No Beast So Fierce by Edward Bunker Page B

cigars if I remember right.” She asked if we were hungry, but the amphetamine in our systems left no appetite. Coffee was another matter. She began heating water and getting cups. I tilted the chair back against a wall and relaxed, tranquility spreading through me. I bathed in the warmth of friendship in the room. Watching Mary, I wondered what would happen to her now that Joe was gone. Would she find some working stiff? Yet she was so accustomed to criminals. I could remember her in the background when addicts came to buy from Joe. They’d fix in the bathroom and lie in stupors around the living room, dropping lighted cigarettes onto the furniture.
    I wondered, too, about their children. Lisa was six and Joey Junior three when I went away. How had they turned out? What effect was the bizarre world of their parents and in-laws having on them? I asked Mary about them. Lisa, it seemed, was boy crazy and presently worried because her breasts weren’t filling out as quickly as her friends’. Joe was a devil—but a delightful devil.
    Mary mentioned that Selma was worried about Willy being with me, that I’d lead him into trouble. Willy shook his head in disgust, finished his coffee, and went into the living room to nap a while.
    I didn’t tell Mary, but Selma’s fears were unfounded. If I was going back into crime, Willy would never be a participant. Beyond getting equipment and menial chores I’d never be able to trust him. I’d gone on one score with him—rather I’d taken him with me—and it would be the last time. The score was easy (as scores go): a bookmaker who carried at least two thousand dollars on him. The bookie weighed about two hundred and thirty pounds. The plan was to break into his apartment and wait for him. Willy would wait outside and follow him in and help me tie him up.
    I made entry by cutting a screen in a bathroom, and waited in a Halloween mask. The bookie arrived twenty minutes later. I faced him, got the money, and sat him down on the sofa. He wanted to jump me. I could see it in his eyes. Willy never came. It was impossible to tie him up with one hand while holding a pistol with the other—and getting that close to him would be dangerous. I waited half an hour, finally backed out of the apartment. I knew the victim was leaping for a telephone the moment I closed the door behind me. I’d planned to have time to get away by tying him up. That was gone.
    So was Willy. There was only a vacant space at the curb where Willy had parked. I sprinted through back yards and alleys to get away.
    Willy was waiting at my apartment. He was trembling. He claimed that a prowl car had cruised by and doubled back, the policemen eyeing him. That’s why he’d fled. I disbelieved him—but accepted the story without argument. Friendship was more important. But it was the last time I considered Willy for a caper. He lacked the necessary courage.
    â€œDo you hear from Joe?” I asked Mary.
    She sipped coffee and kept her eyes down. “Once in a while he writes, claims it’s going to be different next time. But it’s over, Max, all over. I’ve waited years for him to change. He won’t. I don’t think any of you will. I’d stay if it was just me, but I’ve got the children to think of.”
    â€œYou should wait until he’s on the streets, not quit when he’s down. You know how that looks.”
    â€œI don’t care how it looks. I’ve waited half a dozen times. I never even go on dates. When he’s behind bars he always promises that things are going to be different. Maybe he believes it … I don’t. All of you have some kind of sickness. This time he moved out before they got him. He’d come here and start fights and”—tears shone in her eyes—“he was living with a whore and selling heroin again. When he came to see the kids he brought her along.”
    â€œWas he