Roughneck by Jim Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

of advertising matter—flamboyant placards and pennants and counter cards. It was my job, one of my many jobs, to "decorate" the store with these.
           In the midst of all this activity, Carl absented himself from work for two days on a plea of sickness. By the time he returned, I was virtually exhausted and he, incredibly, was 'sober!'
           He had brought two pint bottles with him—two bottles of good whiskey. He took a drink from one, passed it to me and waved me to a chair at his desk.
           "Oo dotta help me dwink at, Tompn. We finis at, at's all eres donna be. I'm tuttin out uh doddam tuff."
           "You've got another job," I guessed.
           "Doddam wight," he said proudly. "Tart in nex Monday. Chief auditor for big gwocwey chain in Tansas Tity. An I dot oo a job ath my athithtant."
           I congratulated him, and thanked him. I pointed out, however, that I would be returning to school the following week and could not take a job in another city.
           "I'll just go on working here part-time," I explained. "It's a sweat shop and they don't pay peanuts, but—"
           "Ats what ey tol you, huh?" Carl shook his head grimly. "Well, they tol me juth two dayth ago to fire you—inthithted on it. Thaid ey could dit a man full time for what eyd have to pay oo."
           "But they promised!" I protested. "They said if I'd accept eighteen dollars a week and work real hard this summer they'd keep me on at the same money when school started."
           "Oo dot it in writing?" Carl shook his head again. "Iss asho outfit! Work a manth ath off an en pith on him!"
           He declared that he was not going to do another "doddam lick of work" as long as he remained on the job and that I was not to do any either. That was an order, he said—"pothitively not a doddam sonofabitsin bit of work." We would just sit around until the end of the week and enjoy ourselves.
           I didn't dispute the order. After a time, by way of conserving his whiskey for him, I went out for a gallon of home brew. I returned to find Carl examining the week's batch of advertising matter.
           "Thith skwewin cwap," he said. "Let the bathturdth sthick it up ere ath." Contemptuously, he started to toss a placard aside. Then, a truly devilish grin spread over his face, and he picked it up again. "How about it, Tompn? Long ath oore dittin uh date, oo dus ath thoon dit it tomorrow?"
           "I suppose so," I said. "A couple of days won't make much difference."
           "Thath uh way I feel. Tho we'll both leave tomorrow. But we'll div iss doddam outfit thumpn to wemember uth by."
           "Yeah?" I said. "I don't see—"
           "How ith thingth in uh dwug department? Ey dot plenty of Totexth on hand?"
           "Totexth? Oh, Kotex," I said. "Why, yeah, I guess so. The inventory shows around five hundred boxes. What—?"
           "Wunnerful," said Carl. "Thwell! Loth of Totexth an iss fuddin meth of thigns. Who could ath for anyfing more?"
           That was the way, then, that it came about. Thus, the beginning of a joke which was to throw our employers into embarrassed fury and to keep the Lincoln area snickering for months to come.
           As soon as the store closed for the day, Carl and I gathered up the advertising matter and went downstairs. We requisitioned the drug department's entire supply of sanitary napkins. With these, and our placards and pennants and counter cards, we proceeded to "decorate" the store. It was after dawn before we finished. We unlocked the restaurant, helped ourselves to breakfast, and retired to the office to await results.
           We were hardly seated before the department heads began to arrive. And as soon as they arrived and got one startled look at the store, they came bounding up the stairs to confront Carl...What the hell was the idea, anyway? Was he trying to get the establishment laughed