William W. Stuart

“ And would not every decent man's hand be against you? Think, my boy, what that means. Could you face it?" During these remarks, as Jay 7 clung, hot-eyed and shaking to the bars, Mr. Boswell had backed prudently well away, out of reach from the cell door.
"Yes! I don't care. To hell with you; to hell with all of them. I've got to get out of here. Come back, you coward. I tell you I've got to get out, out, out!"
Mr. Boswell backed across the corridor and pulled his plug from the socket. The wire rolled back neatly on the spool. "Time—no more time; other clients." ”

“ Juicy worms for the early jail bird." Belle opened the cell door. The man sat still on his bunk, staring fixedly at the floor. The stout slattern laughed, slopped the filthy bread on top of the expiring roach and Belle took the plate-bowl and the cup to slap them down beside him. "Breakfast. Bread's your lunch. Maybe you'll be gladder to see us by supper. No? Then tomorrow, or the next day; or the next." She backed out and clanged the cell door shut. ”

“ A wheel chair? A man in a wheel chair? A ... now what in hell kind of a so-called lawyer was this? There was no man in the more or less wheel chair out there; only hardware, piled and assembled in a very roughly human shape. At the top were two lenses, eye-like except for being in a vertical line, mounted in a rounded, metallic container with a speaker and, presumably, sound receivers. Under that was a big, square, torso-sized, faintly humming black box. This rested on a—uh—conveyance, not unlike a wheel chair. Under the box was an electric motor and a reel of black wire. ”

“ They all screeched and squawked then, crowding to the front of his cell to look, exchanging viciously obscene guesses regarding his probable past history of despicable crime, present intimate personal condition, and future possibilities, all singularly unattractive. He gaped at them a moment in shocked disgust and then backed from the door of his cell to sit on the bunk, head down, not looking, trying not to listen.
"Yeah, that's the way it goes. He don't like our service; don't think what we got is sweet enough and pretty enough for his fine taste ”

“ No, old Belle had been in rare form and he got two bottles instead of one. But even so ... must be that stew the night before. Oh death!
He fought the day, his work, all day. He missed quota. The fingers were just a blistering mist before his eyes. He drank water and gagged on it. He paced his cell. He sweated. God! Could a man live like this?
"Boy! Say there, boy. Look alive, eh?"
Mr. Boswell, the old electronic shyster. It was afternoon, finally, of the everlasting, miserable day. Jay 7 looked up to watch sullenly as, the usual afterthought, Mr. Boswell rolled on off to plug in his cord ”

“ Liquid ... damn them. He went back again to the cell door. Shook it. Yelled, a hoarse croak. No answer, except a croaking echo, the subdued mutter from other cells. He quit trying to yell. His throat was too dry; it hurt.
For the first time since waking then, he really looked around, checked over the rest of the cell. It wasn't fancy. The bunk, hard mattress, blanket. Bars, walls. And, at the rear of the cell, stark, yellow-white, unadorned and unlovely, was one toilet bowl, no wooden seat, just the stained enamel. ”

“ The motor under the black box whined. The wheels turned and the rig backed away from the cell. It rolled some ten paces back up the corridor; stopped; the metal arm reached, caught a plug at the end of the wire on the reel and plugged it into a socket in the far wall of the building. Then the thing rolled back to the cell, the wire unrolling from the reel to trail behind it. ”

“ He was yelling, shaking, rattling the door; pushing at the door.
"Easy, boy," said Mr. Boswell, "easy now. If you say so ... perhaps you are right after all. So. We adjust, eh? See you Sunday. There are some details, questions of improper punctuation in the transcript of your involuntary confession we must go over; something we can use in the next preliminary hearing. Eh? Good night, boy." Mr. Boswell rolled off, smoothly as always, down the corridor.
Jay 7 quit pushing then, all at once and completely, and hung limply, two hands circling two solid bars, leaning heavily against the cell door. ”

“ He'd take a fall—hell, a couple, why not—out of old Belle herself. Not that Belle looked any better than the others, but at least she put a little life into it. A couple of hours with Belle, twelve credits ”

“ He had a few things to say to this mess of machinery. But this information concerned him. He would listen first.
"On the basis of clear data extracted, recorded and interpreted, charged with larceny; grand larceny; extortion; felonious assault; lewd and lascivious conduct; assault with intent to rape; rape...."
"No, no." The man gripped the bars. "No!" ”