Read Online The Animal Factory by Edward Bunker - Free Book Online Page A

was nothing effeminate about him, but there was an extreme boyishness that by prison standards would be considered pretty. Pretty was a bad thing to be in San Quentin.
    “Hey now, big duke of Earl,” Tony said. “I need a favor. Rather, my friend here does. A show pass.” Tony glanced at the youth. “Ron Decker, Earl Copen.” A nod of acknowledgment did the work of the usual handshake.
    “Are they running the show lines yet?” Earl asked.
    “They were getting ready to when we came down.”
    Earl picked up his sweatshirt and handball gloves and started down the bleachers. Bork and Decker fell in beside him. As they walked, he struggled into the sweatshirt.
    “You haven’t been here very long, have you?” Earl asked.
    Ron shook his head. “Three weeks. Tony tells me you’re good at law.”
    “I used to fuck with it. No more. I don’t believe in it. Smith and Wesson beats due process.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Besides being funny”—Earl smiled—“I mean that law is bullshit . Judges don’t have any integrity. They’ll spring some big shot on a point of law, but when some poor Hoosier in here has the same point, they shoot it down.”
    “But when Smith and Wesson won’t do anything, the law might be all there is. I don’t want to impose, but I’d like you to look at my case. I’ll pay you.”
    “When I get some time,” Earl said, not noticing that his brushoff made Ron blush.
    “What fuckin’ movie are they showing today?” Earl asked. “It’s a Monday.”
    “Blood-donors’ movie,” Tony said. “I’m on the list but Ron isn’t.”
    Earl glanced at Ron from the corner of his eye and felt bad that he’d stalled him so coldly. “What kind of thing did you want to know about your case?”
    “The main thing is the judge said he’d call me back and modify my sentence in a year or two. Some guy in the bus said the judge loses jurisdiction and can’t do it.”
    “He used to lose jurisdiction, but six months ago a court of appeals ruled that if he sentenced you under Eleven sixty-eight he can call for reports and review his sentence.”
    “That’s what he sentenced me under.”
    “What kind of beef?”
    “Possession of narcotics for sale with a weed prior.”
    Earl made a silent whistle and looked at Ron more closely. “Ten years to fuckin’ life, with six to the parole board. You’d better hope he modifies.”
    “Don’t I know it.”
    As they reached the top of the stairs, the sound of country and western music from the loudspeakers poured over them. The last line of convicts was going into the mess hall, and the guard checking passes wasn’t one Earl could influence. “C’mon to the yard office. We’ll get a pass from that big sissy.” When they neared the yard office door, Earl took Ron’s I.D. card to get his number. He left them outside. Without saying anything to Big Rand, who was dangling a string before a cuffing, scrawny kitten (one of hundreds in the prison), Earl sat down and typed a pass; then dropped it on Rand’s desk for a signature. The big man ignored it, continued playing with the kitten.
    “Hey, you want me to throw that cat in the Bay?” Earl said, knowing Rand just wanted attention.
    Rand picked up the pass. “Two weeks ago—Gibbs, remember?”
    “Oh, man, that wasn’t nothing.”
    “Nothing happened, but a whole bunch of shit could’ve happened.”
    “Whaddya think—I was gonna snitch on you? Sign the motherfucker .”
    “Who is this asshole?” Rand leaned in his chair so he could look out over the Dutch door, dubiously eyed Ron and Tony. He knew Tony Bork and his wasn’t the name on the pass. Rand curled a forefinger and Earl leaned forward. “You’re trying to fuck that kid, aren’t you?” Rand accused.
    “You got a dirtier mind than these convicts, Rand. You really do.”
    “Well, who is he?”
    “A good white brother. Are you gonna sign? I’ve got business. I wanna get to the canteen to stock up in case there’s a lockdown