Two big closed cars were drawing up by the tumbledown huts. Men spilled from them.
I thought I might as well launch the balloon. I drew my gun and fired three times above the heads of the running men. Then I slammed the front door, shot home the bolts, put my gun back in its holster, and walked into the dance hall.
7
Hoskiss and I sat under the bar counter. We had the redheaded girl with us, but we had kicked the Cuban out, considering him poor company.
Hoskiss was telling the red-head about his adventures in the Army. He made them sound very exciting and dangerous. The red-head didn’t seem to be listening. She sat huddled up, her hands clasping her knees, a look of strained terror on her face.
Bullets sang through the air; gunfire crackled.
“It reminds me of the time when I was cut off from the rest of the boys after crossing the Rhine,” Hoskiss said reminiscently. “I was bottled up in a fox-hole, and the Jerries started to mortar my position. I didn’t have any whisky to fortify me, and I was scared.”
“Not you,” I said. “Not a big guy like you.”
He anchored his mouth to a bottle of Scotch, took a Ions pull.
“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” he said. “I bet there was time when you were scared too.”