Free The Room by Hubert Selby Jr.

house it was. He wanted to yell he was sorry. He wouldnt do it again. He just stared. The cop asked him again and he pointed. One of the cops got out and went into the house. The other cop sat in front, silent, and he thought everything would be all right. Maybe they didnt see it. But the cop was gone so long. Maybe he would have to go in the house and they would see it in his back pocket. Please God, dont let them see it. I/ll be good. I/ll never do it again. He was afraid he might wet his pants.
    Then the cop came out with the woman and she was holding the small dog. He could see their lips moving and heardvoices, but didnt know what was being said. He just sat rigidly in the back seat hoping God would protect him. The cop got in and he vaguely heard her say something about the dog just got scared by the noise – sorry little boy – good dog – tried to catch the boy …
    It seemed like he didnt breathe as they drove the half a block to his house. The cops stopped in front of his house and let him out. His friends came running over. They yelled. Asked. He remained silent until the cops drove away. He ran around the corner. They screeched questions over questions over questions. In between he shot out a word here, there, wherever, whenever. The story was told. Understood. And the whole time I had my slingshot in my pocket. But they didnt see it. They had me cold, the dumb cops, but I got away. Wow!
    And he knelt on the floor and looked out the open window. Pow. Pow. Gotya. The dirty coppers had him trapped on the 4th floor and the window was flooded with lights. A voice over a loud-speaker told him to surrender. You cant get away lefty. Go tahell copper. Pow. Pow. Gotcha. Pow. Then a shot from a sharpshooters rifle hit him in the shoulder and he fell on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and his mother suddenly sat up in bed and ran to him. Whats wrong son. What is it. And she bent over him, feeling soft, but he had to kill a whole bunch of coppers.
    Balls. Too bad it wasnt real. Wouldnt mind having shot a few. (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the door. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, the wall.) O fuck it. Cops and robbers. (find the spot you stepped in before. dont miss it. each foot where it was. follow your footsteps. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6. about face. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 5 and 6. sometimes 1 is 6 and 6 is 1. and 3 is always 3. so that would make 5 the same as 2 – no. wait … lets see. 1 is 6. 2 is 5. 3 is 4. 4 is 3. 5 is 2. 6 is 1. and vice versa. but its its own vice versa. 1 to 3 – 6 to 4. and 4 to 6 – 3 to 1. it goes up and it goes down. theres no middle. except maybe 3½. thats always the same. yeah thats it. only the ½, of 3½ is the same. all the rest goes up and down, up and down. hahaha. its just like screwing. up and down. up and down. oh fuck it. There were 3 full flights of stairs to the house. 6 half-flights. 8 steps in each half-flight.Go up 8 steps in one direction. A small landing. Turn around and go up 8 more steps in the opposite direction to the floor. 5 doors. 5 apartments. Then back the first way to the next landing. Opposite to the next floor … O balls.
    motherfucking cops. Should have spit in their faces. He lay on his back, an arm over his eyes.
    The mist persisted. Or was it light seeping through his arm and the closed lids of his eyes? No, it wasnt light. It was just a blur. Had to hunt. Hunt a fucking cop. Play a new game: hunt a fucking cop. 2 faces hung with crape. Guilty. The wives weep. The mothers of their children. Mothers. Mothers, all of them. The tumbling of turned backs. Despair. Pain. Pain. Hungry baby sucking on a dry tit. Swollen bellies. Despair. No direction. Only death. A gun. Pills. No. A rope. A kicked stool. Slow. Agonizing. Very slow. Pain. Yeah, pain. Slowly blue. Very slowly. Tongue swollen like the bellies. Eyes pop from sockets. A gurgle. So slow. Blood. So very slow. A little sleep
    and then a little wakefulness.
    Then a slipping to some soothing place in