Read Online The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene by David Carter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Carter
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neatly as he could, taking care to write Miss Glenda Martin, c/o, for it was very important to write care of , when one didn’t want to take anything for granted, his mother always used to say that too, and then the address:
Lincoln Heights
2605 West End Avenue, and the rest of it.
He folded the paper and inserted it in the envelope, but didn’t seal it, just in case. In case of what? In case he should think of something else he should have written. In case, in the fresh light of a new day, he didn’t like what he’d written at all, in case those exact words should speak something entirely different on a new day, as they sometimes did, especially with his rambling prose. He stamped the letter ready, but wouldn’t seal the envelope until the last moment.
Afterwards he fired up the telly and put the phone back on the hook. By then he was beginning to hope that Brenda might ring after all. But she didn’t. He could always have rung her, but that naughty little man inside his head who was always making naff suggestions, like the paper clip git on the word processing software, always butting in when it was least wanted, and never to be seen with a sensible suggestion when help was really needed, that little demon inside him, put him right off the idea.
As it turned out, in the morning, he didn’t change a thing, though he was still uncertain as to whether to post the letter. He took it with him to work. There was a post box right outside the main entrance of Frobisher Buildings, the six story office block where Dryden’s rented the top two floors.
It was drizzling as he slipped the envelope from his raincoat pocket. He glanced around. It was busy, people rushing this way and that, anxious not to be late for work, anxious not to fall foul of a bad tempered boss… like him. He brought the letter to his mouth and kissed it and slipped it into the fat red box that stood there like a silent sentry. For a moment he wondered what other letters might be held captive inside, how many love letters had made their way via this very post box, how many blackmail letters, breaking off letters, threatening letters, begging letters, hopeful letters, hurtful letters, puzzling letters, proposals even. Perhaps he shouldn’t have posted it at all. Too late now. He snorted and kicked the ground like an angry bull, and set off for work.
A few seconds earlier Melanie had rounded the corner. She noticed him immediately, prevaricating there by the post box. She witnessed the self conscious little kiss, and the casual toss of the envelope into the belly of the red beast. Well, well. She could guess who that was to. Maybe Gringo Greene was sweet on Glenda Martin after all. She watched him hurry away and hustle into the front entrance and scamper away for the lift.
He hadn’t seen her, she was sure of that.
Ten
Gringo took his place in Naughton’s Bar at ten past seven. Paul wasn’t there but that wasn’t unusual. Paul was often late. Gringo went through to the rear bar he preferred. It was long and narrow with a low ceiling that somehow kept any atmosphere firmly inside. But it was Tuesday night and it was very quiet. He ordered a pint of lager from the usual barman, the last pint before the barrel blew and burped and needed changing like a demanding baby. Gringo drank half the beer in one visit and leant on the bar and stared into the glass.
‘Penny for them,’ said the girl at the other end of the small bar. He hadn’t noticed her come in. He looked up and across at her and smiled. The babe nodded at the beer.
‘Oh, I was just thinking,’ said Gringo.
‘I could see that. Where’s the barman?’
‘Beer’s off. Needs changing. He’ll be back in a tick.’
She was foreign, the girl. No, that wasn’t quite right. She was Indian, Asian perhaps, dark, shoulder length
Lincoln Heights
2605 West End Avenue, and the rest of it.
He folded the paper and inserted it in the envelope, but didn’t seal it, just in case. In case of what? In case he should think of something else he should have written. In case, in the fresh light of a new day, he didn’t like what he’d written at all, in case those exact words should speak something entirely different on a new day, as they sometimes did, especially with his rambling prose. He stamped the letter ready, but wouldn’t seal the envelope until the last moment.
Afterwards he fired up the telly and put the phone back on the hook. By then he was beginning to hope that Brenda might ring after all. But she didn’t. He could always have rung her, but that naughty little man inside his head who was always making naff suggestions, like the paper clip git on the word processing software, always butting in when it was least wanted, and never to be seen with a sensible suggestion when help was really needed, that little demon inside him, put him right off the idea.
As it turned out, in the morning, he didn’t change a thing, though he was still uncertain as to whether to post the letter. He took it with him to work. There was a post box right outside the main entrance of Frobisher Buildings, the six story office block where Dryden’s rented the top two floors.
It was drizzling as he slipped the envelope from his raincoat pocket. He glanced around. It was busy, people rushing this way and that, anxious not to be late for work, anxious not to fall foul of a bad tempered boss… like him. He brought the letter to his mouth and kissed it and slipped it into the fat red box that stood there like a silent sentry. For a moment he wondered what other letters might be held captive inside, how many love letters had made their way via this very post box, how many blackmail letters, breaking off letters, threatening letters, begging letters, hopeful letters, hurtful letters, puzzling letters, proposals even. Perhaps he shouldn’t have posted it at all. Too late now. He snorted and kicked the ground like an angry bull, and set off for work.
A few seconds earlier Melanie had rounded the corner. She noticed him immediately, prevaricating there by the post box. She witnessed the self conscious little kiss, and the casual toss of the envelope into the belly of the red beast. Well, well. She could guess who that was to. Maybe Gringo Greene was sweet on Glenda Martin after all. She watched him hurry away and hustle into the front entrance and scamper away for the lift.
He hadn’t seen her, she was sure of that.
Ten
Gringo took his place in Naughton’s Bar at ten past seven. Paul wasn’t there but that wasn’t unusual. Paul was often late. Gringo went through to the rear bar he preferred. It was long and narrow with a low ceiling that somehow kept any atmosphere firmly inside. But it was Tuesday night and it was very quiet. He ordered a pint of lager from the usual barman, the last pint before the barrel blew and burped and needed changing like a demanding baby. Gringo drank half the beer in one visit and leant on the bar and stared into the glass.
‘Penny for them,’ said the girl at the other end of the small bar. He hadn’t noticed her come in. He looked up and across at her and smiled. The babe nodded at the beer.
‘Oh, I was just thinking,’ said Gringo.
‘I could see that. Where’s the barman?’
‘Beer’s off. Needs changing. He’ll be back in a tick.’
She was foreign, the girl. No, that wasn’t quite right. She was Indian, Asian perhaps, dark, shoulder length
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