Free Dog Eat Dog by Edward Bunker Page B

paint job gonna do for business?” Troy asked, making both men grin. “Okay, hit me with it,” he said.
    “Tell him,” Gallagher said.
    “You buy the paint and thinner and you start painting—and there’s an accident that starts a little fire. You open the doors to get the smoke out. A tarp falls on a hot stove top, a can of thinner gets kicked over. All of a sudden it’s too big to handle. No way they can say it was deliberate. Cool, huh?”
    Nodding, Troy asked, “You thought of it?”
    “Hell, no! The mob does that shit all the time back east … so why not out here?”
    “Sounds like a winner to me,” Troy said—and it did. Without a confession there was no way to disprove an accident. It was much better than setting a fire in the night. The police could prove that in five minutes.
    Gallagher insisted on their having dessert and coffee. Troy thought it was the best coffee he’d ever tasted.
    “Man,” said Diesel, “I remember you knocking down that instant coffee. What were you, a Nestlé’s man or a Maxwell House?”
    “Maxwell House. But after this, I don’t know if I could drink it again.”
    “Hell,” Gallagher said, “they sell coffee now they didn’t even have back then.”
    “I know. This has a great taste.”
    “Hawaiian Hazelnut.”
    Diesel glanced at his watch and let out a sound.
    “What’s up, bro’?” Troy asked.
    “Oh shit. The old lady expected me to call two hours ago.”
    “Go call her. Blame me.”
    “I don’t have to do that. She’ll blame you all by herself. Are you sure you don’t wanna come home with me? Wait’ll you see my kid. He’s fuckin’ big, man. Tough, too, and mean …” Diesel spoke with pride; being tough and mean were virtues in his view of the world. It was what he had been taught throughout his life.
    “I’ll see him,” Troy said, “but not tonight. I kinda wanna be loose. Walk around the city. You know Gigolo Perry?”
    “Uh-uh. I know who he is by reputation, but he left the joint a long time before I got there. He owns a club on the other side of Market, doesn’t he?”
    “Yeah. I’ve never seen it, but I’ve got the address.”
    “Want me to drop you there?”
    “No. I was thinking about that Holiday Inn in Chinatown. I can walk to North Beach.”
    “Hey, bro’, North Beach ain’t what it used to be.”
    “Nothing’s like it used to be. What time can you come for me tomorrow?”
    “Whenever you say.”
    “We gotta drive to Sacramento and hook up with Mad Dog.”
    “We gotta do that, huh?”
    The voice inflection was not lost on Troy. He looked at the hard set of Diesel’s face and started to ask questions, but Gallagher arrived. The meal was on the house, but they should tip the waiter. He walked them to the door and gave Troy a hug of affection by way of good-bye.
    The long summer twilight was still on the city. A clock in a jeweler’s window said seven-thirty. In San Quentin the evening meal was over. Shower unlock was in progress, and in the cells the convicts were watching the Giants-Dodgers game on the little TVs that prison officials used for mental pacifiers. Some left it on throughout the test patterns in the night and the predawn morning citrus report. Troy had once smashed a cell partner’s TV. The fool never shut it off; he was fixated on “Jeopardy” and “Wheel of Fortune” and other audience participation programs, so much so that he had to answer the questions aloud, and was usually wrong. It distracted Troy. Subtle comments were unavailing, so finally Troy waited for unlock, carried the TV out of the cell, and threw it over the tier. “If you don’t have a cell move tomorrow morning, you go with the TV.” “Hey, man, I didn’t know you took it personal.” The cell partner moved, but Troy carried a shiv and magazines for body armor for a few days, just in case it wasn’t over. He wished he hadn’t lost his temper. He watched movies and sporting events, football, basketball and boxing, and public