Mr. Blue: Memoirs of a Renegade by Edward Bunker

Author:Edward Bunker
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

Standard procedure for the parolee is to visit the parole officer - now known as the parole agent — the day after release, where he is given the rest of his "gate money." I was shopping with Louise the day after release; then came the weekend, so it wasn't until Monday that I met my parole officer, a small man with a "flat top" haircut and a petite mustache. Even then it was not at the parole office. It was at Wallis Farms, in the blue room, where I was seated next to Louise Fazenda Wallis, on the wide armrest of her overstuffed chair, with my arm extended along the top of the chair back. She played gracious lady as well as Katharine Cornell. Would he and his wife like to see the studio? "Not on one of those tours. I'll take you behind the scenes. You have a wife and children?"

Ah yes, she played him beautifully. It wasn't manipulation with ulterior motive. It was to make him forget about me. He had more than a hundred parolees under his supervision and could keep track of very few. I wanted to be ignored, and that seemed to be the message he was giving me when I walked him out to his car. He stopped and looked back and up at the house and around at the property. "Well," he said laconically, "I'm pretty sure I won't pick up the paper and read about you in a shootout with the LAPD."

"What about a car? Can I drive?"

"If you have a license."

We shook hands and as he drove around the circle and down the road toward the front gate I felt great. A car. I was going to have a car — as soon as I had a driver's license. I was bobbing and weaving and shadow boxing as I went back inside the house. Louise saw me and laughed. "Feel good, huh?"

"Couldn't feel better. He said I could drive ... if I had a license."

"I've been thinking about that. Can you pass a driver's license exam?"

I was dubious and it showed. I'd gone on joy rides in stolen cars and on a couple of high speed chases that ended in wrecks, but beyond knowing what red and green meant on a traffic light, I was totally ignorant of the traffic laws.

"No matter," she said. "I thought about it. We'll get you some lessons. When you get a license you'll need a car. Nothing new or fancy, but I put some money aside from the house. I had to re-invest nearly all of it or give it to the government. Taxes, you know. We can get richer and richer — in fact we have to get richer and richer or the government will take it."

"It looks to me like you're doing okay."

She laughed in a way that felt like an affectionate hug.

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