Free The Digger's Game by George V. Higgins Page B

Did you by any chance do some gambling, Jerry?”
    “Well, yeah,” the Digger said, “I did some gambling.”
    “How much gambling did you do?” Paul said.
    “Now look,” the Digger said, “gambling, you know, I done it before. I know where Suffolk is, the Rock, Gansett. I even bet onna baseball game now and then. I didn’t, I know about gambling, Paul. I didn’t have to go all the way out to Vegas to gamble.”
    “Well, that’s true, of course,” Paul said. “Did you win or lose?”
    “I lost,” the Digger said.
    “You lost,” Paul said.
    “Look,” the Digger said, “I’m not one of them guys comes around and he’s always telling you, he won. People lose, gambling. I lost.”
    “That’s why they run gambling, I think,” Paul said. “People lose their money at it.”
    “Mostly,” the Digger said, “mostly, they do.”
    “How much did you lose, Jerry?” Paul said.
    “Well,” the Digger said, “if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not go into it.”
    “Jerry,” Paul said, “I’d love not to go into it. You got a deal.”
    There was an extended silence. There was a ship’s clock on the mantel of the fireplace in the study of the rectory of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It had a soft tick, inaudible except in near-absolute silence. It ticked several times.
    “How’s your car running?” the Digger said.
    “I’ve been thinking of turning it in,” Paul said.
    “Something the matter with it?” the Digger said. His face showed concern. “Car’s not that old, you don’t drive it all the time. It’s, what, a six-thousand-dollar item? Oughta be all right for five years or so.”
    “It’s two years old,” Paul said. “Nineteen thousand miles on it. There’s nothing wrong with it. I was just thinking, I might trade it. I always wanted a Cadillac.”
    “Those’re nice ,” the Digger said. “I wouldn’t mind one of them myself. I see one a while back, had a real close look at it. Really a nice car.”
    “Yeah,” Paul said. “But I can’t buy a Cadillac. Theparishioners, they wouldn’t mind. Most of them have Cadillacs themselves. But Billy Maloney, sold me the Buick, he’d be angry. And Billy’s a good friend of mine. Then there’s the Chancery. They wouldn’t like it. You buy yourself a Cadillac, in a way it’s sort of like saying, I’ve got all I want.’ At least they’re not going to give you any more, and that’s about the same thing. I can’t have a Cadillac. But then I started looking at those Limiteds.”
    “That’s another nice car,” the Digger said.
    “And it’s still a Buick,” Paul said, “so it won’t get anybody’s nose out of joint. But it’s the closest thing to a Cadillac that I’ve seen so far.”
    “What do they go for?” the Digger said.
    “Bill treats me all right,” Paul said. “This’ll be the fourth car I’ve bought from him. I suppose, twenty-eight hundred and mine.”
    “He’s using you all right,” the Digger said. “That’s an eight-thousand-dollar unit, I figure, you get it all loaded up. You do all right, Big Brother.”
    “Around seventy-four hundred, actually,” Paul said. “My one indulgence, you know?”
    The Digger looked around the room. “Yup,” he said, “right. Cottage. In the winter, Florida. Didn’t Aggie tell me something about, you’re going to Ireland in a month or so?”
    “October,” Paul said. “Leading a pilgrimage. Something like your Las Vegas thing, I suppose. Except Lourdes is supposed to be the highlight, no naked women and no gambling. Just holy water. Then you get to come back through Ireland and get what really interests you, the Blarney Stone and that idiocy they put on at Bunratty Castle. All that race-of-kings stuff.”
    “ Gee ,” the Digger said, “I would’ve thought the types out here’d be too fine for that, all that jigging around.”
    “They are,” Paul said. “You couldn’t sell a tour in this parish if you put up ten plenary indulgences. In