A Bomb Built in Hell Read Online Free PDF

cover-crowd, but he couldn’t understand the laughter, either. Carmine wheeled to face Wesley, his mouth ugly with scorn.
    â€œPunk! Filthy, guttersnipe punk! Raised in garbage, so it’s only fucking garbage you understand, huh? Yeah, I sent the five crates to that weasel of a clerk, but what I want from you, kid, is nothing! You get that? Carmine Trentoni wants nothing from you and he gave you the five crates for free, no payback. Can your punk mind understand that?”
    The vehemence of Trentoni’s speech knocked Wesley back, but his habits had been formed years before that day, so he just asked, “Why?”
    â€œWhy? I’ll tell you why: I know why you’re here, which is more than
you
know, right? I know what happened in the House. I laid those five fucking cartons on the clerk because I
wanted
to. And if you try and pay them back, I’ll rip the veins outta your punk throat.… You got that?”
    â€œYes.”
    Wesley turned and walked to his cell, not looking back. It took him another ten days to learn that Carmine was serving three life sentences, running wild, for three separate gang murders, committed more than twenty years ago. He had stood mute at his trial, refusing even to acknowledge the judge or his own attorney. At the sentencing, when asked if he had anything to say for himself, Carmine faced the judge with a pleasant smile.
    â€œYou can’t kill what I stand for.”
    He had never elaborated on that statement, not even to the questioning reporters to whom most prisoners were eager to talk. He had never appealed the convictions and had ignored parole hearings for which he was scheduled many years later.
    He ran the prison Book, but he wouldn’t shark cigarettes or do anything else for money. The rumors were that he had killed twice more while in prison, but nobody really knew who the killer of the two unrelated victims was. They had been found in their cells, one stabbed and one burned to a crisp. There had been no evidence, no witnesses, and no indictments.
    W esley listened until he had heard enough; then he went looking for Carmine Trentoni. He found him standing in a corner of the Yard, watching a couple of his men taking bets. Wesley waited until Carmine’s men had finished operating and then walked over. At a silent signal, Carmine’s men stepped off to give him room.
    â€œThere’s something I want to say to you.”
    Carmine just looked frozen-faced, staring through Wesley to someplace else.
    â€œThank you for the cigarettes. You’re a real man, and I’m sorry for what I thought of you.”
    Carmine’s face broke into a huge grin, and he slapped Wesley heavily on the biceps. “Okay, okay, that’s good—I was right about you!”
    They shook hands. And from that day on, Wesley went everyplace Carmine did. The first thing Wesley did was quit his job in the machine shop. Carmine had told him:
    â€œWhat you wanna work in the fucking machine shop for? I’ll tell you. One, you think you’ll learn something useful for when you’re back on the bricks. This is one-hundred-percent wrong, Wes—the only thing you can make in that stinking place is a shank, and you can always buy one. You think they’ll let you join the fucking union when you get out? Okay, now, number two, you think you going to impress the Parole Board, right? Wrong—you don’t want a fucking parole.”
    â€œWho don’t want a fucking parole?”
    â€œYou don’t, and I’ll tell you why
if
you listen. What you going to do when you get out? You going to work in a gas station, push a garment rack? Gonna wash cars, kiss ass … what?”
    â€œI’m going to—”
    â€œâ€”steal.”
    â€œYeah,” Wesley acknowledged. “I guess that’s what I’ll be doing, all right.”
    â€œYou know why?” Carmine challenged.
    Wesley smiled, but it wasn’t the icy