The Long-Legged Fly by James Sallis

Author:James Sallis
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Perseus Books Group
Published: 2012-05-11T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Two

“I AM PLEASED THAT YOU RECONSIDERED,” Sansom said. He wore a dark suit with suspenders and looked like a lawyer. “More coffee?”

I shook my head.

“We’ve put you in room C-6. Only a couple of other guys in there right now. Any problems, let me know. Usually we ask for some work in return, but you’ve already done yours. Come and go as you wish. Make any money, throw in the pot whatever you think’s right. There’s food laid out in the common room every day between four and six—cold cuts, fruit, cheese, soup, bread.”

“I met some people on the way here,” I said.

“Let me guess. Guys in gray suits with short hair and rep ties? Yeah, they think we ought to still be painting slogans on ghetto walls instead of actually doing something. I don’t know, maybe they think we’re stockpiling bombs in the basement. We don’t have a basement, man—this is New Orleens.” For a moment intelligence fell away from his face and he became a caricature. “We don’t be good niggahs, Massuh Griff’n.” Then he laughed, a deep, rolling laugh. “Come on. I’ll take you up.”

The room was surprisingly light and airy. Beds occupied each corner, a small round table and chairs took up the room’s center. There wasn’t much else: a squat bookcase, some shelves nailed to the wall, a couple of throw rugs.

“Where is everyone?”

“Jimmi—” He pointed to one of the beds, meticulously made. “—does volunteer work with a child care group and is out most days. Carlos—” This bed was unmade. “—passes out flyers, telephone books, whatever work he can get. You never know, with him. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall to your right, towels and all that on shelves behind the door. Again, you let me know if there’s anything else you need; otherwise, we’ll all leave you alone.” He stuck out a hand. “Glad you came, Lew.”

I was kind of glad too. I lay on the bed watching the ceiling and wondering what the next move should be. When I woke up, it was dark outside.

I wandered downstairs to the common room. A couple of guys were hunched over a chess set, a half-dozen others were circled around a TV showing the last scenes of The Big Sleep. Dinner was long gone and I was starving.

I remembered passing a Royal Castle on the way there, and headed for it. Not many people on the streets—too damned cold—and not many people in the R.C. either. One guy with a beard and scraggly thin hair drooling onto his french fries; a young couple making out in the back booth; two Wealthy Independent Businessmen talking over the charts and invoices spread between their baskets of burgers. The clock said it was 9:14.

I had a mushroom burger, baked potato with sour cream, coffee. My first real food for a while, if you could call it that. It all smelled of bacon grease and tasted as though it had been cooked by the same person who invented polyester.

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