When Jimmy got back to him, Congo was sitting in a chair nursing his stump with his two hands. On the table lay the cork and aluminum limb splintered and dented. “Regardez moi ça ... c’est foutu ... completement foutu.” As he spoke Cardinale came in. He had a deep gash over his eyes from which a trickle of blood ran down his cheek on his coat and shirt. His wife followed him rolling back her eyes; she had a basin and a sponge with which she kept making ineffectual dabs at his forehead. He pushed her away. “I crowned one of em good wid a piece o pipe. I think he fell in de water. God I hope he
drownded.” Johnny came in holding his head high. Annette had her arm round his waist. He had a black eye and one of the sleeves of his shirt hung in shreds. “Gee it was like in the movies,” said Annette, giggling hysterically. “Wasnt he grand, mommer, wasn’t he grand?”
“Jez it’s lucky they didn’t start shootin; one of em had a gun.”
“Scared to I guess.”
“Trucks are off.”
“Just one case got busted up.... God there was five of them.”
“Gee didnt he mix it up with em?” screamed Annette.
“Oh shut up,” growled Cardinale. He had dropped into a chair and his wife was sponging off his face. “Did you get a good look at the boat?” asked Congo.
“Too goddam dark,” said Johnny. “Fellers talked like they came from Joisey.... First ting I knowed one of em comes up to me and sez I’m a revenue officer an I pokes him one before he has time to pull a gun an overboard he goes. Jez they were yeller. That guy George on the boat near brained one of em wid an oar. Then they got back in their old teakettle an beat it.”
“But how they know how we make landin?” stuttered Congo his face purple.