Mr Majestyk (1974) Read Online Free PDF Page A

part of the door.
    "Are you all right? Christ, it doesn't make any sense."
    "I'm fine," Majestyk told him. "Listen, what we got to think about's the crop.
    You're here visiting me, you should be working the crew."
    "Man, we're worried about you. What if they put you in jail?"
    "I'm already in jail."
    "In the penitentiary. For something that don't make any sense."
    "We're going to court Monday," Majestyk said. "I'll see if I can talk to th e j udge, explain it to him."
    "And we'll be there," Mendoza said. "Tell them what happened."
    "I'll tell them. You'll be out in the field."
    "Vincent, you need all the help you can get. You got to have a lawyer."
    "I need pickers more than I do a lawyer," Majestyk said, "and they both cos t m oney."
    "The deputy says the court will appoint one."
    "Maybe. We'll see what happens. But right now, today and tomorrow, the melon s a re out there, right? And they're not going to wait much longer. You don't ge t t hem in we'll lose a crop, two years in a row."
    Mendoza was frowning, confused. "How can something like this happen? It doesn' t m ake any sense."
    "I don't know," Majestyk said. "If it isn't a drought or a hailstorm it' s s omething else. Skinny little dude comes along thinking he's a big shooter--"
    "Bobby Kopas," Mendoza said. "This morning Julio says he saw the guy's ca r p arked at a motel."
    "Where?"
    "Right here, in Edna. He's still hanging around."
    "I can't think about him," Majestyk said. "I would sure like to see him agai n s ometime, but I can't think about him. I do--I'm liable to get it in my head t o b ust out of here."
    Mendoza reached across the table to touch his arm. "Vincent, don't do anythin g f oolish, all right?"
    "I'll try not to," Majestyk said.

    Chapter 4.
    MONDAY MORNING, early, they brought Majestyk and four other prisoners out of th e j ail area to a tank cell, near the back entrance, that was used for drunks an d o vernighters. There were no bunks in here, only a varnished bench against two o f t he light green cement block walls, a washbasin, and a toilet without a seat.
    The fluorescent lights, built into the ceiling and covered with wire mesh , reflected on the benches and waxed tile floor. For a jail the place was clea n a nd bright; that much could be said for it.
    The food wasn't too good though. A trusty, with a deputy standing by, slippe d t he trays in under the barred section of wall, next to the door. Five trays, for Majestyk, two Chicanos, a black guy, and a dark-haired, dude-looking guy in a s uit and tinted glasses who hadn't said a word all morning.
    One of the Chicanos passed the trays around and went back to sit with the other Chicano, probably a couple of migrants. The black guy was near the corner, wher e t he two benches met. The dark-haired guy looked at his tray and set it on th e b ench next to him, between where he was sitting low against the wall and where Majestyk sat with his tray on his lap.
    Stiff-looking fried eggs and dried-up pork sausage, stale bread, no butter, an d l ukewarm coffee. Majestyk ate it, cleaned the tray, because he was hungry. Bu t h e'd have a word for the deputy when he saw him again. The one with the tattoo.
    Ask him if they ruined the food on purpose. Christ, it was just as easy to do i t r ight. Where'd they get the idea food had to be stiff and cold?
    He looked down at the tray next to him. The guy hadn't touched anything. He sa t w ith his shoulders hunched against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Long dark wav y h air that almost covered his ears and a two-day growth of beard. Striped colla r s ticking out of the rumpled, expensive-looking dark suit. Shirt open, no tie. N o e xpression on his face behind the lightly tinted wire-frame glasses.
    Looking at him, Majestyk said, "You going to eat your sausage?"
    The guy drew on his cigarette. He didn't look at Majestyk. He moved his hand t o t he tray, behind it, and sent it off the bench to hit with a sharp meta l c latter, skidding, spilling over the tile