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Show •135 conviction that they have to win life's race or die. For them the world is nothing but a metaphysical ladder where the greatest good is to get up to the next higher rung by hook or by crook. Frantic tramplers of heads and lickers of boots, always busily improving their position. I had never liked Brady when he was in high-school: I found I liked him even less as police chief. "You drive," I told Jacob when we got out to the parking lot after out interview. My brother backed the car out slowly and edged us into the traffic. "Well I'm glad that's over," he said. "That little son of a bitch! Did you see those boots with the three-inch heels?" Brady had kept them planted on the desk during most of our conversation. They were cowboy boots with high arabesques of red leather running up the sides, but despite the serio-comic footwear his tone had been serious. "Do you remember how he used to come to our house and brag about his chances in life? He was always on the verge of being elected senior class vice-president or winning a scholarship to UCLA." "You were only thirteen years old," Jacob said. "Yeah? But I remember him perfectly. He was a prick." "Anyway he's right about Adam. If he says that's what |
