Cool Hand Luke (26 page)

So when it happened no one was prepared for it. No one at all. It was a cool, dreary Monday afternoon. We were totally immersed in our labor and in our fantasies. Dimly we were aware that Dragline was sharpening tools on the edge of the road beside the tool truck and that Luke was carrying back the water bucket after giving us all a drink. Rabbit was down the road carrying up the red flag. Jim the Trustee was goofing off, shooting the bull with Boss Brown.

Suddenly there was the start of a motor, a roar, a prolonged, clattering crash, shouts and curses and the firing of guns. We dropped our tools and dove face down in the ditch as a frantic barrage of pistols and shotguns went off all around us.

Luke and Dragline had leaped into the tool truck, started the motor and driven off, pulling the lever which raises the dump body and spilling out on the road behind them a littered trail of crashing shovels, yo-yos, bush axes, water barrels, tarps, lunch buckets, bean pot, bread box, the whole god damned works—

Boss Godfrey didn't move. He just stood there, leaning on his Walking Stick.

But the guards went hysterical, letting go with everything they had, their pumpguns booming until they
were empty and then their pistols cracking out until the hammers clicked on dead cartridge cases in the cylinders. Bullets whined and whizzed, lead thudding out an entertaining melody against the body of the truck which had been raised up as a thick metal shield.

The moment of fury stopped abruptly when all the guards ran out of ammunition. They stood there awkwardly, looking down at us, shifting their weight from one foot to another. Every one of us could have stood up and strolled away. Except that we couldn't move. We lay there flat on our bellies, laughing so hard we couldn't get off the ground, burying our faces in our folded arms to muffle our hilarity.

For we realized that what Luke had really done was to put the Slow Con on all the Free Men. He couldn't possibly beat them in any other way so he simply had played it cool. Now he and Dragline were off in an aureole of flames, a tremendous din echoing behind them; laughter, curses and screamed invectives raised up in a mixed chorus of soaring halleluiahs—

They're in the truck!

They're gettin‘ away!

It's that fat son of a bitch, Dragline!

And Cool Hand Luke!

TODAY AT BEAN TIME I LAY THERE IN THE church yard, listening to the drone of Dragline's voice, my head propped up on my shoes, the bowl of my pipe resting on my chest. Something made my ankle itch and I drew up my leg, reaching down to scratch. As I relaxed again I turned my head and looked at the watch tower, studying its complicated design of criss-crossed beams and girders that supported the little square house on top. For no reason at all I began to count the flights of steps that
zigzagged up into the sky. Fifteen. There were fifteen ladders. Like those that go from the boat deck up to the wing of the bridge. And for a moment I let myself remember. Right then the twelve-to-four would be on watch. The Captain and the Mates would be in the chart room working up the noon position. The sky would be clear, the seas moderate, the ship rolling and pitching gently.

They were still singing inside the church, a long, moaning kind of melodic prayer. There would be a pause for a minute or two and then they would begin again, one of the instruments or singers starting off alone, the others joining in one at a time. Stupid Blondie had finished sharpening yo-yos. The traffic on the road went by. Tobacco can lids were popped open. The dipper hit against the rim of the bucket. Matches were struck. A chain rattled.

Dragline drew one knee up against his chest, his other leg bent sideways, his ankles crossed. He leaned one arm on his upraised knee, holding a cigarette, his other hand picking up some sand and letting it fall through his fingers. Hoarsely he murmured to the Bull Gang sprawled all around him, occasionally glancing over at the Free Men to see if they were listening. He squinted his eyes, his loose lips trying to conceal his grin.

Ah'm tellin‘ yuh. There was
some
hell raised when me and Luke took off. Ah ain't never heard such a noise. Bullets were whizzin' and moanin‘ and groanin' all over the place. They was poundin‘ away on the back of that old
truck like—oh, man. Ah'm tellin' yuh. It was hell on wheels.

But that there Luke. He was a smart bastard aw right. Yuh see. Them Free Men couldn't even chase us cause Luke had the keys to the cage truck in his pocket. And it was a half mile at least to the first house where they could git to a telephone and call the Law. Even so. Luke wasn't takin‘ no chances. We didn't want to go git ourselves spotted, see? Drivin 'around in no State truck. And we didn't wont nobody to find the truck on some back road somewheres so they'd know right where to put the dogs out. The idea was, we was gonna hide it, see? Ah mean that truck was
hot.
So Luke drove off on some little old dirt road, and then he put it in low-low gear and we went through some groves. ‘Cept he made me git out and come along behind with a shovel. And ah had to cover up the tire tracks. Then we run it right into this patch of palmettos and he made me start cuttin' off fronds with this bush axe. Like ah said. He was a
smart
son of a bitch. He dumped all the gawd damn tools out there on the road, see? All but
one
shovel and
one
bush axe. He had
them
in the cab. And the tool file. Cause he knew we'd need ‘em. Anyhow. We cut all these here palmetto fronds and bushes and covered up this here mother fuckin' truck. So nobody could find it easy. Less'n they jes plain fell over it in the dark.

Still. That son of a bitch wasn't satisfied. Oh, hell no. We gotta drain some gasoline outta the truck and soak
our shoes in it. And the bottoms of our pant legs. Cause Luke didn't wont the dogs to have our scent even if they
did
find the truck. How ‘bout that? Ah mean, that's playin' it cool, now ain't it?

So we got away clean. We're out there in the woods. We beat the gun and we beat the dogs both. And Luke. Like he ain't never built a day of Time in his life, he's startin‘ to cut the fool. He's out there whistlin' and grinnin‘ and he says to me, he says, “Listen, you stupid bastard. Don't you go lightin' no matches now. You'll give us a hot foot that won't wait. We'll go straight to Glory like the Fourth of July.” But ah jes grinned back at him and ah says, “Listen. Don't call me by none of yore gawd damn family names. Ah might jes be forced to knock yore funny lookin‘ haid off. Haw! You call that thing a haid? It looks like an onion what fell off a truck goin' down Route 301 at sixty miles an hour.”

Then Luke says, “You think you're real bad. Dontcha Fat Boy?” And ah says, “Naw, ah ain't bad. Ah'm jes a little bitter that's all. Like a lemon. So's you can suck me.”

Dragline squatted there in the sand of the church yard. Idly he reached down and grasped the center link of his chain, rubbing it between his fingers, feeling how thin it had become in the past year. And yet he was thinking of something else, smiling and remembering. Then he began murmuring again, resuming his story.

He and Luke went through the woods, laughing and joking. When they found a comfortable spot beneath a large tree they sat down and had their supper; a half-dozen
oranges picked in a grove and two bars of peanut brittle they had put away in their pockets for the occasion. Then Dragline went to work on Luke's shackles with the big file from the tool truck, filing off the rivet heads and spreading open the rings. Grinning, Luke massaged his calves and ankles, stood up and walked around in a circle, taking long, gigantic steps. Picking up the leather straps and strings and both sets of chains he drew back and flung the whole apparatus far off into a palmetto bush.

Well. Ah'm sure damn glad to get rid of them things.

Dragline was beside himself with happiness, hopping and skipping around like a school boy, laughing and giggling and throwing out his arms in wide, jerking, uninhibited gestures.

We're free! Think o‘ that, Luke. You son of a bitch!
Free!
We are as of right
now,
as of right this fuckin' minute, sure ‘nough, big ass
Free
Men!

Not yet we're not. We got to get out of these clothes. And find us some food. We got to find us a place to hide where we can lay low until the heat is off us. And we got to get us some loot.

You jes let me worry about all that, old buddy. If we can git to mah place in Clewiston we got it made. Clothes, spendin‘ money—everything. Ah got an uncle that can git us a jug o' shine. And ah knows some gals too. Some nice, big titted country gals.

Oh, no. We cain't stick our necks out runnin‘ around with no broads now, Dragline. Later—yeah. But
not now. Besides, the very first place they're gonna look for us is where we live. We got to stay the hell gone from there.

Man, are you done gone stir-crazy? If ah cain't git me no pussy, what the hell's the sense in me runnin‘ in the first place? And we ain't got to
stay
at mah place. We'll jes slip in and out real quick-like. At night sometime. Hell, they cain't be hangin' around there
all
the god damn time.

No. Maybe not. We'll see. I guess we could head on down that way in any case. We got to go somewheres.

They knew where they were and had no trouble finding the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad tracks which would lead them to the Tampa area and then beyond. After walking a mile or so through the woods they reached the roadbed and waited until dark before continuing south. They were certain they had made a clean getaway but Luke was taking no chances. Every five minutes or so he would stop and listen for the baying of hounds.

All night they walked, stumbling along the ties and the ballast. Once they heard a train approaching and got off the tracks, crouching behind some bushes. The headlight and the noise of the whistle came closer. When the engine roared past they began running for all they were worth. But the speeding freight cars went whistling past them in a dim and shadowy blur. They were forced to give up, standing there with heaving chests and gasping breaths, watching the red lights of the rear end of the caboose gradually disappearing.

They kept on walking. They reached a water tower and decided to wait there for another train. But it began to get cold. It was in the middle of February and a light frost was forming on the ground. They put their hands in their pockets and buttoned up their collars. Dragline wanted to build a fire but Luke wouldn't permit it. After a few hours they heard a train approaching pulled by a diesel locomotive. It was heading north but by this time they didn't care about the direction. They crouched down, all set for the sprint, listening to the approaching roar. But it turned out to be the Silver Meteor flashing by at a speed impossible to catch.

They continued on in silence. It became colder. They began to shiver, alternately walking and then jogging beside the tracks, the rails shining in the moonlight and leading them onward.

Later they saw a frame house just off the roadbed beside an open, cultivated field. Two large chinaberry trees in the yard were casting deep black shadows beneath the foliage. The fugitives crept into this shade, examining the house, looking at the clothing hanging on a line behind the rear porch and wondering if any of it would fit them.

Treading carefully, they eased out into the moonlight. But when they drew close to the corner of the porch a large dog suddenly appeared, barking loudly and continuously. They froze. Wondering if they should make a run for it or attempt to snatch the clothes in spite of the dog, they just stood there, looking into each other's eyes.
The dog increased the intensity of its barking until a loud, clear human voice challenged the night from inside the house.

Aw right. Who's out there?

Dragline and Luke sucked in their breath. The dog's barking went into a higher pitch. The voice insisted.

Who's out there? Yo'll better git the hell gone from here. Ah'm tellin‘ yuhl

They began to withdraw, not sure if they could be seen from one of the darkened windows or not, muffling their footsteps but moving steadily towards the cover of the chinaberry trees and then out of the shadows and back to the roadbed. After they had reached the tracks and were out of ear shot of the house, Dragline began to stamp his feet and wave his arms.

Gawd damn them yelpin‘ bitches! Ah'd a-been a millionaire by now if it warn't fer them gawd damn dawgs. Of all the fuckin' luck. Trains won't slow down. Cain't git no Free World clothes. And it's gittin‘ to be colder'n a witch's tit out here.

Well, Drag. You can always go on back to Camp and climb back into your little old bed. I mean, don't forget. This bein‘ free is damn hard work. I mean, maybe you just ain't cut out for the job.

Sometimes they sat down on the crossties and rested. But Luke was always anxious to keep moving. It got colder. They reached an area of citrus groves and could see fires dotted in regular lines out among the dark forms of the rows of trees. They could hear distant voices
and the laboring growls of truck motors and transmissions. Gangs of workers were out tending smudge pots put out as a precaution against the fruit being damaged by frost.

Dragline wanted to curl up on the ground next to one of those fires and get some sleep. But Luke was afraid they would be seen and wanted to travel at night and sleep during the day. Dragline was reluctant but he listened to Luke.

On they went, following the straight, unwavering lines of the railroad tracks that led away into the starry night. But later it started to cloud over. A light, drizzling rain began to fall, catching them in open country where the only trees were small scrub oaks and second growth pine. All they could do was keep on walking, drenched and cold, their teeth chattering, exhausted, starved and miserable.