 |
RosettaBooks are available in a number of eBook Formats |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
Odds Against Tomorrow
 About the Book
About The Movie
|
|
|
|
Preview
Chapter 1
For what seemed a long time he couldn´t make himself cross the street and enter the hotel. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and frowned at the revolving doors and canopied entrance, indifferent to the nighttime crowd drifting past him, his tall body as immobile as a rock in a stream. People edged around him carefully, for there was a look of tension in the set of his shoulders, and in the appraising frown that shadowed his hard even features.
It was the finality of the thing that worried him, he realized, not the consequences. . . .
He knew the hotel, a middle-class commercial establishment close to the heart of the city, an old stone building that had been brightened up with a neon sign and shiny aluminum facings around a black and silver canopy. Lorraine had met him in the lobby once, he remembered; it wasn´t far from her job. They´d had some beers before going home.
Finally he lighted a cigarette and flipped the match toward the sidewalk, hardly noticing the people strolling in front of him. In the end he didn´t make up his mind at all; he simply started toward the hotel, urged forward by a pressure that seemed as inevitable as it was pointless. He sighed and thought: Why not? Why the hell not?
He stopped just inside the revolving doors and glanced alertly and cautiously around the lobby. Several groups of people stood talking near the newsstand, and a number of middle-aged businessmen sat about on hard, functional couches leafing through the evening papers. From a lounge off to his right, he heard the sound of loud juke-box music and the noisy laughter of men at the bar.
He skirted the groups of people and moved tentatively toward the reception desk at the end of the lobby, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his old overcoat, the faintly worried frown still darkening his face. At the desk he waited behind a woman with two children tugging at her skirt, controlling his exasperation as the room clerk told her how to reach a suburb of the city by streetcar.
"My brother would have met us, but he had to work," the woman said apologetically. "He´s with the gas company, and they can call him out any time."
"You won´t have any trouble, I´m sure."
"Yes-thanks a lot. Come on, children."
The clerk, a young man with thin blond hair, smiled up at him. "Yes?"
"I want to see Mr. Novak. Frank Novak. What room is he in?"
"Is Mr. Novak expecting you?"
The question irritated him, and he took his hands from his pockets and drummed his fingers on the counter. "Sure, he´s expecting me. I wouldn´t be here if he wasn´t. What room´s he in?"
"I´ll ring him." The clerk smiled impersonally. "It´s a house regulation. Whom shall I say is calling?"
His anger died quickly; he felt empty and foolish. "Sure, I see," he said, shrugging as if the matter meant nothing to him. "But he knows me. My name is Slater. Earl Slater-he might know me as Tex Slater. That´s just a nickname. It stuck to me from the Army."
"I´ll call Mr. Novak."
Earl Slater put his big bony hands back into his pockets. Running on like a fool, he thought: Stuck to me from the Army. So what? What difference did that make? His irritability twisted around inside him, sharpening as it searched for some release or outlet.
"Room Ten-six," the clerk said. "Mr. Novak would like you to come up."
"Well, thanks," Earl Slater said with a stiff little smile. He wanted to say something more, something that would readjust the exchange in his favor, but he couldn´t think of anything that might help; words were like crutches to him, difficult, makeshift means to a limited end. The clerk was already talking to someone else in any case, so Earl turned from the counter and walked slowly toward the elevators. What was the room number? Ten-six. . . .
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Kindle
Sony Reader
Palm Digital
MS Reader
Adobe Reader
Mobipocket