Bugsy Malone by Alan Parker Page B

Sam by the throat and, like a well-trained bulldog, he wouldn’t let go. “Right now, it’s not worth a plug nickel.”
    â€œYou’re a dirty rat, Dan.”
    â€œYou’ve been watching too many movies, Sam.”
    Sam wasn’t going to listen to any more. He’d had enough of straight talk and now he was going to bend it a little.
    â€œOK, Looney. Let him have it.”
    As Looney jumped up from his secret position in the back of the car, Dan yelled, “Yonkers! Charlie! It’s a double cross!”
    Dandy Dan wasn’t playing it straight either – and out of the woods jumped Yonkers, Bronx Charlie, Shoulders and Benny Lee. Sam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head – and his jaw dropped when he saw that they were all carrying shiny new splurge guns. Looney seemed as over-awed by the presence of the guns as Sam, who croaked, “Come on, Looney. Let ’em go.”
    â€œOK, yous guys – freeze.”
    Looney’s deep monotone dribbled into nothingness. It was like shouting “Halt!” to a runaway locomotive bearing down on you at fifty miles an hour. The hoods’ splurge guns burst into action and gave Looney his answer. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds before Looney Bergonzi was on the receiving end of a gallon or two of splurge that splattered on and about him until he resembled a winter snowman.
    Bugsy’s reflexes had been a little quicker than Looney’s. He’d ducked down behind the large chrome headlamps for safety, as Sam clawed his way back into the bike sedan. The splurge pellets splattered around the fat gangster, and as he pulled the door closed, his hat was knocked off by a white missile and plastered against the back of the sedan. Bugsy called to Looney, but his shouts fell on deaf ears. Looney ‘Off His Trolley, Mad as a Hatter’ Bergonzi was well out of the game. Whatever game that was.
    Bugsy thought quickly. The hoods were too busy peppering the side of Sam’s car to notice his lighting sprint into the woods at the side of the intersection. And Dan was too busy gloating at Sam’s frantic retreat to spot Bugsy creeping through the bushes. Suddenly Bugsy reappeared – and waved his arms. “Over here, you guys. Over here.”
    The hoods, ready for any challenge, ploughed through the greenery after him. Dan couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw them vanish down the alleyway of overhanging ferns, for Bugsy had already sidestepped them and was on his way back to the intersection. Dandy Dan bellowed desperately, “Come back here, you dummies. He’s given you the slip!”
    Bugsy ran straight at Jackson, and butted him with his head. The chauffeur’s shiny leather boots waved in the air as he was upended. Dan took refuge inside his car. Physical contact just wasn’t his game, and there was no way he would risk ruining his hundred dollar suit. He pulled down the roller blind – presumably with the logic that to shut your enemies out of sight makes them go away.
    He needn’t have worried. Bugsy made straight for Fat Sam, who had regained his composure in the back of his bike sedan. He clapped his hands as Bugsy jumped into the driver’s seat and pumped hard at the pedals. The solid rubber wheels skidded through the soft gravel and the sedan hit the track at speed. Dan poked his head out of the window of his car and yelled at his gang – who were wandering about in puzzled disarray, looking for Bugsy amongst the overgrown ferns. “You stupid bunch of salamis! Get back here straight away. They’re getting away.”
    The gang charged back towards the intersection. By now they were breathing heavily and they panted hard, their wobbly legs bending under the weight of the heavy splurge guns. Shoulders and Bronx Charlie jumped on to the tailboard of Dan’s car, and Benny Lee, his round Chinese face grimacing with concentration, jammed