The Pariot GAme by George V. Higgins Read Free Book Online

them?” Seats said.
    “Hey,” Donald said, “it’s a crowded lot.”
    “Yup,” Seats said. “Reardon got foglights on the Mercedes?”
    “He did,” Donald said. He laughed very loudly.
    “Donald,” Seats said, “I’m not sure I want to hear the answer, but how is my car?”
    “The Electra?” Donald said. He stood up. “Very fine, sir. Right down in the usual spot. Shall I keep it open for you? Little lunch and so forth?”
    “Yes,” Lobianco said.
    “Fine,” Donald said. “Have the space waiting for you.”
    “Appreciate it,” Lobianco said. “Hearing this after.”
    “I know,” Donald said.
    “Yup,” Lobianco said. “Two more judges. Just a snap.”
    “Better you’n me,” Donald said.
    “Nope,” Lobianco said. “Need some cash?”
    “Tigers,” Donald said.
    “Not Sunday,” Seats said. “Sunday’s tough.”
    “Sunday,” Donald said.
    “Oh, Jesus,” Seats said.
    “Taillights?” Donald said.
    “Sunday,” Lobianco said.

T ICKER G REENAN bummed a ride to Copley Square with Lorraine Bedell from the Suffolk Franklin Savings Bank branch in Roslindale Square. Lorraine was the branch manager. She was a capable woman of forty-three who had been widowed four years earlier when her husband, Eugene, reached the age of forty-six and discovered once and for all that the doctors were not kidding about hypertension. Lorraine wore silk blouses which had more buttons on the front than she thought necessary, tailored suits which consisted of no more material than was absolutely necessary, and shoes that showed off her legs. Lorraine had many friends and several firm opinions, among them the certitude that Mel Parnell was a great left-handed pitcher for the Red Sox only when the game did not mean much.
    “No, Ticker,” she said when he called, “I do not happen to be driving in to the Colonnade Hotel today. I happen to be
riding
in to the Copley Plaza Hotel, where a friend of mine is taking me to lunch. He is sending his car for me. It’s a very nice car, Ticker. It’s a Lincoln Town Car, and it comes complete with a little man who wears a hat and sits up front and takes you where you want to go. Wonderful. He parks it, too. He does something with it, anyway. He goes away after he lets you off, and then he comes back when you havefinished what you are doing and you want to go somewhere else. Everyone should have one.
    “Yes, Ticker,” she said, “as a matter of fact it is quite a large car. Very comfortable. It’s bigger’n my house, as a matter of fact. But it’s just a delightful way of going to the ballgame. I enjoy it.
    “No, Ticker,” she said, “I will not have the driver drop you off at the Colonnade on the way to the ballpark. In the first place, I am not going directly to the ballpark. In the second place, if I were going directly to the ballpark, I wouldn’t be going anywhere near the Colonnade, you cheap bastard. I am going to the Copley Plaza. If you want to scrounge a ride with me, in exchange for a favor, I will drop you off at the hotel on my way to lunch. You’re on your own when it comes to getting home. You could thumb, maybe.
    “Now, Ticker,” she said as the rose-colored Lincoln pulled up at the Copley Plaza, “here is the bag.” Greenan looked miserable. He wore a Haspel double-knit glen plaid suit and a white shirt and a clip-on bow tie, red. “Filene’s Basement,” he said.
    “Wrong, Ticker,” she said. “My gentleman friends don’t give me marked-down crap from Eff-Bee. This is intimate apparel from Lord and Taylor, and it’s on your way to the hotel. All you have to do is drop it off and get a merchandise credit for me. You can give it to me the next time you need a ride someplace.”
    “I wish you wouldn’t make me do this,” he said.
    “Ticker,” she said, “it’s good for you. This is your constituent service that you’re always bragging about. You’re too cheap to keep a car and too weak to do without one, so you can take my