Free Beggarman, Thief by Irwin Shaw

have taken her to cross the room and confront her brother. She was in a terry cloth bathrobe, light blue, the blue almost identical with the blue of the dress Jeanne had been wearing in the café. With her small pale face, dark hair and strong, graceful body, she bore a striking resemblance to Jeanne, he thought. Echoes everywhere. The idea hadn’t occurred to him before.
    “Come in,” she said. “I’ve been so worried. God, where’ve you been?”
    “It’s a long story,” he said. “Can’t it wait till morning?”
    “It can’t wait until morning,” she said, closing the door. She sniffed. “You smell heavenly, Brother,” she said sarcastically. “And you look as though you’ve just been laid.”
    “I’m a gentleman,” Rudolph said, trying to make light of the accusation. “Gentlemen don’t discuss matters like that.”
    “Ladies do,” she said. She had her vulgar side, Gretchen.
    “Let’s drop it, please,” he said. “I need some sleep. What’s so damned urgent?”
    Gretchen fell back into a big armchair, sprawling, as though she were too tired to stand anymore. “Bunny Dwyer called an hour ago,” she said flatly. “Wesley’s in jail.”
    “What?”
    “Wesley’s in jail in Cannes. He got into a fight in a bar and nearly killed a man with a beer bottle. He hit a cop and the police had to subdue him. Is that urgent enough for you, Brother?”

CHAPTER 4

    F ROM B ILLY A BBOTT’S N OTEBOOK—
    THERE’VE BEEN RIOTS IN BRUSSELS TODAY AND BOMBS EXPLODED. IT’S ALL ABOUT WHETHER KIDS FROM FLEMISH-SPEAKING FAMILIES SHOULD BE TAUGHT IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE OR IN FRENCH AND HAVING THE STREET SIGNS IN BOTH LANGUAGES. AND THE BLACKS IN THE UNITS HERE ARE TALKING ABOUT MUTINY IF THEY AREN’T ALLOWED TO HAVE AFROS. PEOPLE ARE READY TO TEAR EACH OTHER APART ABOUT “ANYTHING.” WHICH, SAD TO RELATE, IS WHY I’M IN UNIFORM ALTHOUGH I HAVEN’T THE FAINTEST DESIRE TO DO THE LEAST BIT OF HARM TO ANYBODY AND AS FAR AS I’M CONCERNED ANYBODY WHO WANTS TO CAN SPEAK FLEMISH OR BASQUE OR SERBO-CROAT OR SANSKRIT AND ALL I’D DO WOULD BE TO SAY, IT SOUNDS GREAT TO ME.
    IS THERE SOMETHING LACKING IN MY CHARACTER?
    I SUPPOSE SO. IF YOU’RE STRONG YOU WANT TO DOMINATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY AROUND YOU. IT’S HARD TO DOMINATE PEOPLE IF THEY DON’T SPEAK YOUR LANGUAGE AND BEING STRONG YOU REACT ANGRILY, LIKE AMERICAN TOURISTS IN RESTAURANTS IN EUROPE WHO BEGIN TO SHOUT WHEN A WAITER CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT IT IS THEY’RE ORDERING, IN POLITICAL TERMS THIS IS TRANSLATED INTO RIOT POLICE AND TEAR GAS.
    MONIKA SPEAKS GERMAN, ENGLISH, FRENCH, FLEMISH AND SPANISH AND SHE SAYS SHE CAN READ GAELIC. AS FAR AS I CAN TELL SHE IS AS PACIFIC AS MYSELF BUT BECAUSE OF HER JOB AS TRANSLATOR FOR NATO SHE GETS TO HURL THE MOST AWESOME THREATS, COMPOSED BY BELLIGERENT OLD MEN, AT OTHER BELLIGERENT OLD MEN IN THE OPPOSITE WING OF THE GREAT LUNATIC ASYLUM WE ALL INHABIT.
    I SPENT THE DAY IN BED WITH HER.
    WE DO THAT OCCASIONALLY.
    «  »
    Dwyer was waiting outside the Cannes préfecture when Rudolph’s taxi drove up to it. The taxi, Rudolph had decided, was a wiser choice than his own car. He didn’t want to go charging into a French police station to demand his nephew’s freedom, only to be forced to take a breathalator test. Even in his heavy, dark blue seaman’s sweater, Dwyer was shivering as he leaned against the wall and his face was pale, greenish, in the watery light from the préfecture’s lamps. Rudolph looked at his watch as he got out of the taxi. Past 4:00 A.M. The streets of Cannes were deserted, all errands but his completed for the night or postponed until morning.
    “God,” Dwyer said, “I’m glad to see you. What a night! Shit, what a night.”
    “Where is he?” Rudolph asked, trying to keep his voice calm to take the edge off the hysteria that was showing in Dwyer’s face, in the way he was rubbing the knuckles of one hand against his other palm.
    “Inside somewhere. In a cell, I guess. They