Free Bugsy Malone by Alan Parker Page B

Louis. Fat Sam slowly pulled himself out of his chair.
    â€œRitzy, hand me a pie.”
    A pie? thought Louis. Snake-Eyes threw a glance to Angelo, who tugged at his starched collar and gulped awkwardly. A pie? Ritzy got up from his chair and went across to the veneered drinks cupboard. He snapped up the top and took out a silver tray. Six very healthy cream pies sat in two neat rows across it. Sam scooped his podgy hand under one of them and made towards Louis, who sweated at the thought of what might happen.
    â€œWhat did I do, Boss? Boss? Talk to me, Boss. Tell me what did I do wrong?”
    â€œYou didn’t do nothing, Louis. Nothing.”
    Before Sam had finished his words he had let the pie go. It curved through the air in an expert arc, but Louis was thinking quicker than he’d thought for a long time. His brain told him to duck and he willed his legs to bend at the knees. He ducked just in time. The pie splurged against the wall with a wet ‘schplattt’, covering the boxing pictures like a sudden fall of snow. Sam strutted back to his desk.
    â€œSee what I mean? Missed. OK, Louis, you can sit down now.”
    Louis stood up and, more than a little relieved, eased his bottom once more into the dip in the basket chair.
    â€œEven a dumb mug like Louis is too quick for us. That’s the root of our trouble. We’re behind the times.”
    Knuckles wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t really following Sam’s line of thought.
    â€œI don’t get it, Boss.”
    â€œKnuckles, we’re never gonna get on top with this kind of hardware.” He prodded the fluffy cream pies with a stubby forefinger. “It’s old fashioned. In short...” Sam paused and looked at his gang, who sat up, waiting for the next piece of wisdom to drop from his lips. “...In short, we gotta get ourselves that gun.”
    There was silence in Fat Sam’s office. If the gang had had any brains, and if brains could clank and whirr like pieces of machinery, the noise would have been deafening. However, the only muffled sound came from Snake-Eyes, as he clicked his dice together in the secrecy of his side pocket.
    Suddenly a telephone bell cut through the emptiness left by Sam’s remarks. It, too, was muffled, and it was difficult to ascertain where the sound came from. Sure, there was a stick phone on Sam’s desk, but that stood silent. Sam bent down and tugged at the handle of the bottom drawer on the far side. As he opened the drawer, the bell sounded clearer as he revealed his secret phone. He snatched at the receiver and stuffed it into the gap between his shoulder and ear.
    â€œOK. Yeah. Start gabbin’. Yeah, yeah, OK. Right. You sure now? Right. Thanks. ’Bye.”
    The gang strained their ears to hear what was being said. The muffled voice at the other end of the line sounded rather frightened and talked very quickly, making it impossible to follow the conversation. Sam put the receiver back into the cradle and swung his chair round on its squeaky swivel. He tapped the end of his fingers together and smiled. The gang were very relieved. He didn’t smile often, and they were grateful if a little sunshine ever drifted their way past his yellow teeth. He leaned back on his chair.
    â€œOK, you guys. We’ve had ourselves a little break. Who knows the Hung Fu Shin Laundry Company?”
    Ritzy raised a finger. “Me, Boss.”
    â€œRight. ’Cause my friend on the telephone tells me that’s where they stash the guns. Get movin’.”
    The gang jumped out of their chairs and made for the door. They didn’t need telling twice.
    â€œNot you, Knuckles. I need you here with me.”
    Knuckles stopped in his tracks and closed the door after the hoods, who were already on their way to the Chinese laundry. He automatically cracked the bones in his fingers and his boss ignored it for once. Sam was already sensing victory. He