Trick Baby Read Online Free PDF Page B

neighborhood for a couple of days. It would be enough time to plan out of this thing.”
    Blue jumped like he had been scalded. He said, “My God, no! Have you forgotten how Hutch, the policy banker, was shotgunned to ribbons there on a busy street in broad daylight? The killers loaded ball bearings in the shells.
    â€œThe outfit has a full nelson on the town. Besides, it’s too small. Son, you’ve got to realize we’ve hit the bad-luck jackpot. The F.B.I. and Pinkertons, by comparison, are kindly amateurs.
    â€œThe torturers of the outfit have almost a one hundred percent find-and-murder average. White Folks, the damn sad thing is that I am responsible for all of this happening to you.”
    I said, “Now, Blue, you know better than that. Sure the play for the old man was your idea. But I know damn well you didn’t know he was tied to Nino. We both know it’s never a good idea to play for a home guard. It was a worse mistake not to research him.
    â€œI wasn’t tricked or pressured into playing for Frascati, you know. I don’t understand how and why you can take the blame for a blunder we made together. Blue, we can’t afford to confuse each other.
    â€œBlue, I owe you my life. I can’t forget how you stood by me when the Goddess put me into that crazy drunken tailspin. Nothing can change that or the sincere affection I feel for you. We’re not going to die. Like always, we’ll come up with the perfect con to escape the trap.”
    It was pure bravado. Blue didn’t answer. I had desolate death-tinged thoughts as we passed the gleaming row of Michigan Avenue’s luxury shops.
    Finally Blue broke the morbid spell. He said, “Folks, turn left at Lake. We’ll go to Jewtown. I’ve got an idea.”
    I turned and drove westward. I was puzzled. I wondered why Blue wanted to go to Jewtown. It was a tragic Westside slum inhabited by poverty-mauled blacks.
    Jewish merchants operated the countless shops and bazaars by day. At nightfall the thronging bargain hunters from all over the city deserted it. Few, if any, of the Jewish merchants lived there.
    I just couldn’t figure Blue’s angle. Blue had ignored my question of his lone guilt for our desperate plight. I was at the point of reopening the matter when Blue coupled onto my train of thought. He almost whispered.
    He said, “John Patrick O’Brien, you will be thirty-six years old January fifteenth. That means that for the last twenty years my grifting way of life in this cold world has been yours. Inside you feel and think black like me. Outside you’re lily white. It’s a damn sad combination.
    â€œThe black Southside taught you that bitter lesson for all of your life. You’re a whiz at the grift. Don’t say it, I’ll say it. Yes, I taught you all the con you know. It was easy, because you had a natural feel for the con. You feel close to me, indebted to me.
    â€œSome blacks have hated you because they believed you werereally white. Some have despised you even though they knew you were Phala’s child. As a white child born of a brown mother they had to
hate
you. For them you are the symbol of your white father’s sexual violation of a black woman.
    â€œSon, in your mind I have been some kind of sympathetic unselfish stepfather. I’ve been a constant buffer for you against the black haters. And, yes, it’s true, I possibly saved your life when that nigger-hating white broad almost cracked you up. But that life I saved was one I had selfishly molded to danger.
    â€œSon, I’m old and weary now, and I care about you too much to con you. Folks, the time has come to give you the complete, from-the-heart truth.
    â€œSure I took you in off those brutal streets. I took the risk and sheltered you from the juvenile authorities who wanted to make you a ward of the court, after those filthy black dogs drove Phala to madness.
    â€œYou probably