nothing of what the quarrel was about, offered him a handkerchief in silence.
‘Thanks. I’ve a right to earn a living same as them, haven’t I? Well, haven’t I?’
‘Do you?’
‘Eh?’
‘Do you make a living?’
‘Enough to manage. I can pay my rent and eat. Nothing to compare with them. ’
‘Hmph.’ He didn’t understand what the difference was. He stared at the boy. As far as it was possible to tell, he did have breasts under his cheap short frock but the only difference that was clear to him was that those large doll-like perfumed creatures next door had something theatrically grotesque about them which terrified him, while this kid was only pathetic.
‘Couldn’t you get some sort of job, an ordinary job?’ he asked.
‘I did have one but it wasn’t enough to live on so I got fed up. What’s the difference, as long as I can manage?’
The Marshal gave it up.
‘Documents.’
‘They’re next door on the other chap’s desk—you won’t make me go back in there?’
‘No.’ The Marshal had no wish to go back in there himself so there was no danger of that.
‘They can get really vicious, some of them.’ He had stopped crying and was now rubbing away the mess of lipstick, mascara and tears with the Marshal’s handkerchief. When he finished he offered it back.
‘No,’ the Marshal said hastily, ‘keep it.’
‘You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘I never carry anything with me except my documents and I keep them inside my clothes. Once I was robbed by a client, do you know that? People say that we’re the ones who do that sort of thing and it’s true that it happens sometimes, but I’ve never stolen a penny from anybody. People have no idea what somebody like me has to put up with—once a man tried to strangle me. I got away because we were out in the open, in the park. If we’d been in his car he’d have killed me. I don’t like getting in their cars if I can help it, it’s dangerous.’
‘It’s also against the law.’
‘Eh?’
‘Obscene act in a public place. You should know that.’
The boy shrugged. ‘In the park at that time of night? Who’s to see? Anyway, it’s still a public place whether we’re in the car or out of it.’
‘You never take them home?’
He shook his head. ‘My landlord lives above me. I don’t want to lose my flat, and anyway, I share it with two others, so . . .’
‘This man who tried to strangle you—when was this?’
‘Last summer.’
‘You know that somebody’s been murdered?’
‘No.’
‘Why do you think you were brought here?’
He shrugged again. ‘How should I know? Listen . . . I don’t feel so good . . .’
It was true that his limbs were shaking and he was looking pale and sickly now that his face was cleaner. The Marshal stood up and went round to him, taking a grip on his wrist and looking hard into his eyes. Then his huge hand turned the puny arm gently to expose the needle scars on the inside.
‘Let me go.’
The Marshal let him go and sat himself on the corner of the desk. ‘Not just rent and food, then. This as well.’
But the boy’s attention was drifting as his need increased.
‘Will they give it me back? It was only enough for me and I need it . . . You could get me some anyway. There’s plenty here, I know that.’
‘You do?’
‘I know they keep plenty here, to give to informers. I’ve heard. For God’s sake . . . I feel sick!’
To the Marshal’s relief Ferrini knocked and came in.
‘I’m about finished. Here.’ He gave the boy his identity card. ‘Hop it.’
The boy stood up but didn’t leave. His eyes were fixed on Ferrini, pleading.
‘Hop it,’ repeated Ferrini, ‘before I change my mind and charge you.’
The boy emitted a faintly audible groan and slunk out.
‘He’ll likely find what he needs before dawn,’ observed Ferrini. ‘Shall we go back next door?’
‘How much stuff did he have on him?’ the Marshal asked as
‘Thanks. I’ve a right to earn a living same as them, haven’t I? Well, haven’t I?’
‘Do you?’
‘Eh?’
‘Do you make a living?’
‘Enough to manage. I can pay my rent and eat. Nothing to compare with them. ’
‘Hmph.’ He didn’t understand what the difference was. He stared at the boy. As far as it was possible to tell, he did have breasts under his cheap short frock but the only difference that was clear to him was that those large doll-like perfumed creatures next door had something theatrically grotesque about them which terrified him, while this kid was only pathetic.
‘Couldn’t you get some sort of job, an ordinary job?’ he asked.
‘I did have one but it wasn’t enough to live on so I got fed up. What’s the difference, as long as I can manage?’
The Marshal gave it up.
‘Documents.’
‘They’re next door on the other chap’s desk—you won’t make me go back in there?’
‘No.’ The Marshal had no wish to go back in there himself so there was no danger of that.
‘They can get really vicious, some of them.’ He had stopped crying and was now rubbing away the mess of lipstick, mascara and tears with the Marshal’s handkerchief. When he finished he offered it back.
‘No,’ the Marshal said hastily, ‘keep it.’
‘You haven’t got a cigarette, have you?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘I never carry anything with me except my documents and I keep them inside my clothes. Once I was robbed by a client, do you know that? People say that we’re the ones who do that sort of thing and it’s true that it happens sometimes, but I’ve never stolen a penny from anybody. People have no idea what somebody like me has to put up with—once a man tried to strangle me. I got away because we were out in the open, in the park. If we’d been in his car he’d have killed me. I don’t like getting in their cars if I can help it, it’s dangerous.’
‘It’s also against the law.’
‘Eh?’
‘Obscene act in a public place. You should know that.’
The boy shrugged. ‘In the park at that time of night? Who’s to see? Anyway, it’s still a public place whether we’re in the car or out of it.’
‘You never take them home?’
He shook his head. ‘My landlord lives above me. I don’t want to lose my flat, and anyway, I share it with two others, so . . .’
‘This man who tried to strangle you—when was this?’
‘Last summer.’
‘You know that somebody’s been murdered?’
‘No.’
‘Why do you think you were brought here?’
He shrugged again. ‘How should I know? Listen . . . I don’t feel so good . . .’
It was true that his limbs were shaking and he was looking pale and sickly now that his face was cleaner. The Marshal stood up and went round to him, taking a grip on his wrist and looking hard into his eyes. Then his huge hand turned the puny arm gently to expose the needle scars on the inside.
‘Let me go.’
The Marshal let him go and sat himself on the corner of the desk. ‘Not just rent and food, then. This as well.’
But the boy’s attention was drifting as his need increased.
‘Will they give it me back? It was only enough for me and I need it . . . You could get me some anyway. There’s plenty here, I know that.’
‘You do?’
‘I know they keep plenty here, to give to informers. I’ve heard. For God’s sake . . . I feel sick!’
To the Marshal’s relief Ferrini knocked and came in.
‘I’m about finished. Here.’ He gave the boy his identity card. ‘Hop it.’
The boy stood up but didn’t leave. His eyes were fixed on Ferrini, pleading.
‘Hop it,’ repeated Ferrini, ‘before I change my mind and charge you.’
The boy emitted a faintly audible groan and slunk out.
‘He’ll likely find what he needs before dawn,’ observed Ferrini. ‘Shall we go back next door?’
‘How much stuff did he have on him?’ the Marshal asked as
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