Hemingway's Notebook Read Online Free

voice. “And Ready knows. And the two men who followed you to Zurich.”
    “No. Don’t worry about them. I’ve been to Zurich before. They always follow me. They always send someone. I’m a soldier of fortune. That’s what they think. And I put my fortune in accounts in Zurich, like all good tax evaders.”
    So the secret was contained. Two of them. He would have to get rid of two of them now.
    The ferry churned in the shallow waters as it edged toward the concrete dock of the Compagnie Générale de Navigation. Two dockhands in blue uniforms shoved across a wooden gangplank and tied the lines. The ferry ceased shuddering in the water. The passengers crowded around the plank and started down to the dock. Devereaux and Ready followed them from the deck.
    A long time ago, during World War I, spies had used this familiar crossing from neutral Switzerland to wartime France to pass secrets and create lies. It was very different now. A thin French customs inspector in a blue uniform glanced at Devereaux’s passport and nodded him through. Colonel Ready followed.
    Rita Macklin stood apart from Celezon but Devereaux saw that the black man held her right arm. She looked tired and pale. Her eyes were burning green. Then she saw Devereaux and she tried to shrug herself out of Celezon’s grip but the grinning black man held her tightly with one hand.
    “She is delivered,
mon colonel
,” said Celezon to Ready, who came up from behind Devereaux to stand next to him.
    Ready smiled at her. “You see, Miss Macklin? I always fulfill my promises. He’s safe and sound and you’re safe and sound.” Then he addressed Celezon, “She’s not a package, you black bastard—you can let go of her arm.” Celezon almost frowned but stopped himself. He let go of Rita Macklin’s arm.
    “What was this about?” Rita asked Devereaux.
    “His name is Colonel Ready,” Devereaux said in his flat, distant voice. “He met me at the train station. I was coming to meet you. He said you were going to be here. I had to come.”
    “He told me you were here,” she said.
    “Lies, Miss Macklin, but only little lies,” Ready said.
    Devereaux considered the problem. The black would be armed, Ready would be armed. He would get rid of Rita and he would go with the two of them. They would expect him to be armed as well. Ready knew his tricks but Celezon did not. Celezon was big; it might be a matter of putting him between Ready and Devereaux’s drawn pistol.
    Rita Macklin touched Devereaux’s sleeve. She saw the cold, dead look in his gray eyes, the old look, the look that had gone away.
    “You fucking bastard,” she said to Colonel Ready.
    “She called me a fucking bastard many times,” said Celezon.
    “That’s what we are, Celezon,” Ready said, smiling at Rita. The white scar made the smile seem hideous and macabre, as though a corpse grinned at her.
    “What does he want?”
    “I don’t know,” Devereaux said.
    “I want to talk to both of you, just talk to you,” Ready said. “Celezon, why don’t you go to the shops and buy some souvenirs for your whores in St. Michel?”
    Celezon shivered. It was cold in this climate but they had come here before, and he had dressed warmly in a black coat. He did not understand why people lived in such cold places. Celezon said, “And the whores of Madeleine.”
    “Yes, both cities,” he agreed.
    “And they must be souvenirs of quality,” continued Celezon. “All of my whores are ladies of the highest quality.”
    For a moment, the two men smiled at each other, sharing a secret. Then Celezon made a mocking salute that was part French Army, part wave, and slipped away.
    The three of them sat at a square-top Formica table in a large café across from the lakeshore park. It was nearly empty. Ready ordered an expensive
écossais
—Scotch—and Rita ordered Campari and soda. Devereaux sat between them. He did not drink. He waited and stared at Ready all the time.
    “I need you for a job. It’s a