'We'll go get a taxi,' said John. 'Carry him home in a taxi.'
'Jeez, it's late.' They were the last Americans in the Metro. The English were quietly absorbed in saying goodbye to at least this part of Valletta. With the departure of the Scaffold boat's men, all things had grown more matter-of-fact.
Clyde and Johnny draped Pappy around them and got him down the stairs, past the Knights' reproachful eyes and into the street. 'Taxi, hey,' Clyde screamed.
'No taxis,' said Johnny Contango. 'All gone. God how big the stars are.'
Clyde wanted to argue. 'You just let me take him,' he said. 'You're an officer, you can stay out all night.'
'Who said I was an officer. I'm a white hat. Your brother, Pappy's brother. Brother's keeper.'
'Taxi, taxi, taxi.'
'Limey's brother, everybody's brother. Who says I'm an officer. Congress. Officer and gentlemen by act of Congress. Congress won't even go into the Suez to help the Limeys. They're wrong about that, they're wrong about me.'
'Paola,' Pappy moaned and pitched forward. They grabbed him. His white hat was long gone. His head hung and hair had fallen over his eyes.
'Pappy is going bald,' said Clyde. 'I never noticed.'
'You never do till you're drunk.'
They made their way slow and unsteady down the Gut, yelling occasionally for a taxi. None came. The street had a silent look but was not so; not so far away, on the hill ascending to Kingsway, they heard sharp little explosions. And the voice of a great crowd around the next corner.
'What is it,' said Johnny, 'revolution?'
Better than that: it was a free-for-all among 200 Royal Commandos and maybe 30 Scaffold sailors.
Clyde and Johnny dragged Pappy round the corner and into the fringes of it.
'Oh-oh,' said Johnny. The noise woke Pappy, who called for his wife. A few dangling belts were in evidence, but no broken beer bottles or boatswain's knives. Or none anybody could see. Or not yet. Dahoud stood against a wall, facing 20 Commandos. By his left bicep another Kilroy looked on, with nothing to say but WOT NO AMERICANS. Leroy Tongue must have been off underfoot somewhere, clubbing at shins with his night stick. Something red and sputtering came arcing through the air, landed by Johnny Contango's foot and blew up. 'Firecrackers,' said Johnny, landing three feet away. Clyde had also fled, and Pappy, unsupported, fell to the street. 'Let's get him out of here,' said Johnny.
But they found their way blocked by Marines, who'd come up from behind.
'Hey Billy Eckstine,' yelled the Commandos in front of Dahoud. 'Billy Eckstine! sing us a song!' A volley of firecrackers went off somewhere to the right. Most of the fist-fighting was still concentrated in the center of the mob. Only shoving, elbowing and curiosity at the edges. Dahoud removed his hat, drew himself up and began to sang I Only Have Eyes for You. Commandos were struck dumb. Somewhere down the street a police whistle blew. Glass broke in the middle of the crowd. It sent human waves back, concentric. A couple-three Marines staggered back and fell over Pappy, who was still on the ground. Johnny and Clyde moved in to rescue him. A few sailors moved in to help the fallen Marines. Unobtrusive as possible, Clyde and Johnny lifted their charge by an arm each and sneaky-Peted away. Behind them, the Marines and sailors began scuffling with one another.
'Cops,' somebody yelled. Half a dozen cherry bombs went off. Dahoud finished his song. A number of Commandos applauded. 'Now sing I Apologize.'
'You mean that,' Dahoud scratched his head, 'that if I told a lie, if I made you cry, forgive me?'
'Hoorah Billy Eckstine!' they cried.
'O no man,' Dahoud said. 'I don't apologize to nobody.' Commandos squared off. Dahoud surveyed the situation, then abruptly lifted a gigantic arm, straight up. 'All right there troopers, get in ranks now. Square away.'
For some reason they shuffled into a kind of formation.
'Yeah,' Dahoud grinned. 'Right, FACE.' So they did.
'Awright men. Let's goooo!' Down came the arm, and away they marched. In step. Kilroy looked on deadpan. From nowhere Leroy Tongue emerged to bring up the rear.
Clyde, Johnny and Poppy Hod struggled free of the brawl, dodged round a corner and began the struggle up the hill to Kingsway. Halfway along, Dahoud's detachment passed them, Dahoud counting cadence singing it like a blues. For all anyone knew he was marching them back to the troop carriers.
A taxi pulled up next to the three. 'Follow that platoon,' Johnny said and they piled in. The cab had a skylight, so of course before it reached Kingsway three heads had appeared through the roof. As they crawled behind the Commandos, they sang:
'Who's the little rodent
That's getting more than me?
F-U-C-K-E-Y Y-O-U-S-E.'
A legacy from Pig Bodine, who'd watched this particular kid's program religiously on the mess hall TV every night in port; had furnished black clip-on ears to all the mess cooks at his own expense, and composed on the show's theme song an obscene parody of which this variation in spelling was the most palatable part. Commandos in the rear ranks asked Johnny to teach them the words. He did, receiving in exchange a fifth of Irish whisky when its owner insisted he could not possibly finish it before they got under way next morning. (To this day the bottle has remained in Johnny Contango's possession,
