Hopper was sitting up in bed, reading his book. There was a peevish scowl on his face, and he paid no attention to Bland, even when he dusted his night table.
Bland came over to me and dusted my night table. Our eyes met, and the fixed grin on his face widened.
“Hello, baby,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“All right,” I said, and shifted higher in the bed. My right arm and shoulder ached, and I still had the imprint of his thick fingers on my wrist.
“That’s good. I’ll be along with shaving kit in a few minutes. Then you can have a bath.”
That would mean taking off the handcuff, I thought.
Bland seemed to guess what was going through my mind.
“And look, baby, don’t let’s have any trouble,” he said. “Don’t get the idea you can get away. You can’t. There are a couple more guys like me around. The door at the head of the stairs is locked, and there are bars up at the windows. You ask Hoppie. He’ll tell you. When Hoppie first came here there was trouble. He tried to get away, but it didn’t work.”
I stared at him woodenly, and didn’t say anything.
“You ask Hoppie what we do to a baby who makes trouble. He’ll tell you.” He looked at Hopper, grinning. “You’ll tell him, won’t you, Hoppie?”