jailfingers and jellyfingers
James Blood Ulmer stretched out his long bony jailfingers, holding them up in front of his face. He made tight clenched fists, then stretched his hands again. He cracked each knuckle and joint from the base of his thumb to the top of his little finger, repeating the process on his left hand. Finally he locked his fingers together and pushed out his palms.
“I think you’re lying,” he said.
Bob Spoon shivered. He was a sweet guy. He had jelly fingers and a milk roll; he was tender like a blancmange.
James Blood Ulmer pushed Bob Spoon up against the steel door of the cell. Bob’s flesh shook like vanilla milkshake.
“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” said James Blood Ulmer. “It’ll be a lot easier that way.”
Bob Spoon shook his head, and his red cheeks wobbled. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he said. There were fat tears dropping from his eyes. And James Blood Ulmer could never stand a coward. He despised the soft wet face in front of him. He took the thin shard of broken mirror from his pocket and pressed it to Bob Spoon’s trembling fleshy throat.
“Telling lies is only going to make it worse,” he said.
Bob Spoon cried. “It wasn’t me, I swear, honest. You gotta believe me.”
But someone had eaten the last chocolate biscuit, and all James Blood Ulmer knew was, it wasn’t him.
