O'Gatty salutes and files the log
in a folder maintained for Security's sake. Also for Security's sake,
O'Gatty tells me that without Security we would all be less safe. Security
straightens his back as much as the drugs allow and returns the salute,
thrusting considerable underbite for a determined chin. His knuckles
sting when he slaps his face guard, but he shows no pain. He eyeballs
corners and walls as we walk out of the office. Security's gait is
measured. On the akimbo patio he leans over the picnic bench, palming his
weight, inspecting its strength. He glances suspiciously through the
fence. Several rubber balls are rotting in dead water. We've got the
know-how and we've got the initiative. There's nothing we can't do. I
follow Security's gaze up to the second floor, I see Dudley squatting on
the balcony with his arms locked around his knees. His pallid face meets
the sun, eyes closed. He is thinner and less self-assured than before, but
if he let his hair grow, he could pass for himself.What's your
name, he asks when I introduce myself again and tell him to knock it off.
He doesn't remember me, which is just as well. Our new man, Security says
proudly. He paints our girls for us. Yeah, well don't ever let him do the
talking. Up from the volcanic courtyard on the crippled stairs the twins
are hedging toward us, hands pocketed in coveralls. May and June are
twisted knickers over Dudley, but during their brief introduction Dudley
manages to vanish. An Arctic chill sweeps over him at the mention of his
name. Now a pair of eyes stare up from the gutter through a rainbow
Chevron leaked: tire treads stain the beatnik hair, dyed black, ironed
flat, and battered. Her name is Shirley--phone number on the back, now in
Dudley's pocket . He wears Socco's tuxedo tails, won pitching pennies in
the hallway between their rooms. Passing Nick's, Dudley waves at the dark
inside the purple windows, in case Nick is on the other side. In Greece
you drink looking out; in America you drink looking in.