The Ghost in the Electric Blue Suit Read Online Free Page B

wedged between his fingers, but he was too professional ever to light up in the theater. When I enthused about what I’d just heard, he waved his cigar at the stage. “I offered to put her on there. But it wasn’t allowed.”
    “Who stopped it?” I knew the answer before I asked the question.
    “Who? Vlad the Impaler.”
    IN THE GAPS between events that evening I took to drinking the odd pint of Federation ale, frothy amber stuff, mainly just to try to fit in with all the other male staff who quite casually drank copious quantities. I watched them downing seven or eight pints of the stuff without it seeming to touch the sides or affect their performance. So much of it was consumed by the staff and the holidaymakers alike that the slightly vinegary tang permeated the entire site. The odor of barley and hops was in the weft and warp of the carpets; it was in the plaster and lath; it was like a resin in the timber joints.
    As a college boy I was fair game for teasing. Luckily the Federation ale loosened my tongue a little and I was able to match the raucous banter of the girls who worked the kitchens. They weren’t bad girls, but they could scare the juice out of a man. Strapping figures, most of them, with self-administered bent-nail tattoos, they would grab your bottom as you walked by. It was popular among the girls to have LOVE written on one bicep and LUST on the other. I seemed to spend a lot of time dodging the goose.
    After that, when feeding times came around I could identify faces I knew well enough to squeeze next to at the table. At every meal I saw scary Colin and his pretty wife installed at the same table at the distant end of the canteen, eating in complete silence. They cut a lonely sight.
    One lunch, after clearing my plate into the slops I passed their spot and saw him flicker a glance at me. It wasn’t an acknowledgment exactly, just a darted look from the corner of his eye. I thought I should speak.
    “Thanks for your advice on my first day,” I said.
    Terri looked up at me and again the palm of her hand fluttered to her cheek. Colin, though, kept his head down.
    He wasn’t going to answer me. I felt embarrassed and stupid for having opened my mouth. My cheeks flamed. He lifted his head, but instead of making eye contact with me, he looked at his wife. At last he said, “Nuffing.”
    Wanting to get out of the situation with at least a shred of dignity, I said, “Well, I appreciate it.”
    At last he turned his gaze on me. There was contempt scribbled in the lines of his face, and I knew I’d made a mistake in trying to engage with the man. His features twisted into a bit of a sneer. But there was something else written into his expression. I knew what it was. It was puzzlement. What I’d just said had somehow perplexed him.
    I clattered my empty tray in the clearing area, trying not to look back. But I couldn’t help stealing a glance. Colin had his head down and was digging into his food again from the far side of his plate. But his wife, Terri, was looking at me. She wound a single finger corkscrew fashion into her auburn hair.
    AFTER LUNCH WE had to organize something called the Donkey Derby. This was a major item in the program, so the full regiment of Greencoats—five out of the six, anyway—plusTony (alias Abdul-Shazam) were gathered on the sweltering, bone-dry football field for the event. Tony had two modes of operation. Abdul-Shazam, complete with red fez and tassel, was the resident stage entertainer, mostly for the children’s program but also for a theater magic act supposedly aimed at adults, using some of the same tricks with a different patter. When he wasn’t Abdul-Shazam, he was just Tony, sans fez, the punter’s friend, the noisy, funny, friendly exhibitionist with a stage tan and an all-weather smile.
    Tony took over the PA system for the Donkey Derby, only occasionally surrendering it to the nominal head Greencoat with the wig, Sammy from Stockport. Sammy had