No Beast So Fierce by Edward Bunker Page A

the police through fear. He kept the diamonds he still possessed. According to Abe the value wasn’t much, though I recalled Lionel mentioning twenty thousand dollars.
    I interrupted: “That’s a year ago. What’s the trouble now?”
    Bulldog’s nineteen-year-old brother was the problem. Fresh from reform school, he was threatening Abe—he wanted ten thousand dollars for Bulldog’s appeal. Stan Bergman was married to Bulldog’s sister, making him the brother-in-law of the youngster. Stan could influence his wife, who could influence the youth. My role was to influence Stan. Abe had other blandishments, too, including a lawyer. If that failed—“Maybe you can help me with the kid.”
    â€œWhy don’t you come up with the ten grand? You were in on the play with those guys and made some change out of it.”
    â€œAfter all they said about me? Anyway, if I give in to some punk kid every two-bit hoodlum in town will try to muscle me.”
    The story disgusted me to a degree that only another thief can understand. He’d virtually admitted treachery about the diamonds—but that was insignificant to the possibility that he was a stool pigeon. If that was true he deserved to die. Yet his side of the story might be true. Stan Bergman could use help if he had a robbery charge. Abe wasn’t going to cough up ten grand; that was certain.
    Most important, I needed help, and going to talk to Stan was easy enough. If that was unsuccessful Abe would be on his own (I might even warn the youngster), but Abe didn’t have to know that right now.
    â€œI can talk to Stan. When do you want to visit him?”
    â€œSoon as I arrange for a shyster to take us into the attorney room. The visiting room is probably bugged.” Abe was looser now, savoring my acceptance and calculating what it would cost. He’d try to pay as little as possible. “I know you just got out. What can I do to help you get on your feet?”
    â€œI need a job.”
    â€œA job! You?”
    I explained the conditions of parole, that I had to work or go back, as if that was why I wanted a job. He’d been so incredulous that I couldn’t tell him the truth—and the truth would have weakened my position with him anyway. “I’d like to get laid, too.”
    â€œYou haven’t got your ashes hauled yet. How long?”
    â€œEight semesters.”
    â€œShit, there’s plenty of swingers who’d take you home just for the cherry.”
    â€œCut me into one.”
    â€œCome around here at night. The joint gets loaded with foxes. I’ll fix you up.”
    â€œWhat about the job? That’s the important thing.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œDead serious.”
    â€œCan you tend bar?”
    â€œI can’t do nothing but steal, talk shit and pull some slack.”
    â€œWhat about working as a doorman—just for a front. Check I.D. and pick up the cover tabs and keep the peace.”
    â€œThat’s cool.”
    â€œYou’ve gotta show up. Twenty bucks a night. For you I throw in what you can drink. It’ll give you a front until you get something going. You might catch a hooker, too. Enough of ’em come in here.”
    The job as bouncer would be ideal on a temporary basis. It would be an income and keep my days free to look for other things. I’d hold down the temporary office job, too. And I’d enjoy the nightclub atmosphere.
    Abe pushed away from the desk and apologized that he had pressing business. He told me to stick around if I wanted, slapped me on the shoulder, and reached for the telephone.
    I sat in the club’s dimness for the rest of the afternoon. It was too hot outdoors and I had nowhere to go. Manny got me drunk, Abe had told him that I was hired as doorman, so he was nominally my boss, but Abe had added that he wasn’t to bother me. Manny sensed that I was something special. I wondered when