And the Hippos Were Boiled in their Tanks Read Online Free Page A

let you buy drinks for them. Inside is the usual chromium, red leather, and incandescent lights.
    As I walked down the bar I noticed a fag, a couple of whores with two Broadway Sams, and the usualsprinkle of servicemen. Three plainclothes dicks were drinking scotch at the far end of the bar.
    I took off my coat and transferred everything from it to my pants pocket. I found an apron with a long string so I could loop it around and tie it in front. Then I stepped behind the bar and said hello to Jimmy, the other bartender, who was already there.
    These three dicks said “Hello, kid” when they saw me. They had Jimmy waiting on them hand and foot, asking for scotch and cigars and lemon peel in their drinks and more soda and more ice.
    I went up to the other end of the bar and waited on two sailors. The jukebox was playing “You Always Hurt the One You Love,” and one sailor said, “Hey Jack, how come that machine never plays what I want?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “People are always complaining about it.”
    I could hear the detectives at the other end of the bar handing Jimmy a lot of horseshit about how he was a swell guy and so was the boss a swell guy and he ought to treat the boss right. These three were always in the place, sopping up free drinks because the boss thought they would help him out in case of trouble.
    One of the sailors asked me where all the women were in this town, and I said they were in Brooklyn,hundreds of them on every corner. Then I started to tell them how to get there and they were so dumb they didn’t understand me, but they left anyway. I took their glasses off the bar and sloshed them through dirty water and they were washed.
    At this point, a man came in who was about fifty years old and was dressed in slacks and a light-gray coat and gray hat. He looked like a man of some intelligence and wealth. His eyes were bloodshot and he had been drinking quite a bit, but he had himself under good control. He went down to the other end of the bar near the detectives and ordered scotch.
    I was mopping up the bar when I heard an argument down at the other end of the bar. This guy in the gray suit was arguing with one of the waitresses, or rather he was kidding her, and she was getting mad about it.
    Then one of the detectives went over and called the guy a prick and told him to get the hell out of the bar.
    The guy said, “Who are you?”
    One of the cops gave him a shove and a second cop gave him another shove, just like a relay team, until they had him behind the phone booth. Then they pinned him against the wall and began slugging him methodically. They must have hit him about thirty times and the guy didn’t even raise his hands. His knees buckled, so they took him and threw him into a chair.
    After a few seconds, the guy started to come to, and he raised his hands like a man pushing covers off his face. At that one of the cops scented danger and hit him again, knocking him off the chair onto the floor. Then the other two helped him up and dusted off his clothes and found his hat.
    One of them said, “Jesus, who hit you, Mac?”
    The man’s eyes were glazed. He looked like a case of light concussion to me. He looked blankly at the detective who had helped him up and said, “Thank you.”
    The cop said, “Any time, Mac.”
    The cop with the hat put it on the guy’s head. He grabbed him by the collar at the back and by the belt. Then he shoved him to the front of the bar and gave him a push which sent him across the sidewalk into a parked car. He bounced off the car and looked around with that glazed expression, then staggered off in the direction of Sixth Avenue.
    The cop came back from the door laughing like a schoolboy. The other two cops were leaning against the end of the bar.
    “Let’s have another scotch, Jimmy,” said the cop who had thrown the guy out. Everybody in the bar was laughing.
    Jimmy took his time about getting the scotch. Icould see by his face he felt more like