Rock Island Line by David Rhodes (i am reading a book TXT) 📕

formed out of greed. Priests ask for money to cancel sins. Christianity spread because the church was wealthier than any other institution. Try to get the guy in that car there to do something for you with a promise of everlasting reward, then try flashing a hundred in his face.

“To live in my neighborhood, you’d have to be making fifty thousand a year. Now nobody—nobody—who’s making that kind of money is secure about his income. There’re no unions to protect that figure. He’s constantly thinking, Maybe I can make more, maybe I’ll fold. The anxiety level is staggering. But do you think you ever hear anyone talk about it? Never. It’s ‘Nice weather, how’s boating on the lake this year? Seen any bluebirds? Ford’s got quite a little car this year. Let me tell you about our trip to the Smokies.’

“Now, I’m not trying to say that everyone’s a crook, or that everyone would break the law if the odds looked right, so long as they could afford a good lawyer or a judge. No, there’s a sucker born every minute, and some people, it’s true, never grow up.

“The last thing you’d ever ask a man about is how much money he has, or what he does to get it—because having it is respectability.So it’s like this—want a chocolate bar?” July shook his head. Carroll ripped open the wrapper and, breaking the candy into its small squares, popped them into his mouth. “It’s win or lose. Everything’s a gamble. Start a gas station and maybe you’ll make it and maybe you won’t. It depends on a million and one things, none of them liable to come up twice in a lifetime. It’s knowing when to get out, when to get in, when to split up and when to come together. The government puts a tariff on certain imports that we could normally buy very cheaply from a country that does a better job of putting them out; hence, certain manufacturers are protected and make more money, but that also opens up an illegal trade—smuggling. The cost of losing is greater, of course, maybe three or four years of your life, but then the profits are greater and guaranteed so long as you don’t get caught. No worries about rising costs of materials or labor, and the officers of the law can be bought as well, if need be. Same way with anything illegal. The demand is always there, the market never closes.

“Look at it this way. Some fellow breaks into a building and steals ten thousand dollars’ worth of office equipment: typewriters, duplicating machines and such. Now, the owner of that office, he goes first, if he’s smart, to his insurance company and collects the ten thousand that he insured it for, after some kicking and groaning; then he goes out into the black market and buys the equipment he needs (maybe even his own stuff, who knows?) for two thousand, giving the middleman a nice fifteen-hundred-dollar profit (five hundred of which goes into protection), fills up his office and that’s the end of it. If he’s robbed again, the whole chain can start over: otherwise just the insurance company wins (and they win, by the way, because of other people getting knocked over).”

That same week, without explaining why, Carroll took July to New York and onto the floor of the Stock Exchange, where old men took notes on small white pads.

It was Carroll and not July who felt that they had to leave. On the street outside he looked tired and a little frightened.They walked half a block. Then he wanted to turn around and go back; but just as they reached the entrance to the main room, where the electricity from inside seemed to crack and spark around the frame of the huge doors, he stopped, turned again and led July away. An ashen color had come over his face. Back at the car he said, “Drive home,” and was silent nearly all the way to Philadelphia.

“I went broke there once,” he said. “I was young. I thought I knew what had to happen. I was sure wheat had to keep going up. When they dumped it, a hush came over the whole building. There were some there who weren’t watching it, of course, and they searched the boards like madmen to find out what had happened, then cared no more than if it were a fluctuation in the temperature. You can’t imagine it. Whole lives ruined in a matter of seconds. My wish is that someday you’ll make it there. Someday you’ll beat them.”

“Beat who?” asked July.

“The ones who never lose.”

July’s studies became more difficult. His ability to concentrate was coming apart at the seams—as if there were differences trying to get worked out inside him. Partially it was the $50,000. He knew Franklin didn’t make that much, but he also knew that he needed to, that he couldn’t live anywhere but where he lived, or on any different terms, and it was that red margin that made July wonder. Still, if he could choose, he’d be Franklin just as surely as when they’d first eaten breakfast together and July had noticed his clean shoes and the way people jumped when he called their names.

One night that week Franklin came up to his room with a round paper sack under his arm. It was only eight o’clock and he’d never come so early before. Also, his Cadillac wasn’t parked across the street. He looked as though he’d been walking all night in the streets. July thought it very strange.

“I’ve brought a cold bottle of wine to share,” he stated as he came in. “You wouldn’t have a corkscrew around here, would you?”

“I don’t think I do have.”

“Well, get a knife, and some glasses. We’ll cut it open.” He set to work with the knife, paring away at the cork, and finally pushed it down into the bottle. “To your health,” he said, when the glasses were poured.