Tricky Business Read Online Free Page A

said Phil. “They always had some article in there, some primitive tribe, the Ubongi People of the Amazon, or whatever, and there’d always be pictures in there, the Ubongi women pounding roots with their ta-tas hanging out.”
    â€œWell,” said Arnie, “Marge always claimed I was pounding my root.”
    Now Phil and Arnie were laughing, in that old-man way that was 60 percent laugh, 40 percent cough. This caused a stir in the dining room, where there was rarely any sound other than the clink of silverware and the occasional dry echoing braap of an elderly fart. Heads turned toward their table. The Beaux Arts assistant day manager, Dexter Harpwell, a taut man who ran a taut ship, scurried over.
    â€œWhat seems to be the trouble?” he said.
    â€œNo trouble, officer,” said Arnie.
    â€œWhat happened here?” said Harpwell, spying the Old Bat’s prune-covered lap. He grabbed a napkin and leaned over to wipe her off. “Here, let’s get you cl OOOW !”
    As the Old Bat sank her teeth into Harpwell’s flesh, he jerked his hand out of her mouth. With it came her dentures, which flew across the table, landing in Tutter’s oatmeal. Tutter regarded them for a moment, picked them out of his bowl, set them aside, and resumed eating.
    â€œWatch out,” said Phil, to Harpwell. “She bites.”
    Harpwell, clutching his hand, glared at Phil and Arnie.
    â€œMay I remind you gentlemen,” he said, “that disturbing other residents is a Conduct Violation.”
    â€œWe didn’t disturb her,” said Phil.
    â€œShe’s already disturbed,” said Arnie.
    Harpwell turned away, looking for a dining-room attendant. “Nestor!” he called. “Get over here and clean her up.”
    The attendant, a large Jamaican man, approached the Old Bat.
    â€œDarlin’,” he said, “you messed up that pretty dress.” Gently, he began to clean her off. She made no move to stop him.
    Harpwell turned back to Arnie and Phil.
    â€œI don’t want to see any more of this kind of outburst,” he said. “If I do, I’m going to have to take disciplinary action.”
    â€œGolly,” said Arnie, “will it go on our permanent record?”
    â€œCan we still go to the prom?” asked Phil.
    â€œI’m Harold Tutter,” said Tutter, extending his hand to Harpwell. Harpwell, ignoring him, gave Arnie and Phil one last glare, then walked tautly away.
    â€œMy pleasure,” said Tutter, returning to his oatmeal.
    â€œTalk about a guy who needs some prunes,” said Phil.
    â€œDried plums,” said Arnie. “Hey, Nestor.”
    The attendant looked up from the Old Bat.
    â€œWe’re gonna need your taxi service tonight,” said Arnie.
    â€œTonight?” said Nestor. “You want to go out on the boat in this weather?”
    â€œMy point exactly,” said Phil.
    â€œA little rain, is all,” said Arnie.
    â€œMan, I bet that boat won’t even go out in this,” said Nestor.
    â€œWell, if it does,” said Arnie, “you’ll take us, right?”
    Arnie and Phil had a deal with Nestor: On nights when they wanted to go to the ship, he drove them. When the ship returned, he picked them up, brought them back to Beaux Arts, and sneaked them in through a service door. Arnie and Phil paid for this service by giving Nestor all the pills that they were handed at mealtimes by the pill man, who walked from table to table dispensing vast quantities of medication. On a normal day, the pill man gave a total of 17 pills to Arnie and 23 to Phil. Neither man had any idea what most of the pills did. One day they’d decided simply not to take them. Not only did they not die, they both felt better, and more alert, than they had in years. From then on, they slipped their pills to Nestor in return for various favors, the main one being transportation to the ship. Nestor sold the pills to various