Pronto by Elmore Leonard

Author:Elmore Leonard
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Organized crime, Murder, Italy, Mystery & Detective, True Crime, Miami (Fla.), Hard-Boiled, General, Literary, Suspense, Adventure fiction, Serial Killers, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062020314
Publisher: Harper
Published: 1993-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Harry wished Joyce would leave the kitchen for a minute, go to the toilet or something so he could slip a shot of brandy into his coffee. No, she kept flitting around acting domestic, toasting bread in that medieval-looking oven and bringing it to them at the table that must have been as old as the house, a long oak table full of stains and knife scars. Joyce would put a plate of toast down in front of Raylan and he’d grin like he loved it burnt to a crisp. He had his hat off, for the first time in Harry’s presence that he could recall, and was surprised to see the guy had hair, dark brown and cut fairly short, down on his forehead. They had coffee with boiled milk. Harry was the only one who passed on the toast and was dipping his bread in a saucer of olive oil. Mmmmm. He was in a good mood, in spite of not having gotten laid this morning; it was close.

“Coffee’s not bad, is it?”

They both nodded.

“Where is he, anyway?”

They both looked at him again.

“Robert Gee. My cook.”

“Watching the road,” Raylan said. “We’re going to have to take turns till we leave.”

Something they hadn’t discussed yet. Leaving. Harry hadn’t made up his mind yet how to react to the idea. He said, “You’re sure he hasn’t sneaked off.”

Neither of them said anything. They liked Robert and trusted him. Harry said, “Why wouldn’t he tell where I am to save his own skin? Or for more money?”

Joyce said, “Why wouldn’t any of us? You’re so much fun to be with. This was not a good idea, Harry.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Coming to Italy. You know where you should go to retire? Las Vegas, it’s more your style.”

Harry turned to Raylan.

“Almost my entire life, all I think about is coming here someday. I save my money, plan for forty-seven years. . . . Did I tell you that?”

“In Atlanta,” Raylan said. “At that time it was forty years you’d been thinking about it.”

“But my friend here, after giving it some thought—how long, a couple of minutes?—says it’s a bad idea, I should be in Vegas.”

“Or stay home and retire,” Joyce said. “You’re Miami Beach, Harry. I think you miss it already.” She said to Raylan, “You know what he does? He plays a tape of people calling in bets. You know what I mean? Phone calls he recorded.”

Harry said, “I played it once,” as Joyce got up from the table, “that’s all, and you happened to hear it.”

“Where is it, Harry?”

“In the bedroom. I don’t even know why I had it in my bag. Robert happened to have a radio that plays tapes. . . .”

The moment Joyce was out of the kitchen Harry got up from the table, ducked into the pantry, and came out with a bottle of Galliano. He’d have one straight up, out in the open rather than slipping brandy or sambuca into his coffee, and if she said anything he’d tell her this was his house and if she didn’t like it .

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