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The Doomsday Conspiracy :: Sheldon Sidney
Страница: 180 из 213He made his way to the small bar where they served drinks. He said to the bartender, “Give me a vodka and tonic.”
“Yes, sir.”
He watched the bartender mix the drink. “There you are, signore.”
Robert picked up the glass and took a swallow. He slammed the glass back down on the bar. “You call this a drink for Christ’s sakes?” he said. “It tastes like horse piss. What’s the matter with you goddamn Italians?”
People around him were turning to stare.
The bartender said, stiffly, “I’m sorry, signore, we use the best …”
“Don’t give me that shit!”
An Englishman nearby said stiffly, “There are ladies present. Why don’t you watch your language?”
“I don’t have to watch my language,” Robert yelled. “Do you know who I am? I’m Commander Robert Bellamy. And they call this a boat? It’s a piece of junk!”
He made his way to the bow and sat down. He could feel the eyes of the other passengers on him. His heart was hammering, but the charade was not over yet.
When the hydrofoil docked at Capri, Robert walked over to the ticket booth at the entrance to the funicular. An elderly man was in the booth selling tickets.
“One ticket,” Robert yelled. “And hurry up! I don’t have all day. You’re too old to be selling tickets, anyway. You should stay home. Your wife is probably screwing all your neighbours.”
The old man started to rise in anger. Passers-by were giving Robert furious glances. Robert grabbed the ticket and stepped into the crowded funicular. They’ll remember me, he thought grimly. He was leaving a trail that no one could miss.
When the funicular came to a stop, Robert shoved his way through the crowd. He walked up the winding Via Vittorio Emanuele, to the Quisisana Hotel.
“I need a room,” Robert told the clerk behind the desk.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk apologized, “but we are fully booked. There is …”
Robert handed him sixty thousand lire. “Any room will do.”
“Well, in that case, I think we can accommodate you, signore. Would you register, please?”
Robert signed his name. Commander Robert Bellamy.
“How long will you be staying with us, Commander?”
“One week.”
“That will be fine. May I have your passport?”
“It’s in my luggage. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“I will have a bellboy show you to your room.”
“Not now. I have to go out for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
Robert stepped out of the lobby, into the street.
“Yes, sir.”
He watched the bartender mix the drink. “There you are, signore.”
Robert picked up the glass and took a swallow. He slammed the glass back down on the bar. “You call this a drink for Christ’s sakes?” he said. “It tastes like horse piss. What’s the matter with you goddamn Italians?”
People around him were turning to stare.
The bartender said, stiffly, “I’m sorry, signore, we use the best …”
“Don’t give me that shit!”
An Englishman nearby said stiffly, “There are ladies present. Why don’t you watch your language?”
“I don’t have to watch my language,” Robert yelled. “Do you know who I am? I’m Commander Robert Bellamy. And they call this a boat? It’s a piece of junk!”
He made his way to the bow and sat down. He could feel the eyes of the other passengers on him. His heart was hammering, but the charade was not over yet.
When the hydrofoil docked at Capri, Robert walked over to the ticket booth at the entrance to the funicular. An elderly man was in the booth selling tickets.
“One ticket,” Robert yelled. “And hurry up! I don’t have all day. You’re too old to be selling tickets, anyway. You should stay home. Your wife is probably screwing all your neighbours.”
The old man started to rise in anger. Passers-by were giving Robert furious glances. Robert grabbed the ticket and stepped into the crowded funicular. They’ll remember me, he thought grimly. He was leaving a trail that no one could miss.
When the funicular came to a stop, Robert shoved his way through the crowd. He walked up the winding Via Vittorio Emanuele, to the Quisisana Hotel.
“I need a room,” Robert told the clerk behind the desk.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk apologized, “but we are fully booked. There is …”
Robert handed him sixty thousand lire. “Any room will do.”
“Well, in that case, I think we can accommodate you, signore. Would you register, please?”
Robert signed his name. Commander Robert Bellamy.
“How long will you be staying with us, Commander?”
“One week.”
“That will be fine. May I have your passport?”
“It’s in my luggage. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“I will have a bellboy show you to your room.”
“Not now. I have to go out for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
Robert stepped out of the lobby, into the street.