Roscoe Read Online Free PDF

Arlene.”
    “He hated all you politicians,” she said. “Especially Patsy McCall.”
    “We offered him anything he wanted when he came out of jail. He wouldn’t talk to us.”
    “Could you blame him?”
    Roscoe chose not to answer. Arlene’s father, Artie Flinn, had been the chief plugger for the Albany baseball pool, which Patsy ran. The federal DA indicted Artie when he was caught with
plugged pool sheets and heavy money, and he got six years, the scapegoat. Patsy took care of Artie’s wife and family while Artie was inside, but Artie came out Patsy’s enemy. Also, he
went strange, took to jumping off tall buildings into the river, holding the pet pigeon he brought home from jail, and letting the pigeon go before he hit the water. People told him he could fly
like his pigeon, but in one jump a piece of sunken metal sliced off part of his left leg. He believed the leg would grow back, and when it didn’t, he punched holes in it with an ice pick and
had to be put away.
    “I see your brother Roy from time to time,” Roscoe said.
    “I don’t see him,” Arlene said. “I don’t approve of that newspaper he runs. It’s scandalous. Roscoe, where’s that dentist? I can’t stand this
pain.”
    “Have a swig of this and hold it on the tooth.” He handed her his flask of compassionate gin.
    She held the gin, then swallowed it, took a second, squidged her cheek and held it, swallowed it, “Sweet Mother, Roscoe, this doesn’t help a bit,” then a third gin, and he told
her to keep the flask as they took him for X-rays of his rib cage.
    “When are you going to get this holy woman a dentist?” Roscoe asked the nurse.
    “He’s on the way,” the nurse said.
    Roscoe’s X-rays were negative, and a young intern suggested an ice bag for his stomach and gave him a packet of pills for his blood pressure. “You’ll be sore, but
nothing’s broken and we don’t see any bleeding.”
    Roscoe saw Veronica standing by a half-open curtain in the bay where Elisha lay on a stretcher. Her long blond hair was wrapped into a quick knot at the back of her head, she wore no makeup and
was barelegged in low heels and a candy-striped summer dress. Roscoe thought she looked sublime.
    “What’s the verdict?” he asked her.
    She kissed his cheek. “They’re taking him upstairs for the stitches. How are your bruises?”
    Roscoe parted his gut. “With this padding it takes quite a whack to do me any damage.”
    “If Elisha has a concussion,” Veronica said, “they’ll keep him overnight.”
    A nurse came to wheel Elisha out.
    “Are you all right?” Elisha asked Roscoe.
    “Better than you,” Roscoe said. “Artie Flinn’s daughter, Arlene, is here with a toothache. She’s a nun.”
    “Is that Artie Flinn from the baseball pool?” Veronica asked.
    “It is.”
    “Artie was not one of our finest hours,” Elisha said. “What’s he doing?”
    “He died in Poughkeepsie six months ago,” Roscoe said.
    “Tragic,” Elisha said. “We couldn’t protect him. I never knew his daughter.”
    “I had a crush on her in school,” Roscoe said. “My behavior drove her into the nunnery.”
    “He’s bragging again,” Veronica said.
    “I’ll catch up with you two after your stitches,” Roscoe said.
    In the waiting room Arlene was walking in circles, waving Roscoe’s flask, still singing her hymn, very loud: “ . . . Quae coeli pandis ostium; Bella premunt hostilia . . . ” She
was off balance from the drink, and a nurse was about to take her in hand when she whirled away and backhanded the nurse’s jaw with Roscoe’s flask. “Where are you, Jesus?”
she called out. “I’m in pain. Quae coeli pandis ostium. ..”
    An intern moved to help the nurse subdue the wild nun, but Roscoe stepped in and said, “I’ll take care of her, Doctor. I’m her cousin, and my brother is a dentist. Tell your dentist to go to hell for his next patient.”
    “God bless you, Roscoe,” Arlene said. “The pain is awful and