Dead End
Ed Lacy
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1—
2—Nate
3—
4—Elma
5—
6—Shep Harris
7—Judy
8—
9—Betty
10—
11—
12—
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14—
Be careful how you live. Not thoughtlessly but thoughtfully. Make the most of your opportunities for the times are evil.
5:15,16
1—
Doc was stretched out on the cot, fooling with his . 38 Police Special. It was an old canvas army cot like mine and soiled by I hate to think what. And of course minus sheets or blankets. Not that we needed them in the muggy room: What we needed was a little clean air.
I watched Doc for a moment. Doc the sharp dresser, Mister Dapper himself. Now he looked seedy. That wasn't like Doc. His suit was wrinkled and tacky, and he had a three-day grayish stubble on his lean face. Even his face was dirty, and his hair seemed ragged. This wasn't like Doc at all. Me, I'm a slob. But at least I was washing every day—using laundry soap for shaving cream. Doc had said he didn't want to use the razor we'd found in the house. But it was a new razor. I don't know; Doc's being so sloppy was beginning to make me uneasy.
Or perhaps it was the waiting. The room itself. The room was so small and crummy it was starting to spook me. Two cots, one broken chair, cracked walls, one naked light bulb.
Of course no windows. And bugs. (If this was such and old and unused hideout, what the devil had the damn bugs been feeding on all this tune?) It all reminded me of a cell. Though the only cells I'd ever seen were the detention cells in the precinct houses—and they were luxury rooms compared to this joint. I turned on my cot and picked up the magazine again. I'd found it under the bed. Dated March, 1951. It was full of coffee stains. Must have been good Java, the color held up for all these years. Of course, maybe it wasn't coffee. For two days I'd been trying to read the dumb stories, rereading the same lines over and over, my mind racing and thinking of a million other things—and I mean
When I found myself reading the same silly line,