Cool Hand Luke - Donn Pearce [87]
The moment of fury stopped abruptly when all the guards ran out of ammunition. They stood there awkwardly, looking down at us, shifting their weight from one foot to another. Every one of us could have stood up and strolled away. Except that we couldn’t move. We lay there flat on our bellies, laughing so hard we couldn’t get off the ground, burying our faces in our folded arms to muffle our hilarity.
For we realized that what Luke had really done was to put the Slow Con on all the Free Men. He couldn’t possibly beat them in any other way so he simply had played it cool. Now he and Dragline were off in an aureole of flames, a tremendous din echoing behind them; laughter, curses and screamed invectives raised up in a mixed chorus of soaring halleluiahs—
They’re in the truck!
They’re gettin‘ away!
It’s that fat son of a bitch, Dragline!
And Cool Hand Luke!
26
TODAY AT BEAN TIME I LAY THERE IN THE church yard, listening to the drone of Dragline’s voice, my head propped up on my shoes, the bowl of my pipe resting on my chest. Something made my ankle itch and I drew up my leg, reaching down to scratch. As I relaxed again I turned my head and looked at the watch tower, studying its complicated design of criss-crossed beams and girders that supported the little square house on top. For no reason at all I began to count the flights of steps that zigzagged up into the sky. Fifteen. There were fifteen ladders. Like those that go from the boat deck up to the wing of the bridge. And for a moment I let myself remember. Right then the twelve-to-four would be on watch. The Captain and the Mates would be in the chart room working up the noon position. The sky would be clear, the seas moderate, the ship rolling and pitching gently.
They were still singing inside the church, a long, moaning kind of melodic prayer. There would be a pause for a minute or two and then they would begin again, one of the instruments or singers starting off alone, the others joining in one at a time. Stupid Blondie had finished sharpening yo-yos. The traffic on the road went by. Tobacco can lids were popped open. The dipper hit against the rim of the bucket. Matches were struck. A chain rattled.
Dragline drew one knee up against his chest, his other leg bent sideways, his ankles crossed. He leaned one arm on his upraised knee, holding a cigarette, his other hand picking up some sand and letting it fall through his fingers. Hoarsely he murmured to the Bull Gang sprawled all around him, occasionally glancing over at the Free Men to see if they were listening. He squinted his eyes, his loose lips trying to conceal his grin.
Ah’m tellin‘ yuh. There was some hell raised when me and Luke took off. Ah ain’t never heard such a noise. Bullets were whizzin’ and moanin‘ and groanin’ all over the place. They was poundin‘ away on the back of that old truck like—oh, man. Ah’m tellin’ yuh. It was hell on wheels.
But that there Luke. He was a smart bastard aw right. Yuh see. Them Free Men couldn’t even chase us cause Luke had the keys to the cage truck in his pocket. And it was a half mile at least to the first house where they could git to a telephone and call the Law. Even so. Luke wasn’t takin‘ no chances. We didn’t want to go git ourselves spotted, see? Drivin ’around in no State truck. And we didn’t wont nobody to find the truck on some back road somewheres so they’d know right where to put the dogs out. The idea was, we was gonna hide it, see? Ah mean that truck was hot. So Luke drove off on some little old dirt road, and then he put it in low-low gear and we went through some groves. ‘Cept he made me git out and come along behind with a shovel. And ah had to cover up the tire tracks. Then we run it right into this patch of palmettos and he made me start cuttin’ off fronds with this bush axe. Like ah said. He was a smart son of a bitch. He dumped all the gawd damn tools out there on the road, see? All but one shovel and one bush axe. He had them in the cab. And the tool file. Cause he knew we’d need ‘em. Anyhow. We cut all these