Read Online Operation Bamboozle by Derek Robinson - Free Book Online

marble to equip a small cathedral. In its cool calm, he drank iced coffee and browsed the newspapers. There was rarely anything about Chicago and he did not miss it. Eugene Lutz was comfortable. Hell, he’d earned it. This explains why, when he saw Frankie Blanco, he very nearly turned and walked away.
    Blanco spent his days watching Cabrillo, as usual. It was boring because the guy never did anything special, nothing that made any difference, he just strolled about town. This day was typical. So Frankie had time to kill, and as usual he chewed it to death. A burger here, a hot dog there. Mex stuff for a change: tacos, burritos, fajitas. Maybe a beer or two. French fries gave him a thirst. A fellow had to be nice to his throat, and lately Frankie’s throat had picked up a cementmixer of a cough. He blamed the Pall Malls, the makers must of switched to cheap tobacco, and he cut down from sixty a day to fifty. Did no good. He went back up to sixty. Smoking helped him think. Sometimes he thought he should shoot this bum Cabrillo now. Then Princess had moved in and that confused him. Where did she fit? Some days he thought he should cross the river and find a Mex hitman, there must be dozens would do it for a couple hundred bucks. Then he thought of something he should’ve thought of first of all: that if this Cabrillo got suddenly dead the FBI would straightaway come looking for him, Frankie Blanco, before anyone else. He was only protecting himself, but forget justice. The FBI got paid to protect him. Useless bastards. Justice was a joke.
    The day was cooling. Cabrillo was walking toward the Friendship Bridge over the river. Frankie stayed well back, hidden in the crowd of Mexicans going home.
    Luis strolled onto the bridge, leaned against the parapet and looked at the Rio Grande. It was slow and unexciting. So what? The Thames looked like brown Windsor soup, the Tiber was cold cocoa, you wouldn’t want to fall into the Seine, and the Blue Danube was a damn lie. He was dissatisfied because he felt restless. He hadn’t conned anyone for weeks. He was a craftsman, and like all good craftsmen he felt incomplete when he neglected his craft. All his working life, Luis found thatarrogance led to a pot of gold. There must be rich men in El Paso, men who would pay him to gratify their arrogance with the thrill of utterly convincing bullshit. So where were they?
    He looked around and saw a soldier nearby, also leaning on the parapet. Young; hair clipped so short it turned his ears into a clumsy afterthought. The army had trained him to hurry up and wait. Now he could do it without effort.
    â€œThis your home town?” Luis asked. The soldier slowly turned his head to see what sort of fool this shithead was. His eyes were doubleglazed to ensure no human warmth escaped. “Nope,” he said.
    Luis allowed a decent pause for the rush of conversation to subside.
    â€œWhat’s El Paso famous for?” he said. “I’m a visitor.”
    â€œHuh. I’m bustin’ a gut to get the fuck outa here, you’re payin’ to get in.” He spoke in a dull monotone. He didn’t like what he said. “El Paso’s the biggest piece a nowhere in the US. Famous for that.”
    â€œNot a cheery thought.”
    â€œFuckin’ army gives you the shittiest postin’ it can find.”
    â€œAnd you’re from …”
    â€œPittsburgh.”
    â€œAh, yes.” Luis thought of something encouraging. “The Pittsburgh Symphony is widely admired.”
    â€œPittsburgh got the Steelers,” the soldier said, suddenly alive. “Steeler offense hits your fuckin’ symphony, they gonna wake up playin’ a different tune.”
    â€œI see.” Luis understood none of it. “Surely there’s something comparable here.”
    â€œEl Paso got rodeos. You like watchin’ a dumb cowboy fallin’ off a dumb horse, good luck.” He walked away, in no