The Lost Sailors by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis Page A

life.”
    â€œYou pay only if you want to, Abdul. That’s what I think. The world is full of corrupt people. That’s all you read about in the papers. The higher up you are, the more corrupt you’re likely to be. Look at the owner of this ship, the bastard. And what do you think? That all these people are lining up at the cash desk to pay their debts? Bullshit, Abdul! Bullshit!”
    â€œYou don’t understand, Diamantis,” Abdul said, getting to his feet. “You don’t understand a thing!” He was on the verge of tears. “Cephea is leaving me. My life’s collapsing around my ears. Everything’s collapsing, fuck it! That’s how I’m paying! Stuck here on this fucking heap of old metal!”
    He left without finishing his beer. Shoulders drooping, as if crushed by a heavy burden. He was no longer the same man who had addressed the crew. By arranging for his men to leave, he had limited the damage for each of them. He had gone as far as he could in what he considered his duty as a captain. Now the
Aldebaran
could sink. And himself with her. But Diamantis had stayed. And neither of them knew yet if that was a good thing. For either of them.
    The rain had stopped. It was five-ten. On Place de l’Opéra, the door of the Habana opened and Nedim was thrown out onto the sidewalk by a huge, muscular black guy. The door closed again. Nedim didn’t have the strength—or the guts—to go back in and ask for his bag.

6.
LIKE A GLASS OF RUM, DOWNED IN ONE GO
    N edim had known as soon as he set foot in the Habana that he’d been screwed. The place was cramped. A bar counter to the left. Two girls were sitting on high stools, chatting with the barman, a big bald-headed guy with a moustache. In front of them, a small dance floor, where three couples were wriggling their hips. A dozen booths around the walls. He noticed a couple embracing. Lalla had said it was intimate, and you certainly couldn’t get more intimate than this. But he had to admit that the music wasn’t bad at all. He thought he recognized the warm voice of Ruben Blades. When it came to rhythm, Marseilles had a good ear.
    Nedim let himself be led to one of the booths by Lalla and Gaby. He wondered how he was going to get out of this. Or rather, he did know. He was expected to buy drinks. He’d been in a few bars like this, cocktail bars, in his time. Never alone. Always with two or three other sailors. At the end of a night in a port, after a good fuck. The last drink before going to sea again. The girls never bothered them.
    â€œWill you buy us a drink?” Lalla asked.
    â€œA gin and tonic for me.”
    He needed it. To come back to his senses. “Have a drink and then get out of here,” he said to himself. Lalla went off to the bar. He couldn’t help watching her as she walked. He loved the way she swung her hips. He remembered how they’d embraced at the Perroquet Bleu. His body longed for more.
    â€œPretty, isn’t she?”
    Gaby was sitting opposite him, smiling.
    â€œYou’re hookers, right?”
    â€œHookers?” Gaby said. “Have you looked at us, Nedim? Huh? Is that what you thought, that you could just flash your money and we’d open our legs for you. Huh, Nedim?”
    She had leaned toward him. She had a strong, musky smell. A smell that seeped into him. Into his blood. Like a glass of rum, downed in one go. It made him feel hot under the skin. She must be good in bed, he told himself. But without looking at her, for fear she’d see what he was thinking in his eyes. He imagined her offering herself to him.
    â€œWhat are you, then?”
    He’d lit a cigarette, and as he breathed out the smoke he looked up at her. Again, he noticed her scar. A star-shaped scar, near her eye. He’d have liked to know how she’d got it. And why. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Her scar, far from making her ugly, made her