We turned our faces away or found things to do that would remove us from the eventual meeting of eyes between Ramos and Dixon. But instead it was O.J. and Bertie Fast, the drag queen, who tore open the wrapper and let Dixon look for just a moment inside the box.
“What
is this crap, anyway?” Dixon said. “Maybe I didn’t wipe my ass clean this morning or something. Don’t I smell sweet enough to you, house mouse?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Bertie said, his voice weak and his eyes searching for a spot on the far wall.
“House mouse, you better not hold out on me.”
“Fuck off, man,” O.J. said. He was sticking twigs into the fire grate, and his jawbones were flat against the skin.
“What’s the deal, then?” Dixon said. “You want me to kick in part of my chow for the soup? Okay. No sweat. Is everybody cool now?”
“Where did you get vitamin pills?” O.J. said.
“Vitamins? You must have a wild crab loose in your brain.” But he was surprised, and there was a flicker of fear in his face.
“Yeah. Like those little red ones Ding gives to the pros,” O.J. said.
“You better see a wig mechanic when you get out of here. You got real problems.”
“You’re up to your bottom lip in Shit’s Creek, buddy,” Joe Bob said. “This ain’t the time to be a Yankee smart-ass.”
“You guys have been flogging your pole too much or something. I mean what kind of joint is this, anyway? I spend the whole day digging in the ice with Kwong jabbing me in the ass, and I come back and you guys got me nailed for a pro.”
“How did you get the pills?” I said.
Everyone was looking at him now. The snow in his hair had melted, and his face was damp with water and perspiration. He held his two bruised fingers in one hand and glanced at the locked door.
“I traded them off a spade in the yard for some cigarettes. All right, so I didn’t share them. Big deal. You going to tear my balls out because I want to stay alive?”
“Which spade?” O.J. said.
“I don’t know. He’s with the N.C.O.’s.”
“There ain’t but one over there,” Ramos said.
“Maybe he’s an enlisted man. What difference does it make? All those boons look alike.”
“Get it straight, cousin,” Joe Bob said.
“You guys already want to fry me. It don’t make any difference what I say. You’ve been pissed ever since I come in here because I wouldn’t put in my chow for guys that were already dead. All of you got a Purple Heart nailed right up in the middle of your forehead because you keep some poor sonofabitch alive a few extra days so he can shit more blood and chew his tongue raw. If I buy it I hope there ain’t a bunch like you around.”
“Okay, you got the pills off a colored sergeant,” Ramos said. He sat cross-legged on his blanket close to the stove, rubbing his dirt-caked bare feet with his hand. “That’s all we wanted to know. Next time you share anything you get in the yard.”
Dixon stared into Ramos’s face, and then realized that he was looking at his executioner.
“Not me, buddy,” he said. “You’re not going to stick my head down in the mattress. None of you pricks are. You find some other cat to hang a frame on. How about Bertie here? He don’t keep his ass soft and fat on bean cakes.”
“Quit shouting. There ain’t anybody going to bother you,” Ramos said. “Just don’t try to bullshit us next time.”
“No, you’re going to ice me. You been wanting to do it a long time, you spic, and now you got these other bastards to go in with you. Hey, Kwong!” He began beating against the wooden door with his fists and kicking his feet into the boards. The chain and padlock reverberated with the blows.
“You get down here. You hear me? I want to see Ding!”
O.J. and Ramos started for him at the same time, but Joe Bob jumped up in front of both of them and stiff-armed them with all his weight in the chest.
“The shit already hit the fan. Just ride it out and stay cool,” he said.