The Brave Read Online Free

some luck, I’ll be in a barrackssoon, he thought.
    â€œYou could own the Deuce,” said Stick.
    â€œThat’s Forty-second Street,” said Doll.
    â€œThe Deuce, the Doofer,” said Stick, “crossroads of the world, the street where the elite meet to beat, cheat and greet sweet meat.”
    â€œYou can be free on the street,” said Doll, “do what you want.”
    â€œRight thing,” said Stick. “Nobody on your case 24–7–365.”
    â€œThat’s twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year,” said Doll.
    â€œChief Sonny knew that,” said Stick. “You talk the talk.”
    Sonny nodded and Doll smiled. Her leg brushed against his under the table. He wondered if it was an accident. She ate very carefully, daintily, little nips off the doughnut, small silent sips of coffee. She blotted a crumb from a corner of her full red lips with a dab of her napkin. She leaned forward and her blouse opened. He could see her soft, freckly, milky-white chest. He wondered how much of the throbbing between his legs was from Hoffer and how much for Doll. Better do what I came to do before I forget what it was.
    â€œGot to make a phone call.”
    â€œBe my guest,” said Stick. He reached into his black leather bag and pulled out a cellular phone. “Hope you’re not calling friends in Tokyo.”
    â€œSoHo,” said Sonny. He fished the card with his Mom’s address and phone number out of his wallet.
    Stick flicked a switch and held the phone while Sonny tapped out the number. There was a busy signal. Stick pressed a button. “Memory. It’ll keep dialing till it gets through.”
    Doll said, “SoHo’s hot. Art galleries and great clothes. Stick, I told you he was an artist. Aren’t you?” Something in her voice made him want to say yes.
    â€œWell, sort of, not really…”
    â€œSee!” She turned her back to Sonny, her brown eyes bright. They were small eyes, quick, pecking birds’ eyes. “I spotted you first.”
    â€œTrue story,” said Stick. The phone clicked seven times and growled a busy signal. He set it on the table. “Communications, lifeblood of the modern era.”
    Dope dealer, thought Sonny. Probably try to sell me some.
    â€œLove art,” said Doll. “Believe I used to doclay?” She wiggled her fingers, tipped with black paste-on nails decorated with little stars.
    A scarecrow shambled up, shaking a dirty paper cup. “Change?”
    Doll wrinkled her nose at the smell, and Stick snapped, “Space!”
    The beggar started to speak, took a closer look at the ivory snake head and shuffled off. Sonny was surprised by the hard mask that had slipped over Stick’s face.
    â€œThe Port can get weird,” said Stick. “You need friends, extra eyes. This is a jungle of slimeballs and bonesuckers. Can’t trust anybody in the Port or on The Deuce. Especially the pig posse.”
    â€œThat’s cops,” explained Doll.
    â€œThey think they can do anything ’cause they got the tin.”
    â€œBadge,” said Doll.
    â€œThere is this one pig boss who has dedicated his whole life to busting me,” said Stick. He tapped his forehead. “This is one deranged dude.”
    â€œSergeant Alfred Brooks.” Doll shook her head. “I’ll point him out sometime. Got to watch out for him.”
    â€œMaybe he’s got to watch out for me,” said Stick.
    â€œMaybe later,” said Doll. She blinked hard and made a small gesture with her chin.
    â€œRight thing,” said Stick. “To be continued, Chief Sonny.” He slipped the phone back into the bag. “Bring him by tonight, Doll.”
    Sonny sensed movement around them, big men, black and white, shoving people out of their way.
    Stick scooted into the crowd, hunched over his phone bag, clearing a path with the snake