Trick Baby

Author:Iceberg Slim
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cash Money Content
Published: 2011-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

12

LIVIN’ SWELL FATS

Blue was right. The Japanese turned Pearl Harbor into a tropical cinder on December seventh, Nineteen Forty-one.

Blue and I were having a late breakfast when the charming cripple in the White House came on national radio with America’s declaration to fight her second World War.

Blue said, “You see, Folks? I told you America would be in the bloodbath. But that croaker has built you a cinch pass. I’m glad you’re not one of those young chumps that rush to volunteer when they hear the con of the soldier music and see Old Glory waving in the breeze.”

Later that night in bed I listened to the news and music of war.

I thought, “After all, America is my country. Maybe I should have a talk with Blue. Everybody doesn’t get killed in a war.

“I am young. Maybe I can convince Blue that I should beat the draft board to the punch and enlist. I hear that volunteers get breaks draftees never get.

“I could go in and do my bit and be out of the army before I knew it. I’m no coward. Besides, with my fast brain, the army would probably make me an officer right away. I can play the con for some hot shot brass and be his stateside buddy.”

Then I remembered what Blue had told me about the nigger army I’d be in because I had a black mother. No, I’d better stay out. Those black soldiers, many of them from the deep South, would give me perpetual hell because of my white skin. I’d be more lonesome than ever before. Blue had the right slant.

About six months after Pearl Harbor, Blue and I were at the breakfast table. Blue shoved an open newspaper toward me. My eyes followed his index finger. I read the two paragraphs of the item.

Blue said, “Can you believe our luck? Horace J. Sweeney has retired from the Chicago Police Department to take a position in private industry.

“We can go back into the Loop now and rip off suckers to our hearts’ content. If I knew where he lived, I’d send him a case of champagne to honor his resignation.”

I said, “I wonder where an old guy like that could fit into a business?”

Blue said, “His brain is still sharp. He’d be a valuable man for any company to have around to keep its employees honest. After all, Sweeney was a bunco cop for almost thirty years. He knows all the angles. Nailing crooked working stiffs would be a lead-pipe cinch for him.”

The draft board called me in for a pre-induction physical in the spring of Nineteen Forty-two. An hour before the examination I had taken a pill my croaker gave me.

The army croaker put his stethoscope to my chest. He checked my blood pressure and sadly shook his head. He advised me to strictly follow my family physician’s directions. I had beaten the draft!

Blue and I played the drag and the smack throughout the State of Illinois. Sweeney had retired, so we ripped off smack marks in Chicago’s Loop like we had a license.

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