Imaginação prática: cada
palavra, cada frase com sua respiração e intencionalidade próprias / A acção é sempre o personagem, o
personagem é sempre a acção. Na vida e na morte, no génio e na
nabice / Directo à cena, quais capitulo, qual quê, como que a dizer "aguentem que eu trato
do resto" / A impressão subjectiva dada de forma objectiva, a
objectiva, não necessariamente / Nitidez máxima, até no nevoeiro se conseguem ver as finas formas do fumo / A ambiência não
é gratuita, nem é logo dada ao inicio, vem do espaço mas também
vem com o tempo: é unidade espaço/tempo / Gigantesco tabuleiro de jogo onde todos vendem cara a derrota, no fio da navalha, quando todos só podem ganhar, o jogo é estupendamente bom /A coragem de se ser rude, de ter força necessária no martelo de nada vale aqui se não combinada com o extremo virtuosismo, rigor e precisão, trabalhos de artista e de artesão.
* - os abrangentes crime novel e thriller servem; o português policial é uma palavra que, não sei...
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1 - “He
didn't show up,” Foley said. “I sit there for about half an hour,
and I have a cheese sandwich and a cup of cofee. Jesus, I forgot how
bad a thing a cheese sandwick is to eat. It's just like eating a
piece of linoleum, you know?”
“You
got to put mayonnaise on it, “ Waters said. “It's never going to
have any flavor at all unless you put some mayonnaise on the bread
before you put the cheese on.” I
never heard of that,” Foley said. You put it on the outside, do
you?”
“Nah,” Waters said, “you put on the inside. You
still put the butter on the outside and all. But when the cheese
melts, there, it's the mayonnaise that gives it the flavor. You got
to use real mayonnaise, though, the stuff with eggs in it. You can
use that other stuff that most people use when they say they're using
mayonaise, that salad dressing stuff, you can use it. But it isn't
going to taste the same. I think that other stuff scalds or
something. It doesn't taste right, anyway.”
“They don't go for those refinements up the Rexal's
anyway,” Foley said. “What the hell, you go in there and order a
cheese sandwich, they got a whole stack of them, already made up,
problably since last Wednesday, and they take out one of them
goddamed things, big fat piece of this orange cheese in it, and throw
on some grease, they pretend it's butter but i sure don't believe
that, and then they go and they fuse it all together with a hot press
there. My stomach's still trying to break that thing down into
something I can live on, just like a big piece, two big pieces, of
bathroom tile with some mastic in between. Srved hot. I get sick,
you're gonne have to give me a pension.”
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2 - “Good Christ,” Clark said, “you guys want to put
the world in jail. This is a young kid. He doesn't have a record. He
didn't try to hurt anybody. He's never been in court before in his
life: he doesn't have a goddamned traffic ticket, for God's sake.”
“I know that,” the prosecutor said, “ I also know
he was driving a car that cost four grand and he's twenty-seven years
old and we can't find a place he ever worked. He's a nice, clean-cut
gun dealer, is what he is, and if he wanted to, he could problably
make half the hoods and forty per cent of the bikies in this
district. But he doesn't want to do that. Okay, he's a stand-up guy.
Stand-up guys do time.”
“So he's got to talk”, Clark said.
“Nope,” the prosecutor said, “he doesn't have to
do a damned thing except decide which he want's to do more, talk, and
make somebody important for us, or go down to Danbury there and get
rehabilited.”
“That's a pretty tough choice to make,” Clarke
said.
“He's a pretty though kid,” the prosecutor said.
“Look, we don't need to stand here and play the waltz music. You
know what you got: you got a mean kid. He's been lucky up to now;
he's never been caught before. And you know what i got, too: i got
him fat. You've talked to him. You saw him and you told him it was
talk or take the fall, and he told you to go and fuck yourself, or
something equally polite. So now you got to try the case, because he
won't plead without a deal that put's him on the street and I don't
make that kind of deal for machine gun salesmen that don't want to
give me anything. So we try this one, and it'll take two days or so,
and he'll get convicted. Then the boss'll tell me say three, or
maybe five, and the judge'll give him two, or maybe three, and you'll
appeal, maybe, and some time around Washinghton's Birthday he'll
surrender to the marshall's and go down to Danbury for a while. Hell,
he'll be out in a year, year and a half. It isn't as though he was up
against a twenty-year minimum mandatory.”
“And in another year or so,” Clark said, “he'll be
in again, here or somewhere else, and i'll be talking to some other
bastard, or maybe even you again, and we'll try another one and
he'll go away again,. Is there any end for this shit? Does anything
ever change in this racket?”
“Hey Foss,” the prosecutor said, taking Clark by the
arm, “of course ir changes. Don't take it so hard. Some of us die,
the rest of us get older, new guys come along, old guys disappear. It
changes every day.”
“It's hard to notice, though,” Clark said.“ It is,” the prosecutor said, “it certainly is.”
