Read Online Limitless by Alan Glynn - Free Book Online

living link to an earlier version of the neighbourhood. Or not. Maybe. I don’t know. In any case, it was a greasy spoon and being around lunchtime the place was fairly crowded, so I stood inside the door and waited for my turn to order.
    A middle-aged Hispanic guy behind the counter was saying, ‘I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it. I mean, what is this all about? They don’t have enough problems here, they’ve got to go down there making more problems?’ Then he looked to his left, ‘ What ? ’
    There were two younger guys at the grill speaking Spanish to each other and obviously laughing at him.
    He threw his hands up.
    ‘Nobody cares any more, nobody gives a damn.’
    Standing beside me, there were three people waiting for their orders in total silence. To my left, there were some other peoplesitting at tables. The one nearest to me had four old guys at it drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. One of them was reading the Post and I realized after a moment that the guy behind the counter was addressing his remarks to him.
    ‘Remember Cuba?’ he went on. ‘Bay of Pigs? Is this going to turn into another Bay of Pigs, another fiasco like that was?’
    ‘I don’t see the analogy,’ the old guy reading the Post said. ‘Cuba was because of Communism.’ He didn’t take his eyes off the paper during this, and he also spoke with a very faint German accent. ‘And the same goes for US involvement in Nicaragua and El Salvador. In the last century there was a war with Mexico because the US wanted Texas and California. That made sense, strategic sense. But this?’
    He left the question hanging and continued reading.
    Very quickly the guy behind the counter wrapped up two orders, took money for them and some people left. I moved up a bit and he looked at me. I ordered what Vernon had asked for, plus a black coffee, and said that I’d be back in two minutes. As I was going out, the guy behind the counter was saying, ‘I don’t know, you ask me, they should bring back the Cold War …’
    I went to the dry-cleaner’s next door and retrieved Vernon’s suit. I lingered on the street for a few moments and watched the passing traffic. Back in the DeLuxe Luncheonette, a customer at another table, a young guy in a denim shirt, had joined in the conversation.
    ‘What, you think the government’s going to get involved in something like this for no reason ? That’s just crazy.’
    The guy reading the Post had put his paper down and was straining to look around.
    ‘Governments don’t always act in a logical way,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they pursue policies that are contrary to their own interests . Look at Vietnam. Thirty years of—’
    ‘Aw, don’t bring that up, will you?’
    The guy behind the counter, who was putting my stuff in a bag now – and seemed to be talking to the bag – muttered, ‘Leave the Mexican people alone, that’s all. Just leave them alone.’
    I paid him and took the bag.
    ‘Vietnam—’
    ‘Vietnam was a mistake, all right?’
    ‘A mistake? Ha. Eisenhower? Kennedy? Johnson? Nixon? Big mistake.’
    ‘Look, you—’
    I left the DeLuxe Luncheonette and walked back towards Linden Tower, holding Vernon’s suit up in one hand and his breakfast and the Boston Globe in the other. I had an awkward time getting through the revolving doors and my left arm started aching as I waited for the elevator.
    On the ride back up to the seventeenth floor I could smell the food from the brown paper bag, and wished that I’d got something for myself besides the black coffee. I was alone in the elevator and toyed with the idea of appropriating one of Vernon’s strips of Canadian bacon, but decided against it on the grounds that it would be too sad, and – with the suit on a wire hanger – also a little difficult to manoeuvre.
    I got out of the elevator, walked along the corridor and around the corner. As I approached Vernon’s apartment, I noticed that the door was slightly open. I edged