The Con Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

suppose we could have a drink,” Jamison said. “You here on business?”
    “Yes,” the con man said. “Marlboro Tractor Corporation—know them?”
    “No. I’m in textiles myself,” Jamison said.
    “Well, no matter. Shall we try the hotel bar, or do you want to scout up something else? Hotel bars are a little stiff, don’t you think?” He had already taken Jamison’s arm and was leading him down the steps.
    “Well, I never really—”
    “Sure. Seemed to me there were a lot of bars on the next street. Why don’t we try one of them?” He passed Jamison through the revolving doors, and when they reached the sidewalk, he looked up at the buildings, seemingly bewildered. “Now, let me see,” he said. “Which is east and which is west?”
    “That’s east,” Jamison said, pointing.
    “Fine.”
    The con man introduced himself as Charlie Parsons. Jamison said his first name was Elliot. Together, they walked up the street, looking at the various bars, deciding against one or another for various reasons—most of which Parsons offered.
    When they came to a place called The Red Cockatoo, Parsons took Jamison’s arm and said, “Now, this looks like a nice place. How about it?”
    “Suits me fine,” Jamison said. “One bar’s just about as good as another, the way I look at it.”
    They were heading for the entrance door when the door opened and a man in a gray suit stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was a pleasant-looking man in his late thirties, a shock of red hair topping his head. He seemed very much in a hurry.
    “Say,” Parsons said, “excuse me a minute.”
    The redheaded man stopped. “Yes?” he said. He still seemed in a hurry.
    “What kind of a place is this?” Parsons asked.
    “Huh?”
    “The bar. You just came out of it. Is it a nice place?”
    “Oh,” the redheaded man said. “The bar. Tell you the truth, I don’t know. I just stopped in there to make a phone call.”
    “Oh, I see,” Parsons said. “Well, thank you,” and he turned away from the redheaded man, seemingly to enter the bar with Jamison.
    “It’s the damnedest thing, ain’t it?” the redhead said. “I haven’t been in this city for close to five years. So I come in on a trip, and I’ve been calling old friends since the minute I arrived, and all of them are busy tonight.”
    Parsons turned, smiling. “Oh?” he said. “Where you from?”
    “Wilmington,” the redhead said.
    “We’re out-of-towners, too,” Parsons explained. “Listen, if you haven’t anything else to do, why don’t you join us for a drink?”
    “Well, gee, that’s awfully kind of you,” the redhead said. “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”
    “No imposition at all,” Parsons said. He turned to Jamison. “You don’t mind, do you, Elliot?”
    “Not at all,” Jamison said. “More the merrier.”
    “Well, in that case, I’d enjoy it a lot,” the redhead said.
    “I’m Charlie Parsons,” Parsons said, “and this is Elliot Jamison.”
    “Pleased to know you,” the redhead said. “I’m Frank O’Neill.”
    The men shook hands all around.
    “Well, let’s get those drinks,” Parsons said, and they went into the bar. They took a table in the corner, and after they’d madethemselves comfortable, Parsons said, “Are you here on business, Frank?”
    “No, no,” O’Neill said. “Pleasure. Strictly pleasure. Some stock I’ve been holding took a big jump, and I decided to take those extra dividends and have myself a hell of a time.” He leaned over the table, and his voice lowered. “I’ve got more than three thousand dollars with me. I think I’ll be able to have a whopper with that, eh?” He burst out laughing, and Parsons and Jamison laughed with him, and then they ordered a round of drinks.
    “Drink whatever you like and as much as you like,” O’Neill said, “because this is all on me.”
    “Oh, no,” Parsons said. “We invited you to join us.”
    “I don’t care,” O’Neill insisted. “If it