Raven and the Kamikaze [antikvár]

L Raven and Zaleski, Tuesday John Raven was lying flat on his back on the deck of the Albatross. His eyes were shut and he dozed like an animal, reassured by the familiar pattern of sounds. The bump of the houseboat against the heavy tires that served as fenders, the drone of distant traffic, the raucous cries of the gulls wheeling overhead. It was evening but the heat of the day lingered on. A haze hung above the river and the gnats were biting. A new noise invaded his consciousness, the repeddve ringing of his phone. He hauled himself up and padded barefoot across the deck in candy-striped shorts. The door to the big room was open. Summer light brightened the colors of the Klee hanging on the end wall. The shabby leather sofa was hot from the sun and he sat down gingerly. He picked up the phone. He'd long since given up announcing his name or number. Those who mattered would know. "Yes?" His caller identified himself. "Casimir Zaleski." Raven scratched at a bony brown shoulder. "Casimir Zaleski. Well now, it's been a long time, Casimir." "How are you?" the voice inquired solicitously. "How are you, my friend?" "Fine," said Raven, his face thoughtful. "How about you?"