No Beast So Fierce by Edward Bunker Read Free Book Online Page A

sexual conquests. “Same old shit. You know me … chasin’ cunt, stayin’ high, havin’ a ball.”
    â€œThat sure is you,” Willy said.
    The cabin was three rooms connected by doorless arches. Only the small bathroom had a door. Bare wood could be seen through worn linoleum. The furniture was junk except for a portable color television on a chair. A cardboard trash box was in the corner, but empty wine bottles and such had spilled over. Half of one wall was covered with photographs of naked women with their legs spread open. It was both sad and ludicrous.
    â€œRed’s washed up,” Willy said, taking the wine jug from Red’s hand and flopping on the sofa. “He can’t even buy pussy no more.”
    â€œI can still get it up,” Red said. “You stick that shit in your arm and your dick won’t get hard.”
    Willy laughed. “I’m just jivin’ you, Big Red. You’re the greatest freak of all.”
    I looked at Red’s vice-ravaged face, the sallow complexion, the once powerful body sagging in wrinkles. He sat on a chair, belly sagging over the unbuttoned top of his pants. I felt disdain, yet I also compared us and knew that on a scale balancing good and evil, I was worse than Red. He was harmless, for all his depravity. He’d never harmed anyone, except those with sexual inhibitions, whereas I’d beaten and maimed and stolen from everyone. And one thing could be said for him: he lived fully according to his desires, and there might be something to be said for someone whose interests were sex and staying high.
    We smoked the last three joints, L&L Red sucking so greedily that one would have thought that he had been away from it for eight years. He gobbled half a dozen benny tablets, too. Soon he was recounting episodes of the spree that Willy had mentioned earlier. As Red recited, an entranced glassiness came to his eyes. Drool ran from his mouth. His voice was an impassioned liturgical song. The memory of those few months was obviously his most precious possession, and he polished the stories and lived them over and over. He finally ran down, tilted the wine jug, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swigged the last drop. “We’ll have to party together,” he said to me. “I know some new spots you haven’t seen. I know where it’s at, don’t I, Willy?”
    â€œDamn sure do,” Willy said.
    Red suddenly jumped to his feet and began popping his fingers. I thought he’d gone crazy. “Jesus, Max, oh Jesus. I just remembered. Goddam you’re lucky!”
    â€œWhat’re you talking about?”
    â€œA caper … a boss caper. A guy’s been hittin’on me to find a good heist man. You’re here. It’s a fuckin’ miracle … and it’s bread, man, like fifteen or twenty grand. It’s beautiful for you, beautiful.”
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked the question without thinking, but as my words hung in the air I wanted to bite off my tongue.
    â€œA crap game—old Wops and Armenians.”
    I told him to forget it and refused any further explanation. I felt ridiculous, as I had with Willy earlier, to be in a position where it seemed necessary to explain why I wasn’t going to commit a crime. Men used volumes to justify their evil, but I was faced with justifying not doing evil. Red stared at me in disbelief.
    â€œIt’s a cinch,” Red said. “Why, they won’t even call the heat.”
    â€œThen why don’t you take it off? You can use twenty grand.”
    Red’s mouth worked like a guppy’s. Fear was what held him back, but he wouldn’t admit it. “Some of the players know me,” he said. “Man, let me tell you about it. It’s beautiful.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear it.”
    â€œJust listen.”
    It was easier to let him talk and ignore him than make him be quiet. “Go ahead … but