Straight Life - Art Pepper [136]
Ruben stopped at Rachel's house, where I was staying. He said, "I'm going to let you off." I said, "What do you mean? We haven't got any money! Let's go rob some place! Let me have the gun!" He said, "No, man, I'll see you later." I said, "What a yellow motherfucker you are." All these people that were supposed to have so much nerve! I felt that I had way more balls than they did, and I didn't think I had any heart at all. I thought, "Who am I supposed to look up to? Who am I supposed to follow? Who am I supposed to like? And what am I supposed to pattern myself after?"
It's morning. I'm sick. No money. No dope. And at any minute I might be picked up by the police or killed by the Chicanos if they find out who tried to rob this place, and it's all for nothing. I went to Rudy's. I said, "Oh, man, let's do something." I didn't tell him who I went with, but I told him what had happened, and I said, "Here I am sick, man, and I don't know what to do."
We went out. We went to a gas station. He turned the guy, and I took a battery charger. We went to a fence. I think we got sixty dollars for this beautiful battery charger. We bought a quarter of stuff, and I was so drug and unhappy, we just shot it and shot it.
14
The Los Angeles
County Jail: The Hole
19601961
DIANE had left me. The thought of Diane made me ill. She didn't have any heart at all, no spirit. She was always sniveling, whining, crying. She was using, but she never earned any money. I didn't want her to be a whore! I would never want a chick that would be a whore. We were living with some people, and she just laid up and waited while I went out and burglarized some place or boosted and came back with the dope. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore-I don't know what she couldn't stand. She wasn't doing nothing, and this guy Boy, that we'd been staying with, moved to Orange, and he'd always had eyes for her, and I guess he must have told her to come on up there and he'd take care of her. So she split.
I had had two occasions at this period when two different Mexican hustling broads hit on me and told me that they wanted to take care of me. All I would have had to do is, if somebody messed with them, go pistol-whip the guy; you know, just be behind them so they'd have a man. The girl would go out and hustle and get the money, and I would go out and get the dope and fix her and keep everything straight. They liked me because I was a famous musician, and I was kinda handsome, and they'd heard I had a lot of heart. They said, "Man, what are you doing with that stupid broad? She's just laying up on her fucking ass not doing nothing, and you're such a groovy cat. Why don't you come with me?" This happened twice, and these were chicks that made a bill (a hundred) a day at least. I didn't put them down, but I couldn't get involved with them. I knew I'd get hung up on the chick. They were both beautiful girls. I knew I'd start having a feeling for the girl, and if she was balling different guys it would eat me up. I've always been moral. I couldn't change it. Old-fashioned. And I felt sorry for Diane. If I left her she'd just die. She was such a weakling. So I came back to this place one day, and there was a note from Diane that she'd left, and I thought, "Thank God, she's gone. She's made the move. Maybe now I can get myself together and be cool, support my habit."
When I robbed the doctor's office in Studio City, I had got one huge bottle filled with phenobarbital. I didn't know this, but Diane had taken the bottle with her when she