From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [100]
“And you didnt like it,” Warden grinned, repeating back, saying it almost chortlingly.
Stark stared at him reflectively, that peculiar about to laugh, about to cry, about to sneer expression on his face. “The setup? no,” he said. “The work? yes. Thats my job,” he said.
“Good,” Warden said happily and took a drink now. “I need a good man in my Mess, one I can depend on, one with the rating. How about First and Fourth, to start with?”
Stark looked at him reflectively. “Sounds reasonable,” he said. “If I get it. What then?”
“The Rating,” Warden said. “Preem’s Rating.”
Stark talked it over with his cigaret. “I dont know you,” he said, “but I’ll call you, First.”
“Heres the deal. Theres four men from your old outfit at Bliss in this Compny. They’re all four sergeants. You got no trouble there.”
Stark nodded. “I can see that far.”
“The rest is simple. All you got to do is keep your nose clean and show you’re a better man than Preem. You’re a First Cook with a First and Fourth, as of today. All you got to do is step in and take over whenever Preem dont show, which is just about every day.”
“I’m a new man here. Kitchen crews is clannish people. And Preem’s got The Rating.”
“Dont worry about The Rating. You dont need The Rating. I’ll take care of that end. When you have trouble in the kitchen, come to me. The cooks’ll give you lip for a while, especially this fat guy Willard. He’s a First Cook and he’s bucking for Preem’s job. But Dynamite dont like Willard.
“You’ll get lots of lip, but dont argue. Be chickenshit. Bring it to me. It’ll be all your way.”
“Its goin to sure be tough on poor old Preem,” Stark said, accepting the bottle Warden was offering him again.
“Have you seen him yet?”
“Not since Bliss.” Stark handed the bottle back reluctantly. “Good,” he said.
“I like it some myself,” Warden said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Preem likes it too. Preem married it. Preem looks like a man who either seen a miracle, or was hit at the base of the skull with a rubber hammer.”
“He was an awful quiet guy when I knew him. Kind of guy to go off and get drunk all by himself.”
“He’s still that way. Except now he has to go off and get sober by himself.”
“Quiet guys like that are bad. The ones that get drunk by theirselves. They awys flip their lid.”
“You think so?” Warden said, suddenly narrowly, that other part of his mind tuning in and clocking up the platitude, and reminding him that where theres smoke theres fire and where theres platitude theres liar. “Some of them dont.”
Stark shrugged. “Theres just one thing, First. If I take your kitchen, I run it my way. Nobody sings and nobody squares. There’ll be no backseat drivin from the Orderly Room if I take your kitchen. Otherwise no soap.”
“Forget it,” Warden said. “You run it right and its your baby.”
“That aint what I said,” Stark said doggedly. “I said its all my baby. Right or wrong. And the Office keeps its nose out. Or else I dont want any part of it.”
Warden grinned at him slyly, the pixy’s eyebrows quivering, thinking that he couldnt be too dumb. “Fine,” he said. Why cant you just be honest once? he thought, just make one promise without keeping your fingers crossed, you bastard.
“Okay,” Stark said, with finality. “How about a nuther drink?”
Warden handed him the bottle. The hand was over now, the cards were being collected by the dealer. The spontaneous conversation of relaxed tension broke out bubbling.
“What I dont see,” Stark said conversationally, “is what you make on this deal.”
“I make nothing,” Warden grinned. “You ever hear of the man with the whip? Well, I’m the guy. Holmes only thinks this is his Compny.”
The bottle worked back and forth now like a shuttle, weaving brilliant colors, over and under, around the strings of words.
“How many guys from Bliss in the Compny now?”
“Five, counting you. ‘Champ’ Wilson has the First Platoon,” Warden