Chapter 3
I awoke with a jolt. Lila was shaking me as if I were a rug.
"Come on, get out of there," Lila said.
I sat up, shoving my fingers through my hair, wondering where in hell I was. And then, as I came out of my stupor, I remembered.
"The cart will be here in five minutes," Lila told me. "So come on."
I climbed off the bunk and stood up. The aisle was cluttered with women who were tall and short and fat and lean and old and young. They were standing beside their bunks yawning and scratching themselves. They were a mangy-looking bunch. And then I realized I probably didn't look much better.
I headed up the aisle toward the front. I wanted to wash up before I ate. But I didn't have to ask directions as to where to go. I just followed my nose. It smelled like a stable.
I held my breath and dived into the room. It was jammed. But I was lucky. I soon found a place at the trough and began washing.
A few minutes later I was back in the main room. A cart was being shoved in. Then the door to the hall was locked once more.
Lila took charge. She had two other women helping her. That was the poorest imitation of a breakfast that I had ever seen.
There was a thin watery gruel with big lumps in it. Lila spooned some of it into a bowl and dumped some milk on it. She picked up a spoon and handed it to me.
"There's bread on top the cart," she said. "You get two slices, and no more."
"How about coffee?" I asked.
"There's coffee on the other end of the cart. Have you got a cup?"
"No."
"Then go over there in the corner and find one," she told me.
I grabbed a slice of bread off the top of the cart and headed toward a table along the wall. Again I was lucky. I got a spot at the end.
I went over to the shelf in the corner that Lila had pointed to. There was a box with tin cups in it. They were all rusty. I sorted around and found one with only some rust on the bottom. I took it into the washroom and tried to scour it out.
As I sat at the table, munching dry bread and trying to get down some of the gruel, I again began pondering my fate.
Slocum had rallied around to fix up my shop and living quarters. But this was different. Slocum was not about to buck old man Blake. I knew that I was dead as far as Slocum was concerned.
But who had killed Johnny Blake? I sure as hell didn't. I was being choked to death and was fighting for my life at the time he toppled over. And what had killed him?
Somebody must have been trailing me through the woods heard Johnny coming, and hid out. Or perhaps that person had seen me enter the woods and had then seen Johnny following me. Knowing Johnny's reputation with women, that person knew what Johnny was up to. But that person did not move in until Johnny started choking me. But it was so dark out there under those trees. Nobody could have seen anything. But apparently that person heard me gasping for breath. Struggling as we were, neither Johnny nor I could have heard anyone walking up.
I shoved back my bowl and picked up my cup of coffee. I tasted it. It tasted like varnish remover. But I knew I had to have something in me. So I forced myself to sip it.
If only I had a cigarette. I was having a nicotine fit. I glanced down the table. I did a double-take. The women were rolling their own.
I glanced at a frowsy fat blonde sitting next to me. "Don't they give you any cigarettes in here?"
"Just the makin's," she said. She pulled a sack of Bull Durham from her shirt pocket and a book of papers. She laid them on the table. "There, help yourself."
I shook my head. "That's beyond me. I never rolled a cigarette in my life."
"Okay, I'll help you out," the blonde said.
She picked up the book and opened it. She blew against the leaves. She pulled one free. She folded part of it over, making a trough. Then she picked up the Bull Durham and opened the sack. She sprinkled tobacco into the trough.
"Here," she said, "be careful. Take this and be careful not to spill it. I'll let you lick it."
She passed it over and I managed not to spill it. I licked the paper.
"Now fold it over," the blonde said.
I did.
"And twist the ends." I did.
The blonde dug out a book of matches and handed them to me. Then she started rolling one for herself.
I lit it and damn near choked. It was like the one and only time I smoked corn silk out behind the barn. But after two or three puffs my throat went numb. I stopped choking.
That cigarette and that cup of coffee damn near finished me. I started getting sick and my head was spinning. I had to quit.
I wheeled around on the end of the bench and stood up. I began walking around in the lounge area. Cigarette butts littered the floor. The chairs were beat-up and the springs were poking up through the fabric. And the women who had finished breakfast were now parked on the chairs, rolling cigarettes or flipping them onto the floor.
I wondered how long I would have to stay in this pesthole. I know knew what they meant by the term stir crazy. I'd be worse than that if I didn't get of of there pretty soon.
Lila came over to me.
"Don't you like Bull Durham, honey?" she asked. I shook my head.
She pulled a pack of tailor mades from her shirt pocket. "I've got plenty of these," she said.
I reached for one. She yanked her hand back.
"Not so fast, honey. In this world, you have to pay for everything you get."
"Such as what?"
"Sleep with me tonight and you can have a pack of these," she said.
I shook my head. "I'd rather have the shakes. So get lost."
"Listen, tramp, nobody crosses Lila and gets away with it. So go in the head and get a broom. Sweep this floor. And after you finish that, you'll mop it."
I hesitated.
"Get going," she yelled.
All the other women gathered gathered around. They were smirking and laughing and waiting to see the show.
As I went into the washroom I passed a mousy little redhead.
"Lila's hell on wheels," she told me. "I know. I've still got the marks on my backside to prove it. So if you're smart, honey, you won't cross her. Do as she says."
"Like hell I will," I said. "If she goes too far, I'll slap the hell out of her."
"Better not. She'll yell for the guard. They'll take you down in the basement and work you over. So don't ever lay a hand on Lila if you don't want what I got on my backside."
I nodded and went into the washroom. I got a broom and came out. I pulled the chairs back and began sweeping.
I had nearly swept the area and had just swept it up into a big pile. Lila came up from behind me and kicked it forty ways from Sunday.
"Now sweep it up," she said.
I threw the broom at her. "Sweep it up yourself," I said. She started for me, her eyes glazed with rage, and flexing her fingers.
"You bitch," she hissed. "After I work you over, I'll have the boys take you down to the cellar. By the time they get through with you, your mother wouldn't recognize you."
She lunged for me. I ducked to one side. And she whistled by me and crashed against a chair. That tied it.
She whirled and began stalking me again. I kept backing away from her. But I couldn't go very far. We were hemmed in by the other women, who were betting whatever they had handy as to who would come out on top.
Lila rushed me. My right hand zoomed up and the heel of my hand caught her under her jaw, snapping her head back. My left hand came in and slapped the hell out of her.
Then it was a free-for-all. She grabbed my hair and yanked my head down. I saw her knee coming up and twisted my head a split second before it landed. My ear felt as if it had burst, and pain erupted all over that side of my head.
She yanked my head around and it felt as if my hair were being pulled out. There was only one thing to do. My hand shot up and grabbed her hair. I tugged her head down. And there we were, butting heads, like two made bulls.
The women were cheering us on and raising one helluva racket. I suppose that's why no one heard the hall door open.
"Break it up," a deep voice bawled. And then we were yanked apart.
He was a big fat beefy guy with a red face and a bald head. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he had just come off a big drunk.
"What's this all about?" he roared.
"She refused to clean up this area," Lila said.
"That's a lie," I said. "She...."
"Nobody argues with the tank captain," he told me. He grabbed my arm. "Come on. We're going to the basement."
He gave me a shove toward the door to the hall.
"Be brave," a tall lanky brunette said with a sneer as we passed her.
The door was unlocked and I was pushed into the hall. And down the hall we went to the elevator and on down to the basement.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me from the cage. It was gloomy and musty and smelled like hell down there.
He opened a door on the right and shoved me into the room. He unlocked it. He grabbed me again and dragged me to a post in the middle of the room.
"Strip," he said.
I glared at him and hesitated.
He grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked. It ripped. He shucked me like an ear of corn.
He pushed me against the post and grabbed my hands. I saw gleaming metal. And then the handcuffs clicked shut.
WHAP!
A rubber hose bit into my buttocks. It was like being branded with a hot iron. I screamed.
"Go ahead and yell," he said. "Nobody can hear you from way down here."
WHAP!
My back got it that time. It knocked the wind out of me. But I was mad by then. I bit my lower lip until it bled. But I was determined not to scream any more. And if I ever got out of there alive I'd take care of that monster, and it wouldn't be with a rubber hose.
"Had enough?" he asked.
"No," I snarled. "Lay on. MacDuff."
"Does it make you hot to get whipped?"
"Hell no. But go ahead and have your fun."
"I will."
I heard the rubber hose thud on the floor. He came around in front of me and unlocked the handcuffs. "Lay on the floor," he said. "Like hell I will," I said.
He grabbed me and threw me on the floor. For the second time in less than twelve hours I was being raped.
"Either take it on your back," he told me, "or I'll tie you over that railing over there and give it to you from the rear."
He took off his pants and shorts. He was ready for action. I let him come. At the proper moment my bare foot zoomed up. It wasn't as effective as if I was wearing a boot. But it caught him square. He howled and grabbed himself down there.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to a corner. Some lumber was stacked there. I grabbed up a heavy timber the size of a ball bat.
He charged me. I sidestepped and got back in the middle of the room. He lunged again and I gave it to him on the side of the head. He went down like a poleaxed ox.
I stared at him. And then I was really scared. What if I had killed him?
I squatted down beside him and grabbed his thick hairy wrist. My fingers clamped. I started breathing again. He was just knocked out. He would be okay-I hoped.
"Get up from there," a rough voice said.
I looked around. This cop could be a twin brother for the one on the floor.
He yanked me to my feet. "You belong in a strait jacket. This is the second one you've killed."
"And this is the second one to rape me in twelve hours," I told him.
He whirled me around and marched me to the door.
"Hey, Hal," he yelled. "Put this bitch in solitary."
A short stocky guy came up through the gloom. He clamped a muscular hand on my arm. "Okay, let's go."
It was cold down there. And I was naked. But that didn't matter. He herded me to the end of the hall and opened a door on the left. He gave me a shove and I sprawled headlong on a damp wet floor. The door slammed and I heard a key in the lock.
It was as dark as a bat cave in there. And just as cold. I was shivering. I groped my way around the room.
I bumped against cold hard metal. My hands fumbled around. It was a cot with a bare mattress on it. And it smelled moldy.
I continued exploring around. I kicked a bucket. I didn't need to see it to know what it was. It smelled worse than the washroom upstairs. But if I didn't want to use the bucket, I could squat on the floor.
My feet were cold. So I flopped on the stinking mattress. I thought of the cop I had slugged. What is he should die?
Perhaps I had beaten his head in. That wouldn't kill him on the spot. But it might later.
It was self-defense. That cop had no business hauling me down there and beating me. But what chance would I have? Nobody but the cops knew I was down there with him. They would phony up some kind of a story about me attacking him upstairs.
The key rattled in the lock again. I heard the door squeak back.
"Come on," the cop growled. "You're wanted."
I got off the cot and went to the door. He grabbed me and herded me across the hall and into an office. A tall gaunt man with his cheeks caved in sat behind an old desk. There were no chairs in the room.
"Okay, Harley, leave us alone for a while," the skeleton said.
I heard the door close. He stared at me from behind the desk for a moment.
"Jarvis ain't expected to live," he old me. "Who's he?" I asked.
"The officer you hit with that timber. So you'll have a second murder charge against you."
"He had no business dragging me down here and whipping me and raping me," I said.
"Can you prove he did that?"
I shook my head.
"Okay. Go ahead and make that statement. We'll deny it. You'll soon find out who the public believes. Now tell me about last night. Why did you kill Johnny Blake?"
"I didn't. And I'm not answering any questions without a lawyer present."
He gave a hollow laugh. "That sort of stuff may go in the big cities. But up here we don't give a damn about the Supreme Court. You'll get no lawyer. But we'll get a confession, even if we have to beat it out of you. So make it easy on yourself."
"Go to hell," I told him. "I'm not saying anything without a lawyer present."
"You're all steamed up. So we'll park you back in The Hole and give you a chance to cool off. I'll see you this afternoon. If you won't sign a confession then, we'll beat one out of you. Oh, it won't show. Alex is a genius with a rubber hose. Better than Jarvis. So you won't have a mark on you. But, by God, after Alex works you over you'll be ready to give us a confession."
He jabbed at a button. The door opened and the stocky cop came in. Once again he grabbed me and hauled me out of there. He opened the door across the hall and shoved me inside. The door slammed and the lock clicked.
I went over and slumped down on the cot. If Jarvis died, I would really be in for it. But even if he died, I still had to confess to killing Johnny Blake. So if I wasn't railroaded to the gas chamber for killing Johnny, I would be for killing Jarvis.
I was shivering and shaking. I was as cold as a penquin's foot. And it was so quiet down there, except for the drip, drip, drip of water somewhere. No wonder the floor was wet.
Try as I would, I couldn't shut out the sound of that dripping water. I now knew the agony of The Chinese Water Torture.
Drip, drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip.
I put my hands to my ears, trying to shut out the maddening sound. But my mind kept hearing it and I was tortured as much as ever.
Something scurried across my naked belly. I could feel its claws. I screamed and bounded off the cot. It was either a rat or a mouse.
I was freezing. I got off the cot and began jumping up and down. I was soon out of breath but I was warm.
I flopped on the cot, wishing I had a cigarette. But my mind kept going back to Johnny Blake and Jarvis.
So why not sign a confession? I was going to the gas chamber for killing Jarvis, anyway.
Or was I? Perhaps I was told that to scare me into signing a confession that I killed Johnny Blake.
Everything began revolving around in my head like a berserk carousel. Everything became all jumbled up. I was no longer able to try to reason things out. And then everything would straighten out and clear up for a moment. During that moment, I would wonder if I was going mad.
And then I'd get off the cot and start jumping up and down again. Winded, but warm, back onto the cot I would go once more.
My body and my mind were getting numb. Moments of clear thinking were getting farther and farther apart. I don't know how many hours that went on. But in one of my moments of clear thinking, I wondered if I would be a raving maniac before they hauled me out to sign my confession.
And that damned dripping water. That was what was driving me batty.
Drip, drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip.
If there were only some way to stop that goddamn dripping. Then, perhaps, I could pull myself together. And then the fog would roll in over me once more, and everything was all jumbled like a jigsaw puzzle in a box.
I heard a key in the lock. But I was so potted that it meant nothing to me.
"Come on out of there," a rough voice said.
I didn't respond. Oh sure, I heard him talking. But it didn't register. It was just another noise.
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me up. I was shoved toward the door and through it.
My knees got gooey again. The pink haze was still around me. But through it I saw a freckled craggy face under a red crew cut. He was tall and broad-shouldered and his face was grim.
I tottered toward him. But my feet wouldn't track. And the last thing I remember was pitching forward headlong.