Hooligans Read Online Free Page A

Cod knows what miserable trade he had made, allowing
    the business section to go to hell. That part of it didn‟t make sense. This part did. The parks and
    squares opened the town up, letting it breathe and flourish naturally, giving it a personality of its own.
    Here and there, expensive-looking shops and galleries nudged up against the townhouses. You could
    tell that zoning here was communal, that the rules were probably shaped by common consent.
    “This is better,” I said. “But Front Street, Jesus!”
    “They had to give the two-dollar bettors someplace to play,” Dutch said matter-of-factly.
    We took a left and a right and were back to reality again. We were on the edge of Back O‟Town, a
    kind of buffer between Dunetown and the black section. You could feel poverty iii the air. The fancy
    shops gave way to army-navy stores and cut-rate furniture outlets. it was the worn-out part of town. A
    lot of used-car lots and flophouse hotels.
    We drove in silence for a minute or two, then I asked, “How long you been here, Dutch?”
    “Came down from Pittsburgh almost four years ago, right after they passed the referendum for the
    track.”
    “They built it when?”
    “It opened for business year before last and the town went straight to hell. From white Palm Beach
    suits to horse blanket jackets and plaid pants overnight. You gotta bust an eardrum to hear a southern
    accent anymore.” His own was a kind of guttural Pennsylvania Dutch.
    “You mean like yours?” I joked.
    He chuckled. “Yeah, like mine.”
    “Town on the make,” I said, half-aloud.
    “You got that right.”
    “Flow long you been a cop?”
    “Forever,” he said, without even thinking.
    He turned down a dark residential street, driving fast but without circus lights or siren.
    “Hell of a note,” I said. “Chief and his bunch pampered Dunetown. it was like a love affair.”
    “Well, pal, that‟s a long time ago. it‟s a one-night stand now.” He paused and added, “You know the
    Findleys that well, huh?”
    I thought about that for a minute before answering.
    “Well, twenty years dims the edges,” I said.
    “Ain‟t that the truth.” Dutch lit a cigarette and added, “Sounds like you thought a lot of the old man.”
    I nodded. “You could say that.”
    “The way it comes to me, his kid was a war hero, got himself wasted over in Nam. After that the old
    guy just folded up. Least that‟s the way I hear it.”
    “Too bad,” I said. I was surprised at how indifferent my words sounded.
    “I guess.”
    “I gather you‟ve got reservations about Findley,” I said.
    He shrugged. “It‟s the machine. I don‟t trust anybody‟s been in politics longer than it takes me to eat
    lunch. And I‟m a fast eater.”
    Old feelings welled up inside me, noodling at my gut again, a passing thing I couldn‟t quite get in
    touch with. Or didn‟t want to.
    “It was like a fiefdom, y‟know,” he went on. “A couple of heavyweights calling all the shots. Now it‟s
    a scramble to see who can get richest.”
    It was an accurate appraisal and I said so.
    “It‟s what power‟s all about,” I told him.
    “So I got a dollar, you got two. That makes you twice as good as me?”
    “No,” I said, “twice as dangerous.”
    He thought about that for a few seconds.
    “I guess it all depends on who you are,” Dutch said. Then he dropped the bomb. “Findley‟s daughter
    tried to take up the slack. After his son was zeroed, I mean.”
    Bang, there it was.
    “How‟s that?” 1 asked, making it sound as casual as a yawn.
    “Married herself a hotshot All-American. He grabbed the ball from Findley and took off with it. Harry
    Raines is his name. Talk about ironic.”
    “How so?”
    “Findley‟s own son-in-law‟s head of the racetrack commission.”
    „That one caught me a little off guard.
    “How did that happen?” I asked.
    “Wasn‟t for Raines, there wouldn‟t be a racetrack. We‟d all be dustin‟ our kiesters someplace