same neighborhood, but they hadn't exactly been together. Having little interest in beating up the weak and defenseless just for the fun of it-as opposed to doing so for profit-Gabe had been one of the very few children in the neighborhood who hadn't gone out of his way to make Francis Calhoun's youth memorable. If Francis now looked back on that inactivity and remembered it as a deep and abiding friendship that was his own business, but Gabe wanted no part of it.
But Vangie was saying, through that rather odd, toothy set smile, "Well, any friend of Gabe's is a friend of mine."
"My feeling exactly," Francis said. His own smile didn't seem to have any teeth in it at all; his lips curved limply, like a couple of anchovies on a plate.
"I guess that must be an Eastern suit," Vangie said, aiming her smile at his loud clawhammer coat.
"I'm glad you like it," Francis said, preening a bit. His clothes were flamboyantly cheap and somewhat the worse for wear. The worn coat was shiny here and there, but the colors were nearly blinding at this close range. Over it he wore a short cape with a bright pink lining. His dark hair was all wet down, and he gave the general appearance of a lunatic undertaker or an
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