Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

animal in heat, but it was a deliberate act. Johnny Fontane thought, oh, Christ, one of

them. It was the most popular approach of women who wanted to take him to bed. It

only worked when he was very drunk and he wasn't drunk now. He gave the girl one of

his famous grins and said, "Thank you, honey." The girl looked at him and parted her

lips in a thank-you smile, her eyes went all smoky, her body tensed with the torso

leaning slightly back from the long tapering legs in their mesh stockings. An enormous

tension seemed to be building up in her body, her breasts seemed to grow fuller and

swell burstingly against her thin scantily cut blouse. Then her whole body gave a slight

quiver that almost let off a sexual twang. The whole impression was one of a woman

having an orgasm simply because Johnny Fontane had smiled at her and said, "Thank

you, honey." It was very well done. It was done better than Johnny had ever seen it

done before. But by now he knew it was fake. And the odds were always good that the

broads who did it were a lousy lay.

He watched her go back to her chair and nursed his drink slowly. He didn't want to

see that little trick again. He wasn't in the mood for it tonight.

It was an hour before Nino Valenti began to go. He started leaning first, wavered back,

and then plunged off the chair straight to the floor. But the pit boss and the relief dealer

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had been alerted by the first weave and caught him before he hit the ground. They lifted

him and carried him through the parted drapes that led to the bedroom of the suite.

Johnny kept watching as the cocktail waitress helped the other two men undress Nino

and shove him under the bed covers. The pit boss was counting Nino's chips and

making a note on his pad of chits, then guarding the table with its dealer's chips. Johnny

said to him, "How long has that been going on?"

The pit boss shrugged. "He went early tonight. The first time we got the house doc

and he fixed Mr. Valenti up with something and gave him some sort of lecture. Then

Nino told us that we shouldn't call the doc when that happened, just put him to bed and

he'd be OK in the morning. So that's what we do. He's pretty lucky, he was a winner

again tonight, almost three grand."

Johnny Fontane said, "Well, let's get the house doc up here tonight. OK? Page the

casino floor if you have to."

It was almost fifteen minutes before Jules Segal came into the suite. Johnny noted

with irritation that this guy never looked like a doctor. Tonight he was wearing a blue

loose-knit polo shirt with white trim, some sort of white suede shoes and no socks. He

looked funny as hell carrying the traditional black doctor's bag.

Johnny said, "You oughta figure out a way to carry your stuff in a cut-down golf bag."

Jules grinned understandingly, "Yeah, this medical school carryall is a real drag.

Scares the hell out of people. They should change the color anyway."

He went over to where Nino was lying in bed. As he opened his bag he said to Johnny.

"Thanks for that check you sent me as a consultant. It was excessive. I didn't do that

much."

"Like hell you didn't," Johnny said. "Anyway, forget that, that was a long time ago.

What's with Nino?"

Jules was making a quick examination of heartbeat, pulse and blood pressure. He

took a needle out of his bag and shoved it casually into Nino's arm and pressed the

plunger. Nino's sleeping face lost its waxy paleness, color came into the cheeks, as if

the blood had started pumping faster.

"Very simple diagnosis," Jules said briskly. "I had a chance to examine him and run

some tests when he first came here and fainted. I had him moved to the hospital before

he regained consciousness. He's got diabetes, mild adult stabile, which is no problem if

you take care of it with medication and diet and so forth. He insists on ignoring it. Also

he is firmly determined to drink himself to death. His liver is going and his brain will go.

Right now he's in a mild diabetic coma. My advice is to have him put away."

Johnny felt a sense of relief. It couldn't be too serious, all Nino had to do was take

care of himself. "You mean in one of those joints where they dry you out?" Johnny

asked.

Jules went over to the bar in the far corner of the room and made himself a drink.

"No," he said. "I mean committed. You know, the crazy house."

"Don't be funny," Johnny said.

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"I'm not joking," Jules said. "I'm not up on all the psychiatric jazz but I know something

about it, part of my trade. Your friend Nino can be put back into fairly good shape unless

the liver damage has gone too far, which we can't know until an autopsy really. But the

real disease is in his head. In essence he doesn't care if he dies, maybe he even wants

to kill himself. Until that is cured there's no hope for him. That's why I say, have him

committed and then he can undergo the necessary psychiatric treatment."

There was a knock on the door and Johnny went to answer it. It was Lucy Mancini.

She came into Johnny's arms and kissed him. "Oh, Johnny, it's so good to see you,"

she said.