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Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [83]

By Root 1263 0
school or the orphanage, and his fear that he would become accustomed to the life and even learn to like it was outweighed by the need to survive each day. For this it was necessary for him to become a con, to join the club; at least on the surface. He learned the language and he learned the ropes: that a man who never got into trouble with the screws was almost as bad as somebody who was always in trouble; that when you were asked to pass contraband you did it, not as a minor piece of defiance but because without some kind of connecting force of law among the inmates the prison would become an anarchy and the prisoners less than men. It was necessary for their self-esteem that they consider, no matter how comically, that they were in charge of their own destiny, and to break the rules a little demonstrated this. It also got stuff passed, which was probably even more important. The perfect convict, the man who lived entirely by the rules set down for him, was not a man but a vegetable. And the constant troublemaker, no matter how sick he was inside, was actually doing just what the State expected of him, therefore justifying the existence of the prison. So it was a matter of delicate balance between defiance and obedience.

But naturally, he learned, there was no unanimity. Not all the prisoners gambled, not all of them did any particular thing; they didn’t even all agree that prison was wrong—many not only thought it was right but admitted that they belonged in there. On this matter, Jack was not certain himself. Deep inside there was a tickle of guilt, an admission, perhaps, of the justice of prison existence. With Billy Lancing it was just the opposite. Penology was something Billy could get passionate about.

“Prison stinks, man. It really stinks. Think of all them mother-fuckers on the outside who don’t know what it’s like and think we belong here. Man, think about them cats. Aint a one of them don’t break the law every time it gets in their way; man, I read a book once that said most of the money lost in crime in this country was stuff like stolen paper clips, shit like that, bank presidents runnin off to Mexico; and think a minute about the guys in jail because they ran gambling games! Can you believe it? Gambling? Every fuckin lawyer and judge in the fuckin country plays poker at his fatass club, an then goes down to court and gives some poor asshole two years for playin the same goddam game! What the fuck is this shit? And cheat you? What fuckin businessman wouldn’t cheat you if he got the chance? Shit!”

Jack laughed at him. “You’re sure pissed off. Somebody cheat you?”

Billy looked at him incredulously. “Cheat me? What the fuck do you think my fuckin sentence is? Fair play? I bop one check in my entire fuckin life and get one-to-five! What the fuck would you call that? And here some chickenshit accountant draws thirty thousand dollars out of the till an they give him six months! Look around you, man, all you’ll see in here is the fuggin chicken thieves; all the big boys, the pros, the white-collar cats, are on the outside, or down in Chino out in the sun. Sure, fuck yes, you got to do somethin with the criminals, but you got to do it to all the criminals, or the whole thing is horse -shit.”

Jack said, “Well, what did you expect?”

Billy snorted. “Now I’m locked up, I don’t expect nothin. But they better not let me out of here.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No. Fuck no. Let me out and I’ll kiss every ass from here to the Supreme Court to keep from comin back.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “So there’s a lot of injustice. So what? What’s that got to do with you?”

“Nothin. Only, I do hate it. Man, justice is based on the idea that we all got a right to live our lives any way we fuckin please, so long as we don’t fuck up anybody else. Okay, I did wrong. I’ll pay, I’ll do my time. But I hope you don’t think I’m doin this time cause I bopped that one little check. I hope you know I’d be home free or at worst out on probation if I had the money to buy a good lawyer.” He had his hands in his pockets and his skinny shoulders hunched

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