"Put those things down," he shouted, but before he could reach them they had tasted the herbs, then spat them out.
"Burn my mouth!" the bigger boy screamed and sprayed the contents of the packet on the floor. The other boy bounced up and down with excitement and began to do the same thing with the rest of the herbs. They twisted away from Andy and before he could stop them the packets were empty.
As soon as Andy turned away, the younger boy, still excited, climbed on the table — his mud-stained foot wrappings leaving filthy smears — and turned up the TV. Blaring music crashed over the screams of the children and the ineffectual calls of their mother. Tab pulled Belicher away as he opened the wardrobe to see what was inside.
"Get these kids out of here," Andy said, white-faced with rage.
"I got a squat-order, I got rights," Belicher shouted, backing away and waving an imprinted square of plastic.
"I don't care what rights you have," Andy told him, opening the hall door. "We'll talk about that when these brats are outside."
Tab settled it by grabbing the nearest child by the scruff of the neck and pushing it out through the door. "Mr. Rusch is right," he said. "The kids can wait outside while we settle this."
Mrs. Belicher sat down heavily on the bed and closed her eyes, as though all this had nothing to do with her. Mr. Belicher retreated against the wall saying something that no one heard or bothered to listen to. There were some shrill cries and angry sobbing from the hall and the last child was expelled. Andy looked around and realized that Shirl had gone into their room; he heard the key turn in the lock. "I suppose this is it?" he said, looking steadily at Tab.
The bodyguard shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Andy, honest to God I am. What else can I do? It's the law, and if they want to stay here you can't get them out."
"It's the law, it's the law," Belicher echoed tonelessly.
There was nothing Andy could do with his clenched fists and he had to force himself to open them. "Help me carry these things into the other room, will you, Tab?"
"Sure," Tab said, and took the other end of the table. "Try and explain to Shirl about my part in this, will you? I don't think she understands that it's just a job I have to do."
Their footsteps crackled on the dried herbs and seeds that littered the floor and Andy did not answer him.
THE GOLDEN YEARS OF THE STAINLESS STEEL RAT
Well if it isn't Dirty Old Jim diGriz!" The man's ugly face broke into an evil grin when he saw me standing there, handcuffed to the large policeman. He threw the door wide with unconcealed pleasure, stepped out as the handcuffs were removed, and took me firmly — a little too firmly — by the arm and hauled me forward. I tottered but kept my balance, shuffled through the door, passed under the verdigris-covered brass plate with its penetrating message:
THROUGH THIS GATE PASS THE
ANTIQUATED CRIMINAL
CROCKS OF THE GALAXY
Great stuff. That's the way with the police — always kick a man when he's down. I had to shuffle faster as the sadistic attendant quickened his pace.
"Got to sit—" I gasped, pulling feebly at his restricting hand as I tried to sit on the bench against the wall.
"Plenty time to sit later, Pops — that's about all you will be doing. You gotta see the warden first."
I could only make feeble resistance as he hauled me down the corridor to the heavy steel door. He knocked loudly. I staggered and gasped and found myself facing a mirror on the wall with an admonitory warning over it.
ARE YOU CLEAN?
ARE YOU NEAT?
WHEN'S THE LAST TIME
YOU WASHED YOUR FEET?
"Can't remember…" I quavered. Looking with trembling disgust at my mirrored image. Wispy white hair tangled and matted. A white string of drool on the pendent lower lip. Skin wattled and doughy, eyes red and poochy. Not nice.
"In!" my keeper ordered as a green light flickered and the door clicked open. He pushed me forward with a meaty hand; I stumbled and fought to keep my balance. Behind me the door swung shut. Before me the warden brooded over a thick file.
"Yours," he said grimly, looking up at me. He had the face of an unshaven camel. "The file of a criminal. James diGriz, a.k.a. The Stainless Steel Rat." The rubbery lips twisted into a poor imitation of a smile. "Stainless no more, rusty if anything." He wheezed happily at his feeble joke, until smile turned to snarl.
"I get them all, Rusty Rat. In the end they all end up before Warden Sukks. They run and hide — but finally I get them. Even the smartest criminal grows old, grows dim, makes one mistake. That's all it takes to get caught and sent to Terminal Penitentiary. That's the official name. But do you know what they really call it.?"
"Hell's Waiting Room!" Unwanted, the words slipped from my lips and dropped greasily to the floor.
"You got it. But that's what they call it on the outside. You come in but you don't go out. In here we don't use that fancy name. We have a better one. This is the Purgy. That's short for Purgatory if you don't know. Which is a word that means…"
"I gotta go to the toilet," I wheezed, legs crossed tightly. His sneer deepened.
"That's all you old crocks ever do." He thumbed a button and the door squeaked open behind me. "Bogger will show you where the heads are. Then he'll take you for your medical. We shall see that you keep fit, diGriz — so that you can enjoy our hospitality for a nice long time."
His sadistic laughter followed me down the corridor. I can't say that I was overly impressed with the reception.
Or the medical either. The burly, bored, and sadistic attendants stripped me naked, then slipped a flimsy gray smock over my scrawny bones. Then proceeded to drag me from one diagnostic machine to another, completely ignoring my mewling protests. Commenting offhandedly on the results.
"Pin in that hip. Looks kind of old."
"Not as old as those plastic knee-joints. This ancient crock has had a lot of mileage."
"The doc is really going to like this one. Spots on the lung. TB or black lung or something."
"Done yet?" Bogger asked, popping up like a bad memory.
"Done. All yours, Bogger. Take him away."
Clutching my clothes to my chest, barefooted on the cold floor, I was dragged to my cell and pushed through the door. Despite my feeble resistance Bogger pulled my clothes from me, shook the few personal objects from my pockets onto the floor, threw onto the bed an armload of coarse prison clothing and a pair of scuffs.
"Dinner at six. Door unlocks a minute before. If you're late you don't eat." His sadistic chuckle was cut off by the closing door.
I sat tremblingly onto the bed, dropped my face into my hands. Shivered. A sorry sight for anyone watching from any concealed pickups. The end of a proud, though criminal, man. A doomed nonagenarian reaching the end of his tether.
What they could not see because my hands were over my face was the quick, happy, and successful grin. I had done it!
When I raised my face the grin was gone and my lips were trembling again.
The transparent cover of my cheap plastic watch was so scratched that I could barely make out the numbers. I held it up to the light, twisted it and panted with the effort, finally made out the time.
"Dinner at six, oh deary me. Must get out when the door unlocks." I shuffled up to it just when the lock clicked open, pulled it wide, and stumbled through.
It was pretty obvious where the chow hall was, with the feeble horde of gray-clad geriatric figures all shuffling in the same direction. I joined the shuffle, took a tray at the entrance, held it out for dollops of institutional sludge. I could not tell what it was by looking at it, knew even less after I had tasted it. Well, hopefully it contained nourishment. I spooned it up with trembling hand.