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diff --git a/32076-h/32076-h.htm b/32076-h/32076-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9dd4a3e --- /dev/null +++ b/32076-h/32076-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1146 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Brown John's Body, by Winston Marks + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.img1 {border:solid 1px; } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Brown John's Body, by Winston Marks + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brown John's Body + +Author: Winston Marks + +Release Date: April 21, 2010 [EBook #32076] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN JOHN'S BODY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="535" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<h1>Brown John's Body</h1> +<p> </p> +<h3><i>by</i></h3> + +<h2><i>Winston Marks</i></h2> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>Erd Neff wanted as little to do with his fellow men as +possible. So he lived alone in his big cash-vault. Alone, +except for John....</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e1.jpg" alt="E" width="44" height="50" /></div> +<p>rd Neff dropped a thin bundle of currency into the $100 bill drawer +of the flat-top desk and kicked the drawer shut with a dusty boot.</p> + +<p>He flicked the drip from his hooked nose, which was chronically +irritated by the wheat dust of the warehouse, then he wiped his +fingers down the leg of his soiled denims. Across the 12 X 12, +windowless room John stirred awake from the noise and began nosing in +the debris of his filthy cage.</p> + +<p>"Time for supper, John?" Neff tugged at the twine at his belt and +examined his $3 watch. He pinched a dozen grains of wheat from a +two-pound coffee can and let them sift through the wires of the cage. +John pounced on the grain hungrily.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute! What do you say, dammit?" Neff's hand reached for the +marshmallow-toasting fork that hung from a hook on the wall. He +touched the points, filed needle sharp. "What do you say?" he +repeated, twanging the tines like a tuning fork.</p> + +<p>John skittered to the far corner, tearing new holes in the old +newspaper with frantic claws. Cowering against the wires he spat +half-chewed flecks of wheat trying to say the magic words that would +spare him from the fork. "Tinkoo! Tinkoo!" he squeaked, straining to +make the two syllables distinct.</p> + +<p>Neff hung up the fork, and John turned to lick at the old scabs +clotted from earlier jabs, taking sullen inventory to be sure there +were no new crimson leaks in his louse-infested hide. Until two months +ago, he had been just one more gregarious specimen of Mammalia +Rodentia Simplicidentata Myomorphia Muridae decumanus. Now he had +another name. Like each of his predecessors in the cage, he was a +large, brown rat called John—after Erd Neff's despised and deceased +father. Neff named all his rats John.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="500" height="399" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Well, don't get fat."</p> + +<p>John finished the grain, pawed the air and squeaked, "Mur!"</p> + +<p>"More, hey? You talk fine when you're hungry."</p> + +<p>"Peef, mur, mur!" John begged. He did well with his vowels, but "I" +and "s" sounds were beyond him. He said "f" for "s". "L's" he ignored +entirely.</p> + +<p>Neff gave him one more wheat head. "Okay, <i>get</i> fat!"</p> + +<p>He turned to the door, lifted the inside, mechanical latch, shoved +with his foot and snatched his revolver from his hip-holster. The +vault door opened ponderously revealing an empty warehouse. Neff +peeked through the crack between the hinges to clear the area +concealed by the door itself.</p> + +<p>One hoodlum hopeful had hidden there. Spotting him through the crack, +Neff had simply beefed into the foot-thick slab of fireproof steel. +Inertial plus surprise had disposed of that one. Neff hadn't even had +to shoot.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>onight there was no one. Funny. The wheat country was getting tame, +or else the tin-horns had learned their lesson. It was no secret that +Erd Neff never visited the local bank, yet it had been more than six +months since anyone tried to hold him up.</p> + +<p>The local bank hated him plenty. He was costing them. His five loan +offices in the rich wheat county skimmed the cream of the mortgage +loan business. Of course, nowadays most people paid off their loans, +and the low interest rates he charged to lure the business barely paid +expenses. Yet, he still picked up an occasional foreclosure. Farmers +still got drunk, divorced, gambled, broke legs or committed suicide +once in awhile, and Neff's loan documents were ruthless about +extensions of time.</p> + +<p>These foreclosed acreages he traded for grain elevators and warehouses +when crops were small and operators were desperate. Then came the +bumper years during and after World War II. Wheat on the ground and no +place to store it but in Erd Neff's sheds. It wasn't cheap to store +with Neff, and he had a virtual monopoly in Ulma County.</p> + +<p>Neff swung the great door back into place with its <i>whoosh—thunk</i> +that sealed in air, sound and nearly a hundred thousand dollars in +currency. He levered the bolts into place and spun the expensive +combination lock.</p> + +<p>The vault, tucked away in the front, left-hand corner of the old frame +warehouse expressed Neff's distrust and contempt for mankind. Concrete +and steel. Bed, shower, toilet and desk. In this walk-in cash box he +was fireproof, bomb-proof, theft-proof and, most important of all, +people-proof. There he consorted unmolested with the one mammal on +earth he found interesting—John, the brown rat.</p> + +<p>He slid the broad warehouse door closed behind him with a cacophony of +dry screeches and padlocked it. The dusty street was deserted except +for a black sedan which two-wheeled the corner a block away and sped +toward him. Neff dropped his pistol back in its holster. "Now, what +the hell—?"</p> + +<p>He waited on the splintery platform, a huge man, ugly of face, +shortlegged and long-bodied with a belly swollen from regular +overeating. His shaved head swivelled slowly as the police car leaned +into a skid-stop.</p> + +<p>Officer Collin Burns got out and stared up at the motionless statue in +sweat-dust stained denims. Burns was half Neff's 56 years, tall and +thin. He wore gray, a silver star and a big black hat. He said, "I'll +take your gun, Erd."</p> + +<p>"Now what? I got a permit."</p> + +<p>"Not any more. It's revoked."</p> + +<p>"For why?"</p> + +<p>"There were witnesses this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Witnesses? What in hell are you—oh, no! Not that damned dog?"</p> + +<p>"The puppy belonged to a little girl. You can't claim self-defense +this time."</p> + +<p>"He was coming down here chasing the cats away every day."</p> + +<p>"So you shot him, like you did Greeley's collie."</p> + +<p>"Cats count for more. You know well as I do, you can't control the +rats around a warehouse without cats."</p> + +<p>"You've shot five men, too, Erd. Three of them are dead."</p> + +<p>"I was cleared, you know damned well! Self-defense."</p> + +<p>"You're too handy with that pistol. Anyway, I didn't file this +complaint. It was the child's mother, and she made it stick with the +chief. Give me the gun, Erd."</p> + +<p>"You got a warrant for my arrest?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I will have in an hour if you insist."</p> + +<p>"I got a perfect right to protect my property."</p> + +<p>"Not with a gun. Not any more."</p> + +<p>"I just get these punks convinced, and now you want to turn loose on +me again. Who put you up to this Collin?"</p> + +<p>"You did. When you shot that pup. I'm not here to debate it. You're +breaking the law from this minute on if you don't hand over the gun."</p> + +<p>"Dammit, Collin, you know how much money I got in there? You know how +much I pack around on me sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"That's your business. You can use the bank and bonded +messengers—they get along with dogs."</p> + +<p>"Telling me how to run my business?"</p> + +<p>"I'm telling you to give me that gun. You'll get the same police +protection as any other citizen."</p> + +<p>Neff sneered openly. "I'd a been dead thirty years ago depending on +cops."</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt that a minute. You're easy to hate, Erd. Are you going +to give me that gun?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You like things the hard way, don't you?" Burns got back in the squad +car and drove off. Neff spat a crater in the wheat-littered dust and +got into his own car.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>wo minutes later he turned up Main Street and stopped before city +hall. Inside the tiny police station he dropped his pistol on the +counter. Bud Ackenbush looked up from his desk. "You could have saved +Collin some trouble."</p> + +<p>Neff stalked out without a word and crossed the street to the Palace +Cafe. He ordered a double-thick steak, fried potatoes and pie. He +liked the way the waitresses scrambled for the chance to wait on him. +Women didn't like him. He was ugly and smelled of sweat, and on the +street women looked the other way when they met him. All but the +waitresses at the Palace. When he came in they showed their teeth and +tongues and wiggled their hips. He was a 50-cent tipper.</p> + +<p>The important thing was it got him his steak, really double thick and +double quick. People could be real efficient. Like brown John. Prod +'em where they live and they'll do anything. Even talk to you.</p> + +<p>"You look kinda naked tonight, Erd," Gloria kidded.</p> + +<p>Neff wiped steak juice from his chin and stared at her breasts. It +used to excite him, but now it was just habit. It was better than +looking at red-smeared lips that smiled and eyes that didn't, eyes +that said, "Don't forget the tip, you filthy bastard!"</p> + +<p>Funny. Hang a gun on any other citizen in town and people would stare. +Take the gun off of Erd Neff and people make cracks.</p> + +<p>He did feel naked.</p> + +<p>"I didn't order this damned succotash!"</p> + +<p>"It's free with the steak dinner, Erd."</p> + +<p>Go ahead, pinch my leg like the harvesting crews do. I'm free with the +dinner, too. Like the ketchup. Like the mustard and the salt and +pepper and the steak sauce and the sugar and the extra butter if you +ask for it, just don't forget the tip.</p> + +<p>Clarence Hogan, the fry-cook, came around the counter and leaned on +the booth table beside Gloria. "You don't like succotash? How about +some nice peas, Erd?"</p> + +<p>Clarence was Gloria's husband.</p> + +<p>Pimp!</p> + +<p>"Put some ice-cream on my pie," Neff said. He looked up at Clarence. +"No, I don't want any goddamned peas!"</p> + +<p>They brought his pie and left him alone. He finished it and felt in +his pocket for the tip. He changed his mind. To hell with Gloria and +her fat leg! The steak was tough.</p> + +<p>He paid the check and went out. The sky was pink yet. Later in the +week the sunsets would be blood-red, as the great combines increased +in number and cruised the rippling ocean of wheat, leaving bristly +wakes and a sky-clogging spray of dust.</p> + +<p>Neff's busiest season. Damn that dog! Damn Collin Burns!</p> + +<p>His hand brushed his leg where the leather holster should be. Damned +laws that men made. Laws that acquitted him of homicide and then +snatched away his only weapon of self-defense because he shot a +yapping dog.</p> + +<p>As he got in his car Collin Burns came out of the station. He tossed +Neff's gun through the open window onto the seat. "Here's your +property. The Marshal came in, and he changed everybody's mind. It's +going to cost you a hundred dollars and a new pup for the little girl, +probably. Here's the subpoena. Tuesday at ten."</p> + +<p>"I don't get it."</p> + +<p>"The Marshal said to let you fight your own battles."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_n.jpg" alt="N" width="40" height="40" /></div> +<p>eff started the car and let the clutch out. The Marshal knew his way +around. The transient harvesting crews were a wild bunch. If word got +out that Neff was unarmed, packing thousands of dollars the length of +the county, the enforcement people would have a lot of extra work on +their hands.</p> + +<p>He parked behind the warehouse, next to the railroad tracks.</p> + +<p>He came around front, unlocked the big door, pulled it shut behind him +and bolted it. The warehouse was jet black now, but he knew every inch +of the place. He could fire his pistol almost as accurately at a sound +as at a visible target.</p> + +<p>He practiced on rats.</p> + +<p>Holding a pocket flash, he worked the combination. As the final +tumbler fell silently, a faint, raspy screech came to his ears, like a +board tearing its rusty nails loose under the persuasion of a wrecking +bar. He listened a minute, then he levered the bolts back, stepped +into the vault-room, closed the door and shot the mechanical bolts.</p> + +<p>Sure. Someone was out there, but they'd get damned tired before +morning. He flicked on the light and touched the other wall switch +beside it. The powerful blower and sucker fans cleared out the musty +air and rat-stink.</p> + +<p>John rustled in the cage, blinking at the sudden light. "Hi, Neff! +Meat! Meat! Meat!"</p> + +<p>Smart little devil! Neff sometimes brought him a scrap from his +dinner, but he hadn't thought to tonight. He sucked at his teeth and +pulled out a tiny string of steak. "Here. Bite my finger and I'll poke +both your eyes out."</p> + +<p>John picked the thread of gristle from Neff's finger with his +fore-paws and devoured it, trembling with pleasure. Neff lifted the +cage. "Okay, now let's have a few tricks."</p> + +<p>At once John made for the can of wheat. "Get outta there!" Neff +scooped him up and dropped him on the desk, snapping his tail with a +forefinger. John whirled, laid his ears back and opened his mouth. At +bay, the brown rat, Neff knew, is the most ferocious rodent of the +2000 species, but Neff held his hand out daring John to bite.</p> + +<p>Neff knew all about rats. More than anybody in the world knew about +rats. When you live among them for three decades you find out about +their cunning wariness, fecundity, secretiveness, boldness, omnivorous +and voracious appetites. Fools reviled them as predators and +scavengers. Neff appreciated them for what they really are: The most +adaptable mammal on earth.</p> + +<p>John was smart but no smarter than the rest. Neff had proved this by +teaching every rat he captured alive to talk.</p> + +<p>Impossible they had told him. Even parrots and parakeets only imitate +sounds in their squawking—yes, and pet crows. Animals don't have +thinking brains, they said. They react, trial and error, stimulus and +response, but they don't <i>think</i>.</p> + +<p>Neff didn't know about the others, but he knew about rats.</p> + +<p>Keep them hungry and lonely for a mate. Hurt them. Torture them. To +hell with this reward business. Rats are like men. Mentally lazy. +They'll go for bait, sure, but they'll go faster to escape pain—a +thousand times faster.</p> + +<p>And rats have lived with man from the first. They have a feeling for +language like the human brat. Between partitions, inches from a man's +head when he lies in bed talking to his wife, under a man's feet while +he's eating, over his head in the warehouse rafters while he's +working. Always, just inches or feet away from man, running through +sewers, hiding in woodpiles, freight-cars, ships, barns, +slaughter-house, skulking down black alleys, listening, hiding, +stealing, always listening.</p> + +<p>Yes, rats know about man, but rats had never known a man like Erd +Neff, a man who hated all mankind. A man who chose a rat for a +companion in preference to one of his own kind. Rats named John +learned about Neff. They learned that his tones and inflections had +specific meaning. They learned very fast under the stabbing prod of +the marshmallow fork. With just enough food to keep them alive, their +blind ferocity changed into painful attention. They learned to squeak +and squawk and form the sounds into a pattern with their motile +tongues. In weeks and months, they learned what the human brat learned +in years.</p> + +<p>"Stand up like a goddamned man!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_j.jpg" alt="J" width="16" height="40" /></div> + +<p>ohn stood up, his tail the third point of the support.</p> + +<p>"Say the alphabet."</p> + +<p>"Eh—bih—fih—dih—ih—eff—jih—etch—"</p> + +<p>Neff lit a cigar and watched the smoke float away from the ceiling +blower and vanish into the overhead vent in the far corner. He bobbed +one foot in time to the squeaky rhythm of the recitation. He took no +exception to John's failure with "I," "s", and "z". The other Johns +had been unable to handle them, too.</p> + +<p>"Hungrih, Neff. Hungrih!"</p> + +<p>The big man picked out three grains of wheat. He noticed the can was +almost empty. One by one he handed the kernels to his pet, waiting for +John's "Tinkoo!" in between.</p> + +<p>"Mur! Mur!"</p> + +<p>"Lazy tongue! It's <i>more</i>, not mur!"</p> + +<p>John dropped to all fours and retreated. Usually Neff slapped him in +the belly when he used that tone. But Neff was bemused tonight. He +kept listening for sounds, sounds that he knew could never penetrate +the thick walls.</p> + +<p>They were out there, he was sure. Another damned fool or two, flashing +a light around, trying to figure out something. Neff remembered one +pair who had even tried nitroglycerin. He saw the burns on the outside +of the door the next morning.</p> + +<p>Amateurs! Nobody knew for sure just how much money Neff kept in the +old desk, and big-time pros wouldn't tackle a job like this without a +pretty fair notion of the loot. For all they knew, maybe he mailed it +to an out-of-town bank.</p> + +<p>"Okay, fetch the pencil."</p> + +<p>John jumped from the desk and moved toward the open door of the +shower-stall where Neff had thrown the pencil stub. He paused by the +wheat can, then scurried on to get the pencil. He climbed Neff's leg +and dropped the pencil into the open palm.</p> + +<p>"Smart punks up at State College. So you can't teach a rat anything +but mazes and how to go nuts from electric shocks, eh? Wouldn't they +be surprised to meet you, John?"</p> + +<p>"Hungrih!"</p> + +<p>"You're always hungry!"</p> + +<p>"Meat! Meat!"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. You can sound your "e's" real good when you say, 'meat.' Some +day I'll cut off your tail and feed it to you." He laughed, grabbed +John by the coarse hair of his back and slipped him back under the +cage.</p> + +<p>Then he undressed down to his underwear, turned out the light and lay +on the narrow iron bed. John rustled in his cage for a minute, then +there was only the faint hum of the blower and sucker motors in the +ventilating system. The incoming and outgoing air was baffled and +trapped to kill sounds, and spring-loaded sliding doors poised to jam +shut and seal off the room if anyone tampered with the exterior +grilles in the roof.</p> + +<p>The fans hummed softly and Erd Neff slept.</p> + +<p><i>Sleck-thud, sleck-thud!</i></p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_h.jpg" alt="H" width="34" height="40" /></div> +<p>e was awake pawing the wall for the light switch, but even as his +hand found it, and his eyes discovered the closed ventilator doors, a +reddish vapor sank over his body. A single gasp and Neff was clawing +his throat. Sharp, brown-tasting, acid-burning, eye-searing, +nose-stinging!</p> + +<p>He fell to his knees and clawed to the far corner, fighting for air, +but the acrid stink stained his throat and nose. His eyes kept +burning. The whole room must be full!</p> + +<p>The door-lever! No, that's what they wanted. Blind! Gun's no good now. +God, for a breath of air! Damned tears! Can't open my eyes! Air! <i>Got +to have it!</i></p> + +<p>His throat refused to open. The stink, a little like iodine, a lot +like a hospital smell but a million times stronger—raked at the +tender tissues of his throat. Icepicks stabbed from his soft palate, +up into his brain, his temples. He swayed against the door, caught the +lever and heaved convulsively. The door fell away slowly. He stumbled +forward, gashing his knee against the sharp jamb.</p> + +<p>A light struck redly through his clenched, tear-soaked eye-lids.</p> + +<p>"That did it. Get the gun!" The voice was high, almost girlish. A +young boy?</p> + +<p>A slightly heavier voice said, "Got it. Keep an eye on him while I +find out why the fan stopped working."</p> + +<p>"He's going no place. You were right. That bromine stuff really did +the business. Lookit his face. Sure it won't kill him?"</p> + +<p>"Don't care if it does now. We got the door open."</p> + +<p>"What is this bromine, anyhow? Boy it sure stinks!"</p> + +<p>"It's a chemical element like chlorine, only it's a liquid. It fumes +if you don't keep it covered with water, and the fumes really get you. +They used it in gas bombs in the war."</p> + +<p>"That was chlorine."</p> + +<p>"They used bromine, too. I read it."</p> + +<p>"Air!" Neff rasped.</p> + +<p>"Help yourself if you call this stinkin' stuff in your warehouse air."</p> + +<p>From the vault the deadened voice came. "This must be the switch. The +other switch is for the lights."</p> + +<p>"Look out! When you turn it on don't get dosed yourself."</p> + +<p>"I only dumped a few drops in. There. It'll blow out in a few—phew, +let me outta here. That stuff does—God, it's worse than the dose I +got in the chem lab!" The voice grew, coughing and cursing. "Better +wait a minute or two. How's our big brave dog-killer doing?"</p> + +<p>On his hands and knees, Neff was on the verge of passing out, but +doggedly he tried to place the voices. Highschool kids? <i>Bromine.</i> +Sounded like a chemical they might filch from the highschool +laboratory.</p> + +<p>A kick in the ribs reminded him he was still helpless. "All right, get +back in there." They aimed him through the vault door and kept kicking +him until he went. They hauled him up into his chair. He tried to +strike out blindly, but his chest was full of licking flames that +spread pain out to his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Now rope whipped around his feet, hands, chest and neck, jerking his +body hard against the castered desk-chair and cramping his head back. +"Tie him good. No way to lock him in with this door."</p> + +<p>Neff opened his eyes. The boys were wet blurs rummaging through his +desk. "Look! Just look at that! We can't carry all that."</p> + +<p>"Get one of those burlap sacks out there. By the door."</p> + +<p>Footsteps went and returned. "Now, just the small bills. Up to twenty. +No, Jerry, leave the big stuff alone. Who'd take one from a kid?"</p> + +<p>"Okay, let's make tracks."</p> + +<p>"Wait!" Neff said desperately. "My legs and hands. You've cut off the +circulation!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="26" height="40" /></div> +<p>omething hard like the barrel of a gun rapped down on the top of his +head. "I ought to blow your dirty brains out. Killing my little +sister's dog, damn you. Damn you, I think I will kill you. Damn you, +damn you!" the voice crested.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute Jerry," the other voice cut in. "I got a better idea. +Here. Look at this."</p> + +<p>Short silence. "Yeah! Yeah, that's just dandy. Look how thin he is. +That's just what the doctor ordered. Okay, the top's loose. Stand by +the door and don't let him get by you. Wait. Got your flash? Good! In +the dark. That's real good. Which switch is it?"</p> + +<p>"Throw them both."</p> + +<p>"Okay. Flash it over here. Look out, here I come!"</p> + +<p>"Hurry up! Look at that hungry, black-eyed little devil. That ought to +fix up the son-of-a—" ...<i>Thunk!</i> The compression rammed heavily into +Neff's ears. The bolts shot solidly into place from the outside, and +the combination knob rang faintly as it was spun. Silence.</p> + +<p>They'd go out the same way they came in and tack the board back in +place. How long before anybody would miss him? Twenty-four hours? +Hell, no. Nobody would bust a gut worrying that soon. Two days? Some +weeks he was gone several days making the rounds of his loan offices.</p> + +<p>A week? Maybe. Girls at the Palace would get suspicious. Tell Collin +Burns.</p> + +<p>But a week! They'd cut off the blower when they threw both switches. +No ventilation. No air.</p> + +<p>Neff strained at the ropes. His legs were pulled under the seat so +tightly that his feet were turning numb. Hands were tingling, too. +Dirty little sadists. Turning John loose thinking—</p> + +<p>He <i>had</i> to get loose. Less than one day's air, then—</p> + +<p>"John!" Thank God John wasn't an ordinary rat.</p> + +<p>"John, come over to me. These ropes. Chew them, John. Come on, John. +Come on, boy."</p> + +<p>No sound at first, then a faint motion in the old newspapers.</p> + +<p>"John, say the alphabet!"</p> + +<p>"Eh—bih——"</p> + +<p>"That's right. Go on!"</p> + +<p>"Fih——jih——" The squeaking stopped.</p> + +<p>"Come over to me, John. Come to me, boy."</p> + +<p>He held his breath. The beating of his heart was so loud he couldn't +be sure that John was moving. The silence was long. Even the rat was +blind in this blackness. He must be patient.</p> + +<p>Sweat began oozing and trickling down his face, his armpits, his +back—even his left leg. No, wait! That wasn't sweat!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="31" height="40" /></div> +<p>he throbbing in his legs was greatest at his left knee. The trickle +was blood from the gash. It ran freely, now, the ropes backing up +arterial pressure. Never mind that!</p> + +<p>"John!"</p> + +<p>The coffee can tipped over, and the racket made Neff start against his +bonds. The rope sawed his Adam's apple.</p> + +<p><i>Crunch!</i></p> + +<p>"Leave that damned wheat alone, John. Come over to me, boy. I'll give +you a whole bag full when you chew off these ropes. Hear that, John? +And a chicken foot. I'll bring you a whole chicken. A live one. I'll +tie her down so she won't peck you. That's what I'll do, John."</p> + +<p>He was breathing heavily now. "Do you get me, John? Would you like a +live chicken?"</p> + +<p>"Yeff."</p> + +<p>The crunching resumed for a minute then stopped. Neff remembered, +there had been only a dozen or so grains of wheat left. John would +still be hungry. The thought of a chicken should do it. If not, he +could threaten him.</p> + +<p>Neff waited. Relax! There was all night to work this out.</p> + +<p>Finally, he felt something at his ankles. "That's the boy, John. Up +here and down my arms. They're behind me. Get the rope off my hands +first. Come on boy."</p> + +<p>It was John, all right. Neff could feel the little claws coming up his +left leg.</p> + +<p>"Come on, hurry up, John. Tell you what. I'll bring you a nice, fat +female, just like yourself. A live one. You can live in the cage +togeth——John, don't stop there!"</p> + +<p>The claws had paused near his knee and were clinging to the +blood-soaked cloth.</p> + +<p>"No, no, John! Don't! I'll stick you with the fork. I'll stick +you—I'll kill you! John, we got to get out of here or we'll both die. +Die, do you hear! We'll suffocate! Don't do that. Stop. Stop or +I'll—"</p> + +<p>Neff's threats beat hard into the rat's brain, and now as the slanting +incisors tore at the cloth and chewed the luscious, blood-smothered, +hot meat, Neff's screams sent tremors through the skinny, voracious +body, and the tail tucked down. The words made John nervous, but it +was dark. And there was food, such wonderful food, so much food!</p> + +<p>They were harsh words, terrible, screaming words: but words are words +and food is food, and after all—</p> + +<p>John was only a rat.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brown John's Body, by Winston Marks + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROWN JOHN'S BODY *** + +***** This file should be named 32076-h.htm or 32076-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/0/7/32076/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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