Nelson Algren - A Walk on the Wild Side

‘Just somebody who didn’t have time to pull his pants on,’ Frenchy sounded out the law on how much he really knew.

‘So long as he wasn’t no inmate he aint in serious trouble,’ the nabber felt. ‘He don’t look to me like no pimp.’

‘Myself, I never seen him before,’ and gave Kitty the nudge.

‘I never did neither,’ Kitty Twist said.

Dove came to in a dungeon heat with something across his face.

Hello, pants.

He felt his head swell and subside, then try to swell again. By not so much as batting an eye it hurt a little less. When someone lifted the pants off his face he stared straight up. ‘I think the sonofabitch is dead,’ he heard an indifferent voice report and caught a whiff of cigar smoke.

‘I don’t see no blood, Harry.’

‘They bleed inside.’

‘Then we’re both in this together.’

‘ Both? Since when did Smitty get out of it?’ The pants dropped back.

‘Why, that’s right . Oh, that Smitty, suppose to be watchin’ the whore in the Hurry-Up, instead he’s showin’ off he’s a tackle now for L.S.U.’

‘Remember the time he finished off the nigger with his open palm? That shows you what jiu-jitsu can do.’

‘No, but I was with him the time he lost his temper on the Spanish lad for pretendin’ he can’t talk good English. That’s what pretendin’ can do.’

‘Officer,’ some phony down the tier piped, ‘I can pay for aspering if it aint asking too much.’

‘It’s asking too much. You’ll get aspering at your destination,’ Harry promised the piper and belted Dove a crunchy kick in the side just for a crunchy little surprise.

‘I been kicked lots harder than that,’ Dove reflected and wished they’d stop smoking. It didn’t seem respectful at a time like this.

‘You know what, Jeff?’ Harry asked softly.

‘What?’ Jeff was anxious to know.

‘I think the sonofabitch really is dead.’

Deep in Dove’s throat a great tear trembled, making a bubble that tickled his neck. There wasn’t a breath of air in the cell and if they didn’t quit smoking he’d have to cough and come alive once more. He’d rather be dead, Dove thought, than that .

‘Poor rummy. Between whiskey and women, his heart give out.’

‘Was that his heart clanged like a damned bell when he landed on iron? If you can’t make sense don’t say nothin’.’

‘Captain’ll be on our side,’ Jeff kept trying, sense or no.

‘ That cracker? Are you sure you’re feeling well? I’m sure he’d purely hate to see that cracker puss on the front page of the Picayune for cleaning roughnecks out of the department. Sure he would.’

Then a silence bespoke an understanding reached. Dove felt one take his arms and the other his feet.

‘People treat you better when you’re dead,’ Dove realized as they bore him gently. ‘Now this is really something like it.’

‘Where we takin’ him, Harry?’

‘Where you think? Loew’s State?’

A river-boat moaned like a weary cow abandoning hope between darkness and tide.

Dove felt the air clear suddenly and knew they were in the open night. Somewhere above him a window slammed.

‘What are you silly bastards up to now?’ Dove heard a new voice, more commanding than Harry’s.

‘Another one kicked off on us, Captain.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you that a man can die in jail just the same as in a hospital? Get him over to Charity and get a receipt. I’m getting sick of having to tell you every time.’ The window slammed. Dove hoped that they wouldn’t drop him; he had a feeling he was hanging above concrete.

‘What he mean, Harry, “get a receipt”?’

‘He means register the stiff with the hospital.’

‘Couldn’t we just leave him on the steps and trust to the kindness of nurses?’

‘I’d as soon be took inside if you don’t mind,’ Dove requested politely.

Like statues of astonishment both nabs froze. In that second Dove realized that had been his own voice and leaping free, was off and running straight into a red brick wall.

Harry caught him on the rebound and led him by the hand back to Jeff.

‘I knew he was faking all the while,’ Harry decided, ‘I was only waiting for him to make one false move. See , I made him give hisself away.’

Dove folded his pants carefully into a pillow and tucking it neatly under his head, stretched out contentedly, waiting to be lifted again.

‘You see,’ he excused himself to the Southern stars above the nabber’s heads, ‘I really wouldn’t want to leave this old world, for it’s the only one I know anything about.’

Jeff looked at Harry. Harry looked at Jeff.

‘Son,’ Jeff broke the news at last, ‘we both been on duty this whole hard hot day, and it’s been just one darned thing after another. Would you mind walking back to your cell?’

‘Why,’ Dove leaped to his feet and began pulling on his pants, all eagerness, as though invited to a chicken dinner. ‘Why, I’d admire to do just that. A little walk in the night air would clear my head.’ Then looked slyly from one to the other. There was something in the air.

‘You fellows mad at me about something?’

‘Of course, not, son,’ Harry reassured him with good-natured gruffness. ‘You’re a character. That’s your turn and we enjoy it. We want everyone in on the joke,’ and slammed Dove so hard on the side of the head with his open palm that he spun him almost clean about. Dove stood shaking his head to let the night air make it even clearer. The nights were certainly getting cooler.

‘Promise us you’ll tell the court everything that happened,’ Harry threatened him with his big hand raised, ‘ Promise .’

Dove stood rubbing the back of his head: a huge thought was struggling to live in it.

‘I tell you,’ he decided slowly, ‘I don’t think I’d care to bring up a thing like this in court at all. It might make me appear a bit of a fool.’

‘I told you this was a boy of good breeding,’ Jeff came to his aid.

Harry studied him steadily, hand still high. ‘I’ve took an awful lot off you, son,’ he announced, ‘I’m just not going to take any more.’

‘Oh, put down your hand, Harry, the boy’s had enough,’ Jeff decided. ‘He’s a real smart lad and means just what he says.’

Harry let the hand fall. ‘God help him if he don’t,’ he said.

A minute later the big door closed behind Dove.

‘I think I’ll get a little rest,’ he decided, and groped in the dark till he found a bench.

Each morning the tenants of Tank Ten took turns at the tank’s single window. It opened upon the courtyard of the Animal Kingdom’s Protectors, whose men in heavy gloves busied themselves protecting the kingdom’s little charges from early morning till late at night.

BE KIND BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE was the kingdom’s motto, painted in hospital white. Sometimes a kindly looking woman in a nurse’s uniform came outside to help the work of kindness on. This was done by shooting each hound squarely between the eyes and shoveling the carcass into a cart. Cats were less trouble, Dove saw right off, for they had only to be swung by their tails and get their little skulls cracked against an iron post. And didn’t have to be shoveled at all. Straight into the cart they went – plop! plop! plop!

For some reason the prisoners felt it had devolved upon themselves to keep track of the number of dogs done in as opposed to the number of cats. A C.C.C. deserter called Make-Believe Murphy began making book, taking bets in Bull Durham on the day’s totals. A non-betting man, neither pro-dog nor pro-cat was required to keep a reliable count. Dove volunteered, and never left his post without reporting to his relief the exact numbers of each done in during his watch.