The Bumblebee Flies Anyway Read Online Free PDF Page B

confirm his presence here in the Complex, to reassure himself that the figure in the mirror was actually Barney Snow. It was easy to lose your identity in an institution, in a place where everything was planned and scheduled and arranged ahead of time. The merchandise, which he had received three times since his arrival, often left him woozy and vague, although there had never been any pain involved. Of course, the merchandise was the reason he was here. And also the fact that he was the balancing factor, the stabilizer, the norm by which to measure the abnormal. On his arrival he had been told by the Handyman that he would also serve another function here, the subject of later tests that would be designed specifically for him. Spare me the details, Barney had said. Medical terms scared the hell out of him.
    Barney squinted at his reflection in the mirror. He wished he were good-looking like Mazzo. He thought of all the worlds he would have conquered, all the girls he would have impressed. He knew that it took more than goodlooks to be successful at anything, but the good looks at least got you up to bat. Barney had seldom gotten up to bat. He was not tall, about five six, and slightly bowlegged. Hair cut short to keep it out of his eyes. Adolescent acne spotting his cheeks like small wounds healing. Good eyes, though. He didn’t need glasses. Snappy brown eyes.
    Barney heard the squeal of Billy the Kidney’s wheelchair and turned to find him rolling into the room.
    “You’re going to catch hell cruising around this time of night,” Barney warned. Actually he was glad to see Billy, glad to see anybody in the evening, when everybody went under wraps early and Barney had nothing to look forward to but television, in which he couldn’t summon interest, and then the annihilation brought about by his nightly capsule.
    “What are they gonna do? Kick me out?” Billy said. “I couldn’t sleep, even with a pill.”
    Barney sat on the bed. “What’s eating you, Billy? Like today, outside. You were in a lousy mood.…”
    “Maybe it was the junkyard,” Billy said, rolling the wheelchair back and forth, back and forth.
    “What about the junkyard?”
    “It reminded me of all the cars I stole.…”
    Barney had to suppress a laugh. Of everyone he had ever known, Billy was the least likely car thief. Small and shriveled in the wheelchair, his face innocent and young, Billy reminded Barney of an altar boy. “You stole cars?” Barney said, trying to hide his astonishment.
    “Sure, for a whole year,” Billy said, pride in his voice.
    “How many cars did you steal?”
    “Twenty-four. I counted them, kept track of them. On a board in my room, a bulletin board I made out of a cardboard box. That time I lived outside Philly for two yearswith the same family. I marked off the steals on the board. But nobody knew what I was doing. I’d steal a car and mark it up. Had codes for the names. Like a Monte Carlo was the Phillies. And a Malibu was the Yankees. I named the cars for baseball teams. Everybody thought I was a big baseball fan, keeping those names up on the board.”
    “So tell me. What did you do with the cars you stole? Sell them to the Syndicate?” Barney still wasn’t taking it all seriously, figured Billy was telling tales to pass the time.
    “Nothing. I didn’t do anything with them. That’s why I never got caught or got into trouble. I’d just steal them and take a ride. Go someplace for an hour, maybe, get away from that place I was living. I’d drive around and then bring the car back near where I took it, because it’d be a long walk back if I left it out in the boondocks.”
    “How did you learn to steal cars?” Barney asked, curious now because he was becoming convinced Billy was telling the truth. Billy was too innocent to be a liar.
    “I learned from a friend of mine. He served time in tough places. He knew all about stealing cars, punching out, the switch, everything. And other stuff. Like always