Roughneck Read Online Free PDF Page A

So I cursed him out mildly and entered the cab, first making sure that he was carrying no concealed weapons or other items which might involve us with the police.
           Allie pressed a pint of whiskey upon me. Uncorking another for himself, he drove off, bringing me up to date on his affairs. He had left Texas, he said, shortly after I had. The police had had nothing against him, actually, but they had intimated that all parties concerned would be happier if he traveled for a while. And Allie had thought it well to follow their suggestion. He had moved up through Oklahoma and the Midwest, working "the twenties" and other small con rackets. Arriving here in Lincoln well-heeled and under no necessity to "work," he had taken this hack-driving job by way of divertissement. He intended leaving town in the morning. Meanwhile, tonight...
           He outlined his plans for the night's entertainment. I told him, firmly and profanely, he could count me out.
           "What's the matter?" Allie coaxed. "All I want you to do is drive me and my lady friend around. What's wrong with that?"
           "There's everything wrong with it!" I said. "For one thing I don't have a license to drive a hack."
           "So what? I've got a dozen. The guy I bought them from gave me a quantity rate."
           "Now I'm not going to argue with you, Allie," I said. "I'm tickled to death to see you, but I absolutely refuse—"
           Allie wheedled. He reproached me sorrowfully. Was this his one-time protege—the youth he had rescued from the life of a burlesque house candy peddler? Was I so far gone in respectability that I could not do a small favor for an old friend?
           "Just answer me one question," Allie demanded. "Are you going to drive this cab or are you going to be a horse's ass?"
           We drove on, arguing and drinking. I began to waver. It had been almost a year since I had tasted real whiskey. For months I had been a model of hard-working respectability, and the existence was beginning to pall. College was over until the fall term. Why not, now that I had a little free time, make a break with tiresome routine?
           "Well, all right," I said at last. "But no rough stuff, Allie. You've got to promise to keep it clean."
           Allie removed the cap from his head and put it on mine. He promised, as I had asked.
           "You'll have to promise, too," he said. "This is a very refined young lady we're picking up. I'm taking her to the country club dance."
           "You're kidding," I laughed.
           "You'll see," said Allie. "By the way, stop at this drug store, will you? I'm taking her a few cigars."
           I pulled in at the curb. I turned and looked at him, startled. "Cigars! You're taking her some—"
           "Havanas," murmured Allie. "Like I say, she's very refined."
           He was in the drug store for some time, deliberately lingering, I suspect. When, finally, he emerged, I was finishing my first pint and much of my trepidation and curiosity about the expedition had vanished with it.
           He directed me to a particularly execrable section of the city. I drew up at a house he pointed out—a tumble-down, unpainted shack—and Allie debarked again. He remained in the house for about five minutes. He came out with one of the fattest, ugliest women I have even seen.
           Her enormous legs were bare. Her hair frizzled out from her bloated head like the thongs of a mop. She was costumed in tennis shoes (with the toes cut out) and a filthy gray house dress.
           Both she and Allie were smoking cigars.
           He assisted her, waddling, across the yard. Helping her into the seat with a stream of courteous and honeyed patter, he climbed in at her side.
           The door slammed. The rear curtains came down. "James," said Allie. "Take us to the club."
           "The club," I said suavely, and I put the