Passage by Night - Jack Higgins [20]
Manning waited until the Grace Abounding was passing out of the harbour before picking up his canvas grip. The three old men were all sitting up straight eyeing him curiously and the two youths had stopped talking. He went past them, his footsteps booming hollowly on the wooden planking, and turned along the waterfront.
The little town seemed strangely still as if waiting for something to happen and, near at hand, someone started to sing. He followed the sound and came to a bar on the corner of a side street. Just inside the entrance, a youth sprawled in a chair against the wall and sang in a low voice, his fingers gently stroking the strings of a bouzouki.
He made no effort to move. Manning stared down at him, anonymous in his dark glasses, and then stepped carefully over the outstretched legs and moved inside. The place was dark and cool with a marble-topped bar and three men sat at a small table drinking.
The man behind the bar was middle-aged, his wrinkled face the colour of mahogany, but his blue eyes were full of life and the mouth was shrewd and kindly. As Manning moved towards him, all conversation died.
He dropped his canvas grip and placed the cameras on the counter. 'I could do with a drink. Something long and cool.'
The man grinned, put a tall glass on the bar and spooned ice into it. 'Journalist?'
Manning nodded. 'I might be around here for a day or two. I could do with a room. Can you do anything for me?'
'Sure I can. It's nothing fancy, but the food's good.'
The bouzouki player struck a single angry chord and the men at the table laughed. One of them called across to the youth in Greek. 'Heh, Dimitri, don't you like the look of the fancy man? Maybe he'll beat your time with the girls. No more lolling on the beach after dark.'
'Why don't you shut up?' the boy replied angrily.
They were typical rough seaman of a kind to be found the world over. Men who worked hard and didn't accept strangers easily. Manning turned, removed his sunglasses and looked at them calmly. The smiles faded a little and they leaned together, muttering in low voices.
As he turned back to his drink, one of them said loudly in Greek, 'So Dimitri's just a bag of wind after all. A bag of wind dressed up in fancy clothes.'
The youth jumped to his feet. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate and then moved along the bar, deliberately jogging Manning's elbow as he raised his glass to his mouth.
As the rum spilled across the bar, Manning put down the glass and turned to face him. 'Now you can buy me another one.'
'Buy your own,' the boy said.
Manning slapped him backhanded across the face, sending him staggering against the wall. 'I shan't ask you again.'
The boy's hand moved to his hip pocket. As he flung himself forward, a six-inch blade honed like a razor seemed to jump out of his right fist. Manning stepped quickly to one side. He grabbed for the wrist and twisted it round and up into the small of the boy's back so that he screamed and dropped the knife. Almost in the same motion, Manning pushed him across the table, scattering the three occupants and their drinks.
'Never send a boy to do a man's work,' he said in Greek.
There was a moment of stunned silence. As they started to rise, the barman moved round the counter fast, a wooden truncheon in one hand. 'The first one to start, gets his skull cracked. You men tried to have a little fun, but you made a mistake. Let that be the end of it.'
They resumed their seats and the boy turned and ran from the entrance. The barman smiled up at Manning and held out his hand. 'Nikoli Aleko. You speak good Greek for an Englishman.'
'Spent three years in the Aegean during the war, but that was a long time ago. Manning's the name. Harry Manning.'
'Another drink, Mr Manning? On the house.'
'On me,' Manning said. 'For all of us.' He pulled forward a chair and sat down and the three men grinned.
'Anyone who can speak Greek as good as you is okay with