can you help me out?” the man in the gray suit asked.
“just tell me your story,” the man behind the desk told him.
“my father was a truck driving man,” the man in the gray suit said. “my mama didn’t want me to be a truck driving man, or even a railroad man, but to be a preacher.
we had a bible in our house. my mother read it every night, but when she put it down on the table my father would out his glass of beer down on top of it and leave rings on it. the cover of the bible was covered with rings where my father put his glass of beer down on top of it.
sometimes my mother would ask my father to stop putting his glass of beer on top of the bible and she would start to cry and my father would haul off and smack her one.”
“can i ask you a question?”
“sure.”
“why did your mother keep putting the bible down where your father could put his glass of beer down on top of it? why didn’t she just put it away in a drawer or hold it in her lap or something?”
“i don’t know. that’s a good question. i never thought about it that way before.”
“all right, go on.”
“i had a great hunger for life and i only wanted to escape. i met this guy called bix at the pool hall, and he had been around the block a few times and he knew the score and knew all the angles. he said he killed a man in sacramento california in the gold rush and i believed him. bix had a plan, and he let me and a couple of other guys in on it. the other guys were like me, greenhorns who were barefoot in the pool hall, and didn’t have a proper upbringing or know any better and we were just babes in the woods.”
“excuse me, but didn’t your mother reading you the bible count for a proper upbringing?”
“not like i went to harvard in the springtime with my own butler or anything like that. i was wet behind the ears and putty in the hands of a smooth operator like bix. anyway, bix had this plan where we went around and sold a combination life insurance and encyclopedias to rubes in the sticks - to poor folks who just wanted their kids to get a good education so they could live the american dream. if they bought the life insurance they bought the encyclopedia and if they bought the encyclopedia they bought the life insurance and they could also buy a waiver of intent or something like that - “
“a letter of intent?”
“that sounds right. waiver, letter… it all sounded legit to me. what did i know? i didn’t go to harvard or yale in the springtime and i wasn’t a lawyer. so, where was i? me and the other guys thought we were on easy street, riding the gravy train - i was just about ready to but my own car - and then it all came crashing down around our heads and turned to dust after the tornado season. can you believe it, me and the other guys ended up in court with bix, the dirty rat, turning state’s evidence on us! how do you figure?
he was the mastermind behind the whole evil scheme and he made himself out to be little red riding hood and moses in the bulrushes all in one. and the d a had a nasty little mustache like the kaiser and he had the jurors in the palm of his hand like houdini or the serpent in eden and me and the boys got sent up the river.
so there you have it, mr grover. i have done my time, and all i want is a fair shake. i’m your man. just point me in the right direction, and i i will do anything. i won’t even ask about salary. just pay me what you think is fair, and i will do anything.”
“anything?”
“anything.“
“get lost.”
the man in the gray suit shrugged. “if that is the way you feel.”
“it is the way i feel. get up out of that chair so the next good shooter can come in.”
the man in the gray suit left, almost bumping into a woman with a feather in her hat who hurried in as if she were afraid someone in the waiting room would all her back.
the woman with a feather in her hat sat down in the chair vacated by the man in the gray suit. she had a big purse which she placed in her lap and she took a big blue handkerchief out of it.
“i hope you can help me,” she said.
“just tell me your story,” the man behind the desk told her.
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