"Shut your mouth," Sodaro said absently and yawned. He hefted his
shoulder holster comfortably. That O'Leary, what a production he had
made of getting the guards back! And here he was, stuck in Block A on
the night he had set aside for getting better acquainted with that
little blue-eyed statistician from the Census office.
"Aw, Chief. The television says there's something going on in the
Greensleeves. What's the score?"
Sodaro had no reason not to answer him, but it was his unvarying
practice to make a con wait before doing anything the con wanted. He
gave Lafon a ten-second stare before he relented.
"The score? Sauer and Flock took over Block O. What about it?"
Much, much about it! But Lafon looked away to hide the eagerness in his
eyes. Perhaps, after all, it was not too late....
He suggested humbly: "You look a little sleepy. Do you want some
coffee?"
"Coffee?" Sodaro scratched. "You got a cup for me?"
"Certainly! I've got one put aside--swiped it from the messhall--not
the one I use myself."
"Um." Sodaro leaned on the cell door. "You know I could toss you in the
Greensleeves for stealing from the messhall."
* * * * *
"Aw, chief!" Lafon grinned.
"You been looking for trouble. O'Leary says you were messing around
with the bucks from the laundry detail," Sodaro said halfheartedly.
But he didn't really like picking on Lafon, who was, after all, an
agreeable inmate to have on occasion. "All right. Where's the coffee?"
They didn't bother with tanglefoot fields in Honor Block A. Sodaro just
unlocked the door and walked in, hardly bothering to look at Lafon. He
took three steps toward the neat little desk at the back of the cell,
where Lafon had rigged up a drawing board and a table, where Lafon kept
his little store of luxury goods.
Three steps.
And then, suddenly aware that Lafon was very close to him, he turned,
astonished--a little too late. He saw that Lafon had snatched up a
metal chair; he saw Lafon swinging it, his black face maniacal; he saw
the chair coming down.
He reached for his shoulder holster, but it was very much too late for
that.
V
Captain O'Leary dragged the scared little wretch into the warden's
office. He shook the con angrily. "Listen to this, Warden! The boys
just brought this one in from the Shops Building. Do you know what he's
been up to?"
The warden wheezed sadly and looked away. He had stopped even answering
O'Leary by now. He had stopped talking to Sauer on the interphone when
the big convict called, every few minutes, to rave and threaten and
demand a doctor. He had almost stopped doing everything except worry
and weep. But--still and all, he was the warden. He was the one who
gave the orders.
O'Leary barked: "Warden, this little greaser has bollixed up the whole
tangler circuit for the prison. If the cons get out into the yard now,
you won't be able to tangle them. You know what that means? They'll
have the freedom of the yard, and who knows what comes next?"