The Friends of Eddie Coyle by Higgins George V

Author:Higgins, George V. [Higgins, George V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Criminals, Mystery & Detective, thriller, Classics, Mystery, Fiction, Hard-Boiled, Boston (Mass.) - Fiction, Boston (Mass.), Crime, General, Criminals - Massachusetts - Boston - Fiction, Detective and Mystery Stories
ISBN: 9780312429690
Google: CmYhAQAAIAAJ
Amazon: 031242969X
Goodreads: 7896558
Publisher: Picador
Published: 1971-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

16

Eddie Coyle put his hands in his pockets and rested his back against the green metal post that supported the arcade of the shopping plaza above the telephone booths. Two women moved their lips as though deliberating over every single word of the hundreds they seemed to be uttering. A small man in a gold polo shirt stood with a receiver against his ear and a resigned expression on his face. From time to time he said something.

The man emerged first. “I’m sorry it took so long,” he said.

“Think nothing of it,” Eddie Coyle said. “Mine’s the same way.” The man grinned.

In the telephone booth, Eddie Coyle deposited a dime and dialed a Boston number. He said: “Foley there?” He paused for an instant. “No, I don’t care to give my name. Gimme Foley and quit horsing around.” He paused again. “Dave,” he said, “I caught you in. Good. Whaddaya mean, who is this. We got mutual friends up in New Hampshire. This is Eddie. Yeah. Remember you wanted a strong reason? Yeah. Here it is: at four-thirty this afternoon, a kid in a metallic blue Roadrunner, Massachusetts registration number KX4-197, is going to meet some people at the 128 railroad station. He’s going to sell them five M-sixteen machine guns. The guns’re in the trunk of the Roadrunner.” Coyle paused again. “KX4-197,” he said, “Roadrunner, metallic blue. The kid’s about twenty-six. About a hundred and sixty. Black hair, fairly short. Sideburns. Suede jacket. Levi’s, blue Levi’s. Brown suede boots with fringe on them. Wears sunglasses a lot.” Coyle paused again. “I dunno who he’s going to sell them to. Perhaps if you was to go there, you could find out.” Coyle paused again. “I imagine so,” he said. “Now, you keep this in mind, okay? I came through.” Coyle paused again. “You’re welcome,” he said, “always a pleasure to do a favor for a friend with a good memory.”

Eddie Coyle replaced the handset in the receiver carefully. He opened the door of the booth and found a stout woman, about fifty, staring at him. “It took you long enough,” she said.

“I was calling my poor sick mother,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, her face immediately relaxing into an expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Has she been ill long?”

Eddie Coyle smiled. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “and the horse you rode in on.”

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