A Bomb Built in Hell Read Online Free PDF Page B

twisting of his lips that he used on guards. He knew the old man was trying to hand out his last will and testament while he was still alive.
    â€œWhy, Pop?”
    â€œPop! You little punk; I could still kick
your
ass.”
    â€œI know you could, old man.”
    And Carmine realized what Wesley had already learned, and smiled, too.
    â€œ
This
is why. Because you a man, a white man, in America, in 1956. And that means you either starve, steal, or kiss ass.”
    â€œIs that only for white men, Carmine?”
    â€œNo. That is for
any
man. I called you a white man because that’s what you are, a white man. But never underestimate any man—humans come in five colors, Wes, and the only color I hate is blue.”
    â€œFor cops?”
    â€œFor cops, and for the kind of feeling you get on Christmas, when you know the only motherfucking way your kids’re going to get any presents is if you go out and hit some citizen in the head.”
    â€œSo why don’t I want a parole?”
    â€œBecause you gonna steal, kid—and you don’t need no faggot parole officer sticking his nose into your face every time you breathe. Come out clean, and then do what you have to do.”
    â€œIt’s a lot more time that way.”
    â€œSo what? People like us do nothing but time. On the street, in the joint … it’s all the same. Either place, you can think, you can learn.…”
    â€œLike I am now?”
    â€œYeah, like you are now.”
    A nother year passed. A year of Carmine sharing his income, his stash, his smokes, and his experience. Wesley paid the closest attention, especially to what sounded like contradictions.
    He saw the old man smile serenely at the shank-riddled body of what had been a human being carried from the cellblock to the prison morgue. “Now, that’s a
nice
way for a rat to check out of this hotel.”
    But when Carmine told Wesley that his mother must have been Italian because Wesley for sure had some Italian blood, and Wesley told him he didn’t know who his mother was, the old man’s eyes filled with tears, and he awkwardly put his arm around Wesley’s shoulder. A passing con looked at this like he knew something, but the younger man just wrote that con’s name on the blackboard in his mind and suffered through the embrace without moving.
    â€œYou never underestimate,” Carmine told him. “Only buffoons underestimate!”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThat nigger you killed in the House. He never looked in your eyes or he would’ve looked for another girlfriend. He took it too easy, and he paid hard, right?”
    â€œRight. Why you call him a nigger?”
    â€œHe
was
a fucking nigger. And Lee is a black man, see? There ain’t no words that fit everyone, except rich people—they’re all fucking swine.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause we want what they got and they don’t want to share. Period. That’s why you went to Korea, right? To fight their fucking wars.”
    â€œWould Lee get hot if he heard you call another guy a nigger?”
    â€œNo. Or if he did he wouldn’t show it. A man who shows his anger is a fool, and fools don’t live long. Revenge is dessert. First you eat the meal, no matter how fucking bad it tastes. Always,
always
remember that. Your patience is always one second longer than your enemy thinks it is.”
    â€œWhat are you waiting for now?” Wesley asked.
    â€œJust to die, kid. There’s nothing out there for me. In here, those people take care of my family, and after I go they’ll keep doing it. I’m going to die the way I lived: with a closed mouth. Those people appreciate that—they
have
to. But if I was to go out there, they’d expect things of me that I won’t do anymore.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œTo respect them.”
    â€œYou don’t …?”
    â€œNot no more. Our thing is