No Beast So Fierce by Edward Bunker Page A

And the broad’s treated me pretty good considering everything. She’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but I’m used to her. We’re all right, I guess.”
    Willy stopped talking. He made me smile—so phlegmatic, unruffled by poverty and frustration. His dream was the permanent euphoria of narcotics and to be left alone. He would stumble along, accept the parole officer’s indignities, incarceration being worse, live with his shrewish wife in patience, and he might finish five years parole.
    â€œLet’s stop and see Mary,” he said. “She’ll groove on seeing you.”
    â€œIt’s 3:30 in the morning.”
    â€œShe won’t give a fuck if we wake her up. She’s used to it.”
    Mary Gambesi lived two miles from her sister and brother-in-law. Willy turned down an alley in the lower middle-class suburb and switched off the headlights. “She lives in the back.”
    Willy cut the motor and glided to a halt. Tiptoeing, our shoes nonetheless scrunching on gravel, we moved through extreme darkness to a darker bungalow. Willy knew his way. He rapped his knuckles against a window. A dog yipped nearby, aroused by the sound. A dozen canine voices instantly joined in chorus.
    â€œNow some fool will call the police about a prowler. Sonofabitch.” Willy rapped harder.
    The windowshade fluttered; a pale, featureless face appeared. “Is that you, Willy?”
    â€œYeah, it’s me … your old faithful brother-in-law.”
    â€œIs that Max with you?”
    â€œThat’s him.” Willy turned to me. “Selma must’ve called.”
    We trampled through a flower bed and around the corner of the building. Willy muttered curses at the yelping dogs. Mary waited until the door was closed before turning on the lights. She held a flannel housecoat tight around her throat with one hand. She put the other to her mouth at sight of me. The gesture was so dramatic that it had to be spontaneous. “Selma called and told me, but I can’t believe it.”
    â€œLazarus risen,” I said. “Everybody gets out some day, parole or pine box.” I could see that time had been gentle with her. Even barefoot, hair in curlers, she looked no more than eighteen. She waited for my appraisal, smiling softly. We shared a bond of affection.
    â€œYou haven’t aged a day,” I said.
    She made a deprecatory gesture; she was unaccustomed to compliments. “Sit down,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She wanted to put on slippers and close the doors to the children’s room. She asked us to be quiet.
    â€œYou two got somethin’ goin’,” Willy said. “Why don’t you pull her? She’s a thoroughbred and she’s free. Joe and her are all over.”
    â€œShe’s still Joe’s old lady as far as I’m concerned. And I dig her in a different way, anyway.”
    â€œIf you really want to straighten up, she’s perfect for you. I know you dig them stallion blondes, but you’ve gotta be on top for that. For someone to stick with you, ain’t none better’n Mary. She’s almost too fuckin’ sweet to be real.”
    â€œMaybe she’s too sweet for me.”
    Mary returned at that moment, hair brushed out. The vast black mane tumbled over her shoulders. Again I was struck with how young she looked. “Don’t you ever age?” I asked.
    â€œI pluck out the gray hair,” She laughed, coloring.
    â€œIf I did that I’d be bald.”
    â€œI noticed … but you look distinguished.”
    â€œYou still know how to make a fella feel good.”
    She blurted suddenly: “Oh, Max, I’m so glad you’re free. I just hope you can stay out and enjoy life for a change.” The gust of emotion made her blush. She turned to Willy. “Do you have any cigarettes? I know Max doesn’t smoke.”
    â€œJust cigars,” I said.
    â€œSmelly