Lucky Bastard Read Online Free

arm and walked him westward, toward the Hudson River.
    Arthur resisted. “You’re going the wrong way,” he said. “The subway is back there.”
    â€œI know. We’ll walk.”
    â€œYou’re crazy.”
    I said, lying, “I have a pistol.”
    Reassured, Arthur walked with a lighter step. He knew about pistols. I had recruited him in Cuba, where he had gone to cut sugar cane for Fidel Castro. In a training camp in the Sierra Maestra, he had fired Russian pistols into bags of slaughterhouse blood.
    I said, “I’m interested in this boy’s cowardice. Tell me more.”
    Arthur said, “Dmitri, please. Why do you keep using that word? It’s so irrelevant. Does such a thing even exist?”
    â€œIt exists. And it’s always relevant.”
    â€œWhatever you say. But look at the whole picture, Dmitri.”
    â€œThe file does not give me the whole picture. For example, some of these girls he slept with seem to think that he is not in his heart of hearts a person of the Left, that he has no real political convictions.”
    â€œI disagree,” Arthur said. “Appearances can be deceiving, especially to girls.”
    â€œSo the only thing that is important is his delusion?”
    Arthur stopped in his tracks. He was a picture of misery. He said, “Dmitri, what are you saying to me? That I’ve fucked up again?” His voice trembled.
    I put a fatherly arm around his shoulders and squeezed.
    I said, “No.”
    He had no idea how well he had done. At that moment, of course, neither had I. Another hug. How thin he was in spite of his appetites, how frail. How hard he tried. Like a father I smiled, a smile of real affection, of expectations fulfilled.
    I said, “I see possibilities.”
    Arthur touched my hand, the one that gripped his shoulder, and smiled back, this time like a man.
    By now we had walked many blocks downtown. We were out of Harlem, near the Columbia campus, where Arthur lived, apparatchik that he was, in an apartment that belonged to the university. The light was better, the sidewalks were all but empty except for husbands walking little dogs. We could hear the traffic signals changing, feel the subway trains passing beneath the pavement. The dangers Arthur had feared were miles behind us.
    He gripped my arm, making his points after the need had passed.
    He said, “The point is, Jack has a great natural gift. Since childhood, he has studied people, found out what they wanted, and made them believe he was giving it to them even when he wasn’t. Without money, without influence, without connections, he has risen to the top every time. He has this uncanny gift for making others like him. Trust him. Want to help him. It’s like a spell he can cast at will.”
    I said, “You’re describing a born liar.” My tone was encouraging.
    Arthur swallowed the encouragement I offered like a sweet and cried out, “Yes! That’s the point.”
    â€œThen why didn’t you mention it before?”
    â€œI didn’t realize its importance until just now. Jack lies about everything, all the time. He always has. He’s not even conscious that he is lying. He lies to please, to manipulate, to get what he wants. The amazing thing is, everyone knows that he lies all the time and about everything, but nobody seems to mind. ”
    â€œSo what does that make Jack?”
    Arthur threw up his hands. “You tell me.”
    â€œA megalomaniac in the making,” I said. “A driven man. Unpredictable. Mad. Biting the hand that feeds him.”
    Arthur laughed in delight. “An American Lenin,” he said. “Just what Dr. Dmitri ordered.”
    â€œI think I had better take a closer look at this young man,” I said.
    â€œYou want to meet him?”
    â€œNo. Observe him. In due course.”
    And that is how it all began.

Two

    1 Only a few days after Arthur told me about Jack