From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [317]
“Sure. They all talk about him,” Angelo grinned wolfishly. “Because he’s too tough for them and too smart for them both. He makes them eat it and like it.”
“You sure he aint Superman in disguise now,” Prew said irately.
“I know he’s the squarest, straightest, fairest joe I ever met in my life,” Angelo said glowingly.
“He is, hunh?” Prew said irritably. He could sense his own jealousy. You dont want Angelo to have another hero, do you, Prewitt? You sure did him a lot of good when you were his hero, didnt you? “Well, he’s beginning to get in my hair,” he said.
Angelo looked a little shocked. “And I know he’s the smartest operator I ever met, too,” he said coolly, “if that means anything to you.”
“It dont mean nothing to me,” Prew said. “Why aint he out here with the rest of the fuckups, if he’s so tough?”
“He was a mechanic by trade,” Angelo said, “and he works in the Stockade motorpool. When he aint in the Hole. Thats why he aint out here: He says they got so now they always keep his old job back for him because he’s the only guy they can get to fix up their trucks.”
“He must be quite a guy,” Prew said. “Has he got a halo?”
“If I was the Pope,” Angelo said without hesitation, “he would have.”
“But you aint the Pope,” Prew told him, “and so Jack Malloy aint no saint. Okay, then what the hell is he then?”
Angelo laughed feverishly between swings of his hammer. “He says he’s the Rockpile.”
“The what?” Prew said, stopped momentarily. “The rockpile?”
“Yeah.” Angelo laughed again harshly. “This heres the rockpile for the prisoners, see? Well, Jack Malloy says he’s the Rockpile where Father Thompson and Fatso and all the rest of them are condemned to for hard labor the rest of their natural lives,” he said, looking at Prew to make sure he got it. When he saw he had, he laughed again. “He had to explain it to me, too,” Angelo said.
“Thats pretty good,” Prew admitted reluctantly, unable to escape a twinge of interested curiosity about any man who could conceive of a thought like that one.
“You wait till you meet him,” Angelo promised triumphantly.
“I will,” Prew said.
“And you’ll meet him,” Angelo went on. “You wouldnt be able to stay in Number Three with the punks and the ass kissers if you wanted to. And you wont want to, not after you find out what our bunch of guys in Number Two is like.”
“It sure sounds like I got some complainin to do,” Prew grinned at him.
Angelo nodded. Then he shook his head and grinned wolfishly. “It wont be pleasant,” he warned. “You never know just what they’ll do, especially if Fatso’s in on it. They play rough. Whatever it is, you can bet it wont be pleasant. But it’ll be worth it to you after.”
“And it sounds like Number Two’s the place to be,” Prew said.
Angelo grinned back at him with that feverish wildness, his white eyes narrowing in the gray dust of his face. “I knew you wount give a damn,” he said proudly. “I knew you’d know the score.” He dropped the head of his hammer down to the ground and leaned on the shaft. “Goddam,” he said. “Goddam. You old son of a bitch you. So you took Old Ike and Bloom both.”
“Old Angelo,” Prew said. “Old Fuckup Angelo. Get to work, you social parasite you.”
“How’d you leave your girl?” Angelo said. “How’s Lorene?”
“Okay,” Prew said. “She’s fine.” He swung with all his strength with his hammer. Alma, he thought sickly, Alma, Alma; and swung it again. No, he told himself furiously, no, you stupid fuck, no. He swallowed and set his jaw tight and kept his tongue pressed up against the roof of his mouth and it went away a little bit.
“We’ll have you all moved in tomorrow,” Angelo said. “We’ll pull it tomorrow at noon and when you come out of the Hole your stuff will already be moved for you.”
“Whats wrong with today?” Prew asked him wildly.
“I want to take it home with me first and talk it over with Jack Malloy,” Angelo said. “I aint takin no extra risks, not on you. I want to get Jack Malloy’s seal of approval on the whole thing before we make a move.”
“Jesus Christ,