cwilleford.miamiblues-第4部分

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　he　was　hurt。
　　Finally；　at　seventeen；　Enoch　had　been　sentenced　to　Preston　as　an　incorrigible　menace　to　the　peace　of　Fresno；　California。　At　Preston；　among　some　very　hardened　young　prisoners；　Enoch　again　felt　pelled　to　prove　his　manhood　by　beating　up　on　people。　His　technique　was　to　walk　up　to　someone…anyone…　and　slam　a　hard　right　to　his　fellow　prisoner's　belly　or　jaw。　He　would　continue　to　pummel　his　victim　until　the　person　either　fought　back　or　ran　away　from　him。
　　Enoch's　presence　in　the　dormitory　was　unsettling　to　the　other　prisoners。　Freddy；　to　solve　the　problem；　had　befriended　him　and　worked　out　an　escape　plan；　telling　Enoch　that　he　could　prove　his　manhood　to　the　authorities　once　and　for　all　by　escaping。　Escaping　from　Preston　was　not　so　difficult；　and　Enoch；　with　Freddy's　help；　got　away　easily。　He　was　caught　in　Oakland　four　days　later　when　he　tried　to　beat　up　three　Chicano　beetpullers　and　steal　their　truck。　They　overpowered　him；　kicked　out　his　remaining　front　teeth；　and　turned　him　over　to　the　police。　Enoch　told　the　officials　at　Preston　that　Freddy　had　planned　his　escape；　so　Freddy's　good　time　was　revoked。　Instead　of　eighteen　months；　Freddy　spent　three　years　there。　Moreover；　Freddy　had　also　taken　a　severe　beating　as　soon　as　Enoch　was　returned　to　Preston。
　　In　the　hole　at　San　Quentin；　which　was　not　altogether　dark…a　pale　slice　of　light　indicated　the　bottom　of　the　door…Freddy　thought　hard　about　his　life。　His　desire　for　the　good　of　others　had　been　at　the　root　of　his　problems；　making　his　own　life　worse　instead　of　better。　And　he　hadn't　really　helped　anyone　else。　He　decided　then　to　look　out　only　for　himself。
　　He　quit　smoking。　If　your　smoking　privileges　are　revoked　but　you　don't　smoke；　the　punishment　is　meaningless。　Back　in　the　yard；　Freddy　had　quietly　joined　the　jocks　in　the　daily　pumping　of　iron　and　had　worked　on　his　mind　as　well　as　his　body。　He　read　Time　magazine　every　week　and　took　out　a　subscription　to　the　〃Reader's　Digest〃。　He　also　gave　up　sex；　trading　his　pudgy　punk；　a　golden　brown　Chicano　from　East　Los　Angeles；　for　eight　cartons　of　Chesterfields　and　200　Milky　Way　candy　bars。　He　then　traded　the　Chesterfields　（the　favorite　brand　among　black　prisoners）　and　150　of　the　Milky　Ways　for　a　single　cell。　He　also　made　his　peace　with　the　prisoner　power　structure。　He　had　turned　selflessness　to　self…interest；　learning　the　lesson　that　everyone　must　e　to　eventually：　what　a　man　gives　up　voluntarily　cannot　be　taken　away　from　him。
　　Now　Freddy　was　out。　Because　of　his　good　behavior　they　had　let　him　out　after　three　years　instead　of　making　him　serve　the　full　four。　They　needed　the　space　at　San　Quentin；　and　inasmuch　as　some　two…thirds　of　the　prisoners　were　classified　as　psychopaths；　that　could　not　really　be　held　against　him。　On　the　day　Freddy　was　released；　the　assistant　warden　had　advised　him　not　to　return　to　Santa　Barbara；　but　to　leave　California　and　find　a　new　state。
　　〃That　way；〃　the　assistant　warden　said；　〃when　they　catch　you　again；　which　they　will；　it　will　at　least　be　a　first　offense　in　that　particular　state。　And　bear　in　mind；　Frenger；　you　were　never　very　happy　here。〃
　　The　advice　had　been　sound。　After　three　successful　muggings　in　San　Francisco…with　his　powerful　muscles；　it　was　a　simple　matter　to　twist　a　man's　arm　behind　his　back　and　ram　his　head　into　a　wall…Freddy　had　put　three　thousand　miles　between　himself　and　California。
　　
　　Freddy　turned　on　the　water　in　the　tub　and　adjusted　it　for　temperature。　He　undressed　and　read　the　information　on　the　placard　beside　the　corridor　door。　Checkout　time　was　noon；　which　gave　him　twenty…four　hours。　He　studied　the　escape　diagram　and　what　to　do　in　case　of　fire；　then　took　the　room　service　menus　into　the　bathroom。　When　the　tub　was　filled；　he　turned　off　the　faucet。　He　went　back　to　the　bar；　filled　a　tall　glass　with　ice　and　ginger　ale；　and　got　into　the　tub　to　read　the　menus。
　　He　glanced　at　the　room　service　menu；　and　then　studied　the　wine　list。　He　didn't　know　one　wine　from　another。　Vintage　years　meant　nothing　to　him；　but　he　was　amazed　at　the　prices。　The　idea　of　paying　a　hundred　dollars　for　a　bottle　of　wine；　even　with　a　stolen　credit　card；　struck　him　as　outrageous。　The　thought　also　made　him　cautious。　He　knew　that　as　long　as　he　did　not　buy　anything　that　cost　more　than　fifty　dollars；　most　clerks　would　not　call　the　800　number　to　check　on　the　status　of　the　credit　card。　At　least　this　was　the　usual　policy。　And　in　hotels；　they　usually　didn't　get　around　to　checking　the　card　until　the　day　you　checked　out。　But　he　had　taken　a　135…a…day　suite。　Well；　he　wouldn't　worry　about　it；　and　as　he　thought　about　the　mugging　of　Herman　T。　Gotlieb　in　the　alley；　he　felt　a　little　more　secure。　That　was　the　safe　thing　about　mugging　gays；　the　police　didn't　worry　much　about　what　happened　to　them。　At　the　very　least；　Mr。　Gotlieb　had　a　bad　concussion；　and　he　would　be　a　very　confused　man　for　some　time。
　　Freddy　got　out　of　the　tub；　dried　himself　with　a　gold　bath　sheet；　and　wrapped　it　around　his　waist。　He　needed　a　shave　but　had　nothing　to　shave　with；　his　face　was　clean　but　felt　dirty　with　its　blond　stubble。　He　went　through　his　stuffed　eelskin　wallet　again。　He　had　79　in　bills　and　some　loose　change。　The　San　Franciscans　he　had　mugged　had　carried　very　little　folding　money。　He　had　seven　credit　cards；　but　he　was　going　to　need　some　more　cash。
　　He　put　the　stolen　Cardin　suitcase　on　the　coffee　table。　It　was　locked。　If　there　was　a　razor　in　the　case　he　could　shave。　He　didn't　have　a　knife…perhaps　there　were　bar　implements。　Yes；　a　corkscrew。　It　took　five　minutes　to　jimmy　the　two　locks。　He　opened　the　suitcase　and　licked　his　lips。　This　was　always　an　exciting　moment；　like　opening　a　surprise　package　or　a　grab　bag。　One　never　knew　what　one　would　find。
　　It　was　all　women's　stuff：　nightgowns；　skirts；　blouses；　slippers；　and　size　61/2　shoes　in　knitted　covers。　There　was　a　black　silk　cocktail　dress；　size　seven；　a　soft　blue　cashmere　sweater；　size　seven…eight；　and　a　pair　of　fold…up　Cardin　sunglasses　in　a　lizard　case。　The　items　were　all　expensive；　but　there　was　no　razor；　apparently；　the　young　mother　who　had　owned　the　suitcase　didn't　shave　her　legs。
　　Freddy　dialed　the　bell　captain　and　asked　to　speak　with　Pablo。
　　〃Pablo；〃　he　said；　when　he　got　the　bellman　on　the　line；　〃this　is　Mr。　Gotlieb　up　in　seven…seventeen。〃
　　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　　〃I'd　like　a　girl　sent　up。　A　fairly　small　one；　size　seven　or　eight。〃
　　〃How　tall？〃
　　〃I'm　not　sure。　How　tall　are　sevens　and　eights？〃
　　〃They　can　run　pretty　tall；　from　five　feet　on　up　to　maybe　five…six　or　more。〃
　　〃That　doesn't　make　any　sense。　How　could　one　dress　fit　a　woman　five　feet　tall　or　five　feet；　six　inches　tall？〃
　　〃I　don't　know；　Mr。　Gotlieb；　but　women's　sizes　run　funny。　My　wife　wears　a　size　twenty…two　hat。　I　wear　a　seven　and　a　quarter；　and　my　head's　a　lot　bigger　than　hers。〃
　　〃All　right。　Just　send　me　up　a　small　one。〃
　　〃For　how　long？〃
　　〃I　don't　know。　What　difference　does　it　make？〃
　　〃You're　still　on　nooner　rates。　I've　got　one　small　one　for　you　now；　but　she　gets　off　at　five。　That's　all　I　got　now。　Tonight；　I　can　get　you　another　one；　even　smaller。〃
　　〃No。　That's　okay。　I　won't　even　need　her　till　five。〃
　　〃In　about　twenty　minutes；　then？〃
　　〃Tell　her　to　bring　me　up　a　club　sandwich；　with　some　dill　pickle　slices　on　the　side。〃
　　〃She　can't　do　that；　sir；　but　I'll　send　the　room　service　waiter　up　with　the　club　sandwich。〃
　　〃Good。　And　I'll　take　care　of　you　later。〃
　　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　　The　club　sandwich；　a　nice　one　with　white　turkey　meat；　bacon；　American　cheese；　lettuce；　and　tomato　slices　on　white　toast；　was　12；　plus　a　1　service　charge。　Freddy　signed　for　it　and　gave　the　waiter　a　1　tip。　Even　though　there　were　pickles；　potato　chips；　cole　slaw；　and　extra　paper　cups　of　mayonnaise　and　mustard　on　the　side；　Freddy　was　appalled　by　the　price　of　the　club　sandwich。　What　in　the　hell　had　happened　to　the　economy　while　he　was　in　prison？
　　Freddy　ate　half　the　sandwich　and　all　of　the　pickle　slices；　then　put　the　other　half　into　the　refrigerator。　The　other　half；　he　thought；　is　worth　six　bucks…Jesus！
　　There　was　a　light　knock　on　the　door。　Freddy　unfastened　the　chain　and　opened　the　door；　and　a　young　girl　with　small　and　very　even　teeth　came　in。　She　was　a　small　one；　all　right；　standing　about