Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [69]
After the Last Bell we lay on our bunks with open smiles, turning over on our sides to gaze affectionately at Cool Hand’s bunk where his mattress was folded over double. Carr finished making his count and reported to the Wicker Man in the same old way, with the same stiff and disciplined manner, the rough, murmured growl—
Forty-nine, Boss. Four in the Box. And one in the bushes.
The next morning all four men were taken out of the Box and that night when we checked in, four other men were put in. But inside the Building we got the big news. It was all over. Luke’s trail had been red hot and fresh when, in broad daylight, it led straight into the suburbs of a nearby town. It went down a residential street and into a housing project and then it completely disappeared.
And so X marked the spot. Luke was off the ground. He had managed to beat the dogs and was long gone, evaporating into thin air.
19
THE NEXT DAY THE WORK WAS RIDICULOUSLY easy. Our shovels didn’t weigh a thing. The mosquitoes knew better than to come near us and the sun merely took away the chill.
Because Our Boy had made it. At that very moment he was out there in the Free World representing all of us as our very own fugitive.
Cheerfully we made the day, loading up into the cage truck and lighting up our smokes, getting down on our knees to stare through the bars, Eyeballing at the traffic, the houses, the Cadillacs and the girls. We were the last squad to check in that night. When we arrived we found the other three squads already lined up on the sidewalk, the walking bosses and the guards standing behind them. Everyone had been shaken down but there was no signal to begin checking in through the gate. The Captain sat in his rocking chair on the porch of his Office, his legs crossed, taking a quick drag on his butt and then busily spitting away. The Yard Man stood behind him, his grin distorted by his false teeth. To one side was a trustee and also the Dog Boy who stood there smirking at us.
The Captain said something. The Yard Man went inside the Office and then came out, followed by a shotgun guard who was followed by Cool Hand Luke.
We stood there, our heads bowed, our hats in our hands, our pockets turned inside out. Sullenly we watched as they led Luke down the steps to the sidewalk where they made him take off his shoes and roll up the cuffs of his pants. Then the trustees put the rings of a pair of shackles around his ankles and riveted them closed with a hammer.
Our faces were screwed up tight, almost ready to cry. Luke stood there, his face gaunt and tired and bewhiskered. But he ignored the two men working around his ankles and took out his can of State tobacco, removing a cigarette paper and beginning to roll a smoke, glancing up for a sly wink at Koko. Holding his head erect and his shoulders back, he sprinkled the tobacco in the folded paper with calm and steady fingers. Just as he took out his matches and was lighting up, the Captain got out of his rocking chair, came down the steps, pulled a blackjack out of his hip pocket and let Cool Hand have it right behind the ear.
The can fell on the sidewalk with a clatter, spilling tobacco and papers. Luke sagged, falling on top of the Dog Boy who cursed and struggled with flailing fists to get out from under the sudden dead weight that had landed on his head and shoulders. Then he froze, drawing back as the Captain shouldered him aside, kicking at Luke’s belly and letting out a shrill nasal scream.
Get up! Get up you damn bastard! Don’t you never smoke in front of me again! You hear? You hear? Never! Never! Now stand up there right. The way you’re supposed to.
Luke raised up on one elbow, shaking his head and blinking his eyes, a trickle of blood streaming down his cheek, his ear and neck. He struggled, slipped, fell back again, almost lapsing into unconsciousness. The Captain stood over him, hissing.
Stand up, damn you! Stand up when I talk to you.
Luke got up, swaying as the trustees went on with their work, bent over in an apprehensive crouch.
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