“Is that all of it?”
“No.” Rio looked glum. “This Roberts—he’s the fag—don’t like the set-up. I think Martin and the girl’d make it but for him.” Rio glanced up at Joe earnestly. “I got him bluffed, though, and as long as I hang around, he won’t bother no one.”
Joe made a disgusted sound.
“You can’t wet nurse ’em the rest of your life.”
“No, but I could make a short trip and look Roberts up afterwards.”
Joe shook his head.
“And get thrown in jail? Listen!” Joe leaned closer to his friend. “Why don’t you ship out, Rio? There ain’t no use—” But something about Rio’s appearance made him stop. “All right,” Joe left the table. “If you change your mind, I’ll be in No. 5.”
“Good enough,” said Rio, not looking up.
Joe walked back slowly to his ship and Rio drank coffee. When he left the restaurant he went straight down the waterfront to the South American Line. A small ship was sailing for Santa de Marina that evening, for bananas. Rio saw the first officer.
“I want to get out, Mister.”