the first remark he addressed to the officers, and it also turned out to be the last.
For once it was sunny in Portland, and Jack saw on the front lawn the bright diamondlike glitter of broken glass. They climbed into the black police car, one officer in front and one in back with Jack, and drove down the curved streets toward the heart of the city. The motion of the car made Jack sick to his stomach, and his head hurt. He leaned over and vomited onto the officer’s lap, felt something jarring, heard a loud sharp noise, and passed out again.
It did no good to search him; he had no identification at all. He probably would have been arraigned, tried, and sent to prison if one of the policemen hadn’t recognized him from Ben Fenne’s. The policeman spent his lunch hour at the poolhall playing keno almost every day, and he knew Jack’s name. As a matter of routine, they checked the records and learned that he was a Missing Person, and to their dismay, a juvenile. So instead of being sent to prison, in Salem, he was sent to reform school, in Woodburn.
PART TWO
A Death on the Big Yard
1954–1956
Seven
Denny had gotten his growth since Jack had seen him last; he was now at least three inches taller than Jack, heavier, his face filled out and his red hair receding slightly from his temples. But there was no mistaking his greenish eyes or his smile—still boyish, even though Denny was twenty-four or twenty-five. They were sitting in a Market Street poolhall and Denny was telling Jack a funny story:
“What a mess. We was goin to take this gambling joint down in South City, an the guy who cased it said all you have to do is grin at the guy at the door and he lets you in, an then pull the guns and yell for everybody to hit the floor; the money’s right there in a big wooden cabinet between the tables, an the cat with the green apron has the key, dig? Well, it sounded easy; the caser said no problem. He always said that, no problem, cause he never went along so everything was always real easy, all you got to do is scare hell out of everybody an pick up the money. What a joke.
“So anyway, I’m standing there at the door telling the guy to lemme in, wearin this big topcoat with my hands on the guns in my pockets, and he swings the door open and I blaze in there with the guns out, yellin like hell, and everybody’s jumping for the floor an tippin tables over an turning green and all that shit, and there I am standing there lookin at myself in one of these great big mirrors, you know, set into the far wall. Man, I like to shit right on the spot. I knew goddam well there was a couple of nasty wops or something back of that fuggin mirror with a couple of big tommy guns or shotguns or something, you know, laughin their asses off at me an just itchin to shoot. So there I am, starin at myself, and everybody in the room is cuttin out or yellin or eatin sawdust on the floor; and I decide to fire a couple shots into the mirror, you know, to scare them off or something, and then I thought, oh, fuck it, and went for the guy with the green apron and he opened the money box and gave me the cash like he did it every day or didn’t give a shit, and I stuffed the money in my pockets and yelled for everybody to stay down an split. Man, I could practically
feel
them bullets going up my ass, but I got all the way out to the car an nothin happened, and I jumps in and tells Tommy, `
Make it!
’ and we zoom off, an nothin happened at all. Can you figure it?”
He laughed and looked at Jack puckishly. “You know, them poker clubs are legalized, and the next day’s paper said we got away with eighty thousand dollars. So I knew why the guys back of the mirror didn’t just cut loose and turn the corpse over to the cops; the boss himself was probably back of the mirror and says, `Hey, let the asshole rob the joint; we’ll clean up off the insurance company.”’
“How much did you really get?” Jack asked.
Denny snorted. “Eighteen
For once it was sunny in Portland, and Jack saw on the front lawn the bright diamondlike glitter of broken glass. They climbed into the black police car, one officer in front and one in back with Jack, and drove down the curved streets toward the heart of the city. The motion of the car made Jack sick to his stomach, and his head hurt. He leaned over and vomited onto the officer’s lap, felt something jarring, heard a loud sharp noise, and passed out again.
It did no good to search him; he had no identification at all. He probably would have been arraigned, tried, and sent to prison if one of the policemen hadn’t recognized him from Ben Fenne’s. The policeman spent his lunch hour at the poolhall playing keno almost every day, and he knew Jack’s name. As a matter of routine, they checked the records and learned that he was a Missing Person, and to their dismay, a juvenile. So instead of being sent to prison, in Salem, he was sent to reform school, in Woodburn.
PART TWO
A Death on the Big Yard
1954–1956
Seven
Denny had gotten his growth since Jack had seen him last; he was now at least three inches taller than Jack, heavier, his face filled out and his red hair receding slightly from his temples. But there was no mistaking his greenish eyes or his smile—still boyish, even though Denny was twenty-four or twenty-five. They were sitting in a Market Street poolhall and Denny was telling Jack a funny story:
“What a mess. We was goin to take this gambling joint down in South City, an the guy who cased it said all you have to do is grin at the guy at the door and he lets you in, an then pull the guns and yell for everybody to hit the floor; the money’s right there in a big wooden cabinet between the tables, an the cat with the green apron has the key, dig? Well, it sounded easy; the caser said no problem. He always said that, no problem, cause he never went along so everything was always real easy, all you got to do is scare hell out of everybody an pick up the money. What a joke.
“So anyway, I’m standing there at the door telling the guy to lemme in, wearin this big topcoat with my hands on the guns in my pockets, and he swings the door open and I blaze in there with the guns out, yellin like hell, and everybody’s jumping for the floor an tippin tables over an turning green and all that shit, and there I am standing there lookin at myself in one of these great big mirrors, you know, set into the far wall. Man, I like to shit right on the spot. I knew goddam well there was a couple of nasty wops or something back of that fuggin mirror with a couple of big tommy guns or shotguns or something, you know, laughin their asses off at me an just itchin to shoot. So there I am, starin at myself, and everybody in the room is cuttin out or yellin or eatin sawdust on the floor; and I decide to fire a couple shots into the mirror, you know, to scare them off or something, and then I thought, oh, fuck it, and went for the guy with the green apron and he opened the money box and gave me the cash like he did it every day or didn’t give a shit, and I stuffed the money in my pockets and yelled for everybody to stay down an split. Man, I could practically
feel
them bullets going up my ass, but I got all the way out to the car an nothin happened, and I jumps in and tells Tommy, `
Make it!
’ and we zoom off, an nothin happened at all. Can you figure it?”
He laughed and looked at Jack puckishly. “You know, them poker clubs are legalized, and the next day’s paper said we got away with eighty thousand dollars. So I knew why the guys back of the mirror didn’t just cut loose and turn the corpse over to the cops; the boss himself was probably back of the mirror and says, `Hey, let the asshole rob the joint; we’ll clean up off the insurance company.”’
“How much did you really get?” Jack asked.
Denny snorted. “Eighteen
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