Confederacy of Dunces, A - John Kennedy Toole [117]
But back to the matter of storage. The bus crossed Elysian Fields before George came up with anything. There it was. It had been before him all the time and he just hadn’t realized it. He could have kicked himself in the shins with the stiletto toes of his flamenco boots. He saw a nice, roomy, weather-tight metal compartment, a mobile safety deposit box that no undercover agent in the world, however crafty, would think of opening, a safe vault operated by the biggest patsy in the world: the bun compartment in that oddball vendor’s wagon.
Eleven
“Aw, look,” Santa said, holding the newspaper close to her eyes. “They got a cute picture show on in the neighborhood with little Debbie Reynolds.”
“Aw, she’s sweet,” Mrs. Reilly said. “You like her, Claude?”
“Who’s that?” Mr. Robichaux asked pleasantly.
“Little Debra Reynolds,” Mrs. Reilly answered.
“I don’t think I can place her. I don’t go to the show much.”
“She’s darling,” Santa said. “So petite. You ever seen her in that cute picture where she played Tammy, Irene?”
“Ain’t that the picture where she went blind?”
“No, girl! You must be thinking of the wrong show.”
“Oh, I know who I was thinking of, precious. I was thinking of June Wyman. She was sweet, too.”
“Aw, she was good,” Santa said. “I remember that picture where she played the dummy who got herself raped.”
“Lord, I’m glad I didn’t go see that show.”
“Aw, it was wonderful, babe. Very dramatic. You know? The look on that poor dummy’s face when she got raped. I’ll never forget it.”
“Anybody want more coffee?” Mr. Robichaux asked.
“Yeah, gimmee some there, Claude,” Santa said, folding the newspaper and throwing it on top of the refrigerator. “I’m sure sorry Angelo couldn’t make it. That poor boy. He told me he’s gonna be working day and night on his own so he can bring somebody in. He’s out someplace tonight, I guess. You oughta heard what his Rita been telling me. It seems Angelo went out an bought a lot of expensive clothes he can wear so maybe he can attract some character. Ain’t that a shame. That just shows you how much that boy loves the force. If they was to kick him out, it’d break his heart. I sure hope he takes in some bum.”
“Angelo’s got him a hard road to travel,” Mrs. Reilly said absently. She was thinking of the PEACE TO MEN OF GOOD WILL sign that Ignatius had tacked to the front of their house after he had come home from work. Miss Annie had immediately started an inquisition about that as soon as it had appeared, screaming questions through her shutters. “What you think about somebody wants peace, Claude?”
“That sounds like a communiss to me.”
Mrs. Reilly’s worst fears were realized.
“Who wants peace?” Santa asked.
“Ignatius got a sign up in front the house about peace.”
“I mighta known,” Santa said angrily. “First that boy wants a king, now he wants peace. I’m telling you, Irene. For your own good. That boy’s gotta be put away.”
“He ain’t wearing no earring. I ask him and he says, ‘I ain’t wearing no earring, momma.’”
“Angelo don’t lie.”
“Maybe he just got him a small one.”
“A earring’s a earring to me. Ain’t that right, Claude?”
“That’s right,” Claude answered Santa.
“Santa, honey, that’s a sweet little Blessed Virgin you got on top that TV,” Mrs. Reilly said to