Ransom Read Online Free

for your quest.” She leaned close and whispered, “How about girls? Have you given up girls, too?”
    â€œSome girls I have given up in advance,” Ransom said.
    Marilyn finally produced a lighter and lit her cigarette.
    â€œYou know, I asked Miles if you were running from some terrible secret. He says there is no warrant for your arrest he knows about, no pregnant girlfriend. What is this mysterious problem? You can tell Marilyn.” She smiled coquettishly.
    â€œOriginal sin. I’m Catholic—born and raised guilty.”
    â€œI was raised Catholic, too.”
    â€œIn Vietnam?”
    â€œYes. Where else?”
    â€œThat would make you French Catholic, basically. French Catholicism is different. The French are only in it for the art. Cathedrals, paintings, gold chalices. Pomp plus bread and wine. It’s a wonder they haven’t added cheese to the service. Nothing like the Irish or the Spaniards, who are in it strictly for the self-abuse.”
    â€œWhich are you?”
    â€œMy mother was Irish Catholic.”
    â€œIs she religious?”
    â€œShe’s dead.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œHappened quite a while ago,” Ransom said.
    â€œAnd you? Still a Catholic?”
    â€œNot practicing. But it’s not necessarily something you can shake.”
    Miles reappeared. “What can’t you shake?”
    â€œThose old lonesome blues,” Ransom said. “Who was on the phone—your wife?”
    â€œWhat are you, my mother?”
    â€œThat’s what you have against me, isn’t it?” Marilyn said.
    Frank DeVito strutted up to the bar, pointedly leering at Marilyn, bringing eyebrows and tongue into play. She stared back belligerently and Miles glowered. Something ugly verged on happening until DeVito turned slowly away and moved to an opening several stools down.
    Frank DeVito, ex-Marine and current Bruce Lee clone. Enlisting with the fervent desire to see combat, he got out of basic after they stopped sending Marines to Vietnam.Posted to Okinawa, he acquired a taste for the martial arts and, eventually, a dishonorable discharge, the cause of which was variously attributed to drug trafficking, assault on an officer, assault on an Okinawan schoolgirl. From what he knew of DeVito, Ransom thought assault more likely than drugs, and the schoolgirl more likely than the officer. The rumor was that, despite the discharge, DeVito had wangled a disability pension for an alleged back injury and was thus able to devote his time solely to training. Shortly before Ransom landed, DeVito had come to Kyoto to study at the dojo of a maverick sensei of dubious standing in the karate world who made movies starring himself and who demonstrated his skills by killing oxen barehanded. His disciples, among whom DeVito was prominent, were required to take a blood oath of allegiance and secrecy. DeVito, who modelled his appearance on the old samurai, was embarrassingly eager to please Ransom whenever he didn’t choose instead to insult him, his dojo, his sensei and his mother. Ransom was consistent in his dislike of DeVito, who reminded him of grade school misfits who gave you all their toys one day and beat you up the next. His only achievement, in Ransom’s view, was his exceptionally fluent Japanese.
    â€œI’m going to boot him out of here,” Ryder said, after he had walked away.
    â€œDon’t,” Ransom said. “It will be a mess if you do. He just wants the attention.”
    â€œI hate that fucking Okie.”
    â€œHe’s not worth getting upset about,” Marilyn said.
    Ransom turned toward the stage. Kano was still tuning his guitar with the intense concentration of a man wiring abomb. Sato, on rhythm, watched and tuned with him. Bubba, the bass man, née Satoichi Yasuhiro, was rocking back and forth on his heels, ready and waiting. Finally Kano stepped up to the mike and said, “Let’s get down and