Chapter 56 chapter eight

Newton Street, between Third and Fourth Streets, is a street of cheap clothing stores, pawn shops, arcades full of slot machines, and sleazy hotels; Smoked a cigarette lightly and talked without moving his lips; in the middle of the street stood a shed that jutted out from which hung a board with the inscription: "Stoll's Billiard Room."The steps descended from the edge of the sidewalk, and Della Gera walked down the steps.It was almost pitch black in front of the billiard room, the tables were covered with cloth, and the clubs were neatly lined up.Under the strong light in the distance, there were people everywhere, and there were noises, arguments, and bets everywhere, and Della Gera walked directly towards the light.Suddenly, as if there was some signal, the noise stopped, and only the clear and crisp sound of hitting the ball was heard in the silence. The white ball hit the edge of the table again and again, making dull sounds, until the last clear sound of hitting the ball. The sound of the bag sounded, and the noise poured out again.

De La Gera stopped in front of a pool table covered with a tablecloth and took out $10 from his wallet and a post-it note from one of the wallet pockets, on which he wrote: " Where's Joey?" Taped it on the bill again, folded the bill in half, and continued walking toward the crowd until he reached the table. A tall, pale, expressionless man with brown hair and a standard score was powdering his club while studying the situation on the table.He bent down, his strong, white fingers arched into a bridge, the noise of betting stopped as abruptly as a stone falling, and the tall man hit a beautiful ball with ease and smoothness.

A round-cheeked man sitting on a high stool called out, "Keele's 40 points, eight in a row." The tall man dusted the cue again and glanced around lazily, his eyes calm as they passed over De La Gera.De La Gera walked up to him and said, "Are you back to normal? Max, five dollars to bet on your next ball." The tall man nodded: "Come on." De La Gera put the folded banknotes on the side of the table, a young man in a striped shirt reached for it, Max Kiel blocked him intentionally or unintentionally, stuffed the money into the pocket of his vest, and said calmly : "Bet five dollars." Then he bent down and continued to hit the ball.

This is a good shot with a cross-line, the line on the table is a clear cross, and this ball has been applauded.The tall man handed the club to his assistant, the young man in the striped shirt, and said, "Take a rest, I have to go somewhere." bathroom" door.De La Gera lit a cigarette, looked around at the Newton Street rabble, and Max Keir's opponent, another tall man with a pale, expressionless face, stood next to the referee without looking up. talking to the referee.Next to them stood a haughty, good-looking Filipino in a stylish tan suit, alone, puffing a brown cigarette from his mouth.

Max Kiel returned to the table, took the club to apply gun powder, stretched out one hand to the vest, and said lazily: "Brother, you still need five dollars." From the vest, he took out a A folded bill was handed to Della Gera. He hit three more balls in one breath, with little pause, and the scorer said, "Keir 44, 12 consecutive hits." Two men emerged from the crowd toward the entrance, and De La Gera followed them, past the cloth-covered pool table, and down the steps of the entrance.He paused, opened the bill in his hand, and read the post-it note with his question and scribbled address underneath.He crumpled up the bill and stuffed it into his pocket.Something hard pressed against his back, and a trembling voice like the sound of a banjo said, "Trying to help someone out, huh?"

Sniffing and alert, De Lajera looked ahead at the steps of the two men, and the street lights reflecting off their legs. "Okay," said the trembling voice grimly. De La Gera jumped sideways, spun in the air, flung back his snakelike arms, then crouched down and grabbed an ankle; a shot missed his head, but A tap on his shoulder sent a stinging pain to his left arm; a heavy, rapid panting sounded in his ear; Cursing; he twisted, turned his ankle, straightened up; he stood there, cat-like, and slammed his ankle out. The Filipino in the brown suit flung himself on his back, knocking out a gun, and De La Gera kicked it away from a small brown hand as it slid under a table.The Filipino lay motionless on the ground with a splitting headache, his short-brimmed hat stuck to his greasy hair.

In the billiard room at the back, the billiard game was still going on quietly. Even if someone heard the sound of fighting, no one would come to see what happened.Della Gera pulled a leather-wrapped stick out of his hip pocket and bent down, a look of awe in the Filipino's taut brown face. "You've got a lot to learn, stand up, boy." De La Gerald's tone sounded ordinary, but extremely cold.The dark-skinned man struggled to get up and raised his arm. His left hand moved secretly to his right shoulder. De La Jela waved his wrist casually. squealed like a hungry kitten.

Dragella shrugged, a sardonic smile curling up his lips. "Robbery? Okay, you monkey, I'm busy now, I'll teach you a lesson next time, get out!" The Filipino slipped back into the middle of the table and crouched down.De La Gera switched the stick to his left hand and grabbed the handle of the gun with his right.He stood like that for a while, looking the Filipino in the eye, then turned and walked quickly up the steps and disappeared into the street. The brown man ran to the wall and crouched under the table for his gun.