High Hunt by David Eddings Read Free Book Online Page B

but it only took her a year or so to piss that away. She was sure Mrs. High Society for a while though. And then, of course, all the boy-friends started to show up—like about a week after the funeral. Slimy bastards, every one of them. I tried to tell her they were just after the insurance money, but you never could talk to her. She knew it all.”
    â€œShe hasn’t got too much upstairs,” Jack agreed, “even when she’s sober.”
    â€œAnyway, about every month, one of her barroom Romeos would break it off in her for a couple of hundred and split out on her. She’d cry and blubber and threaten to turn on the gas or some damned thing. Then after a day or so she’d get all gussied up in one of those whorehouse dresses she’s partial to and go out and find true love again.”
    â€œSounds like a real bad scene.”
    â€œA bummer. A two-year bummer. I cut out right after high school—knocked around for a year or so and then wound up in college. It’s a good place to hide out.”
    â€œYou seen her since you split?”
    â€œCouple times,” I said. “Once I had to bail her out of jail, and once she came to where I was staying to mooch some money for booze. Gave me that ‘After all, I am your mother’ routine. I told her to stick it in her ear. I think that kind of withered things.”
    â€œShe hardly ever mentions you when I see her,” Jack said.
    â€œMaybe if I’m lucky she’ll forget me altogether,” I said. “I need her about like I need leprosy.”
    â€œYou know something, little brother?” Jack said, grinning at me, “you can be an awful cold-blooded bastard when you want to be.”
    â€œComes from my gentle upbringing,” I told him. “Have another belt.” I waved at the whiskey bottle.
    â€œI don’t want to drink up all your booze,” Jack said, taking the pint. “Remember, I know how much a GI makes.”
    â€œGo ahead, man,” I said. “Take a goddamn drink. I hit it big in a stud-poker game on the troopship. I’m fat city.” I knew that would impress him.
    â€œWon yourself a bundle, huh?”
    â€œShit. I was fifteen hundred ahead for a while, but there was this old master sergeant in the game—Riker his name was—and he gave me poker lessons till who laid the last chunk.”
    â€œHow much you come out with?”
    â€œCouple hundred,” I said cautiously. I didn’t want to encourage the idea that I was rich.
    â€œWalkin’ around money anyway,” he said, taking a drink from the pint. He passed it back to me, and I noticed that his hands weren’t really clean. Jack had always wanted a job where his hands wouldn’t get dirty, but I saw that he hadn’t made it yet. I suddenly felt sorry for him. He was smart and worked hard and tried his damnedest to make it, but things always turned to shit on him. I could see him twenty years from now, still hustling, still scurrying around trying to hit just the right deal.
    â€œYou got a girl?” he asked.
    â€œHad one,” I said. “She sent me one of those letters about six months ago.”
    â€œRough.”
    I shrugged. “It wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” I got a little twinge when I said it. I thought I’d pretty well drowned that particular cat, but it still managed to get a claw in my guts now and then. I’d catch myself remembering things or wondering what she was doing. I took a quick blast of bourbon.
    â€œLotsa women,” Jack said, emptying his beer. “Just like streetcars.”
    â€œSure,” I said. I looked around. The furniture was a bit kidscarred, and the TV set was small and fluttered a lot, but it was someplace. I hadn’t had any place for so long that I’d forgotten how it felt. From where I was sitting, I could see a mirror hanging at a slant on the wall of the little passage leading back to the