Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [21]
And then one of them took off his shirt, revealing a large eagle tattooed in red and blue ink across the expanse of his chest. Stupid Blondie and Stupidest Blondie both crowded around, eagerly admiring the art work as the Newcock grinned. But as the new man took off his shirt he had also taken off his name. Whatever name he had used before he arrived was totally forgotten and from then on he was known to one and all as Eagle.
Feeling a little more confident, Eagle and the other Newcock went to the Juke to buy candy bars and cokes. Jabo the Cook has the concession to the camp store which is a large wooden box filled with all sorts of Free World goodies plus a bucket of ice and a few cases of cold drinks shoved under his bunk.
But as I glanced up over the book I was reading I could see Jackson sitting on the edge of his bunk, his head bent forward to duck under the ceiling. He had a towel wrapped around his middle and his legs were crossed. Calmly he was rolling a smoke with State tobacco, at the same time looking over what was going on in the Building.
Squinting his eyes and cocking his head he studied the poker game in progress which is the personal concession of the Floorwalker who cuts each pot ten percent. Carr pays the dealer a certain percentage and there is no doubt in our minds that he must also pay off the Captain. Every night, for at least an hour after the Last Bell, the poker game continues, the bets made in whispers, the coins clinking quietly on top of a folded blanket, the cards rustling as they are shuffled, riffled, cut and put together.
In other corners men were talking together in low murmurs, others writing letters home or to the lawyer or to the Parole Board, explaining how they had been completely rehabilitated and were now anxious to begin a new life. Others were reading. Some men were already asleep. Babalugats was still clowning around, imitating Donald Duck. Some were busily lacing up the edges of a new wallet, holding the needle in their teeth as they quickly pulled the five yards of leather lace through one of the punched holes. The chain stitch takes an average of forty-five minutes and the standard rate of pay is ten cents per wallet.
I kept watching Jackson. There was something in the way he held his head and the way he held his cigarette. And I knew that he would always stay under the gun as long as he was here. He was intelligent and he was unafraid. This meant that the Free Men would be down on him from the very beginning. Not only that. There was that smile.
The Wicker Man got out of his chair, scraping his feet as he opened the door and went outside to the porch. He took an iron rod and hit the brake drum that dangles by a piece of wire from the rafters overhead. As the gong reverberated Carr swaggered back and forth between the bunks, calling out with his low and ominous growl—
First Bell. First Bell. Let’s git to bed.
Everyone scurried about the room with his last minute preparations for the night. Books and magazines were borrowed, pants removed, toilets visited. In a few minutes there was quiet, everyone on his bunk, either lying down or smoking with his legs swung over the edge. But the poker game continued without interruption. Here and there bedsprings were squeaking. Shoes clumped on the floor. Chains rattled. Then silence. Again the Wicker Man went outside and hit the brake drum.
Last Bell. Last Bell.
Carr slowly walked up one side of the Building and back on the other, carefully counting. Then he went over to the Wicker.
Fifty-three, Boss. And one in the Box.
Fifty-three. O.K. Carr.
Bunks and springs squeaked as someone rolled over. The dealer riffled the deck of cards. The silence was broken by a low unintelligible growl. Carr answered the growl with another that matched the intonation and pitch of the first.
Gittinup.
Yeaaaahhhh.
A Chain Man rose from his bunk, catching up his shackles with his string and hook, wrapping a towel around his waist and moving towards the toilets with quick, short, hip-swinging steps. The shackle rattled just