D J Manly Arsenic And Rio (pdf)

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him.
Marshall waited. Damn. He needed to think. He had to have a
reason to see the boss. He could say the wages were too low. That s it.
He could suggest he would lead a strike on the part of the workers.
They needed better living conditions as well. It didn t really matter
what nonsense he made up. He wasn t counting on words to capture
the guy s attention anyway.
Standing up and brushing himself off, he walked toward the house.
Just as he approached, the man with the saddles emerged from the
barn.
Marshall froze, trying to smile.
He gave him a curious look, nodded uncertainly, then said, Bom
dia.
Bom Dia, he repeated nervously.
The man went back into the barn.
Marshall breathed a sigh of relief, continuing to make his way to
the door of the house. He hesitated a second before he knocked.
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Arsenic and Rio
Almost immediately, his worst fears materialized in front of him&
Ricardo Hernandez stood there, peering at him through the screen.
What you doing here? You are no allowed here!
Marshall swallowed, mustering all his courage. Por favor, Eu
gostaria de falar come Senior Farelli.
He knew the pronunciation was poor and Ricardo Hernandez
looked at him as if he were speaking Greek. I have no idea what you
said. Say it in Americano!
I need to speak with Senior Farelli.
He shook his head. Noa. He not here. Now go!
Without really thinking about it, Marshall suddenly clutched his
head& He let his eyes loll up in his head. I feel sick, he muttered.
It s the sun. Must sit& he trailed off, going to his knees and falling
on his side.
He heard someone swear. Marshall kept his eyes closed as Ricardo
Hernandez came out onto the porch and called out to the man in the
barn. A few minutes later, he felt himself being lifted and brought
inside.
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DJ Manly
Chapter 21
hey put him down on a sofa and drifted away. He could hear them
T
talking outside. He was completely alone. The only sound he
could hear was the consistent hum of the air conditioning. It felt good.
Well, at least he was inside the house. Now where was this Farrelli
guy? He opened his eyes and cautiously sat up. He looked around him,
his eyes settling on a painting hanging on the wall directly in front of
him. He couldn t look away. The man in the painting was so beautiful,
it made his heart pound.
Marshall stood, moving closer to it. He had always loved art, had
even drawn a little when he was a boy. This was definitely a real
painting, done in oil. He squinted, trying to read the signature on the
bottom.
The man in the painting was standing beside a beautiful black
horse. In the background were blue skies and mountains. He was
dressed in a white shirt with billowing sleeves. The neck was loosely
laced and slightly open. The shirt was tucked into tight black pants and
riding boots.
The first thing that stuck him about the painting was the man s
eyes. He had these huge black eyes, the colour of coal and jet-black
hair, so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight. And his face, the plains
of his face were remarkable, the square jaw, high cheekbones and
generous mouth were compelling. Obviously someone had painted
their fantasy. Surely this wasn t a portrait of a real man. He looked
Portuguese in some ways but not entirely. It was hard to tell what his
heritage was. His skin was painted a bronze gold. He wasn t quite as
dark as the Portuguese natives who were descended from black slaves.
He did have the mouth however, with the bottom lip being slightly
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Arsenic and Rio
fuller than the top. Otherwise, he looked Italian.
He had a magnificent torso, so toned and muscular. He looked
quite athletic. Tall, broad shouldered, slim hipped.
So, you appreciate art? A voice said suddenly in English from
behind him, causing him to jump. It was a deep, smooth masculine
voice with just a hint of an accent.
Marshall turned around to see the man in the portrait standing in
front of him. He looked at him, then back at the portrait on the wall.
I assure you, it s me, he laughed slightly. You are not seeing
double. It was painted here actually, just outside the house. A gift from
a local artist. You like it?
It s& ah beautiful& you re beautiful& the& well the picture
is& Marshall faltered. He felt himself blush.
He waved that away and walked across the room. For a man well
over six feet, he had a very graceful walk, seeming to glide rather than
to actually move his feet. He went to the side bar to pour a glass of
water. He took a step toward him and handed him the glass.
Marshall thanked him and took time to actually look around him.
They stood in a simple room with a Navaho carpet, two red velvet sofas
and a bar. The walls were painted in a pale pastel peach colour, with
light mauve trim around the windows.
I m told you fainted on my porch, he announced suddenly.
Marshall finished drinking the water, letting his eyes run over him.
He wore a black silk shirt and a pair of tan cotton pants. He had on
those same black riding boots he wore in the painting.
Yes& I& must have been in the sun too long.
And you have recovered?
Yes. I am fine. Thanks.
Good. I m Senior Farelli by the way. I was told I am the reason
you came here, to speak to me?
Marshall handed him the glass. Angelo placed it on the bar, then
invited Marshall to sit on the sofa. Marshall sat down, but Angelo
Farelli stayed standing, leaning against the doorframe. He kept a
cautious distance between them. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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